Page 225 of The Edge of Darkness

“But you are now . . .”

“I am.” Her hand reached up and pushed my hair behind my ear.

“I don’t want you to ever stop. Whatever I need to do to keep seeing it, I will. Just tell me.”

She took in a deep breath and let her eyes roam over my face. It felt like we were on the verge of another vulnerable moment, one that she would either take a leap at and embrace, or turn and run from. It wasn’t the sex that she struggled with, it was the emotion that came with it.

“What you and I are feeling . . . it’s not a weakness,” I said. “I used to think it was. And yet, every time I looked at you, or you snapped at me for something I did or said, I grew a little more fond of you, until I couldn’t fight it anymore.” When she remained quiet, I shifted my hips, reminding her that we were still joined, and that this thing between us mattered. “This isn’t weakness,” I repeated. “I want you to know you can tell me how you feel.”

She tilted her head back, holding my stare, and gods the silence was worse than if she were to say she had no feelings at all.

“I . . . need you to tell me how you feel, Nivelle.”

This was the most vulnerable I had ever been with a female. I had never needed to hear someone declare their feelings, because I had never had any to give before. This felt so natural, and at the same time, it was completely terrifying, because what if I’d read her wrong? What if this was just a minor thing for her? A game?

Say something, please, I silently begged.

Her attention lowered to my shoulders, then my collarbone, where my shroud lay inked upon my skin. She traced the upper markings with her fingers. “What does this mean?”

Not able to keep from hiding my confusion, I leaned back. Was she really asking about my shroud, when I just asked her about her feelings?

“Is it another mark from an injury?” she asked.

“No . . . It’s called a shroud. It’s the mark of someone who has sacrificed much for the sake of others. One receives it when a courageous, selfless deed is done.” My skin prickled where she trailed a swirl with the tip of her nail.

“When you almost lost your leg, then?”

I nodded. How did this have anything to do with⁠—

“I did not like how my heart felt when you told me about your leg. It made me want to hurt whoever hurt you.” Her fingers stilled, and so did my breath. “And I began to wonder if this mark was the mark of a curse.”

“A curse?”

“Yes. Curses leave marks in their wake, for both the caster and the cursed.” Her hand spread over the center of my chest. “I am glad to know it is not a curse. If it was . . .”

“What would you do?”

“I . . . I would find a way to undo it for you.”

She was telling me how she felt without actually saying it. And I understood completely. This was her way of saying she cared for me—the way she knew how. And it was more than enough.

I grinned down at her. “So, am I still your worst nightmare?”

Her mouth tugged into a soft grin as she said, “If you are my nightmare, Roirdan, then I do not think I want to wake up.”

A few hours passed, and we finally rose from the bed and got dressed. As it turned out, there was another task that Nivelle was here for that I was not aware of.

And it had to do with the witch goddess.

“Tell me again why we’re summoning Torin?” I was already in a pouty mood after having to watch Nivelle put clothes on. Now, we were about to be in the goddess’s presence, and there was something about her that didn’t sit right with me. So it was my mood, this time, that was slightly sour.

“Because if Aremis wants to have any chance at breaking free from the Aether, he has to have a certain stone. At least, we think that’s the case.”

“And Torin has this stone?”

“She wears five. One of them has to be what we seek. And if it’s not, then maybe she will know where to find it.”

“Uh-huh . . . So you didn’t want to stay the night here just to take advantage of me? This was all about getting some stone for a spell?”