Page 28 of Dark Surrender

I stare at the sunlight on a beautiful woman’s face. At her mismatched eyes and the creeping sadness I sense from her. She shifts on the stool, and every now and again, when she thinks I might not be looking, she steals a peek at me. Her eyes drop to my lap to find the annoying part of me very much alive. But I don’t touch him. I sit and wait.

When Penelope quits whining and we can finally hear the birds chirping nearby, Ava turns to me, her gaze earnest, her expression open.

My palms are sweaty. I squeeze them into fists on my thighs.

“My name isn’t Ava,” she says, offering a small slice of realness.

When I incline my head for her to continue, she does. “It’s Iris.”

Iris.

Beautiful.

“And you’re telling me this, why?” I ask, desperate to understand her motives.

“You’re going to die tomorrow,” she whispers. “Maybe the next day. But sometime this week… and I… I dunno.” She shrugs. “I wanted you to know.”

This is when I could tell her I’m Dark. Not just Maxim. Not just Penelope’s husband. But a father. A brother. A friend. But that changes nothing. It doesn’t fix what I did to my wife, Kali, for decades. The lies. The cheating… and everything else.

Just as I open my mouth to share something personal, I clamp my teeth shut at the last second and do what I’ve always done—pretend everything’s fine. What you see is what you get, even if that is far from the truth. Nobody gets me. Least of all Iris. We’re two people who happened to cross paths, nothing more, nothing less.

It doesn’t matter if I’m curious.

Or want to know more.

We sit in companionable silence for ages. It’s a lot less lonely having her here. The way she moves is graceful. At least when she’s not tripping into me.

I stave off a smile at the memory. Having her body against mine. Her little yip of surprise. Her scent of vanilla and soap mingled with sweat.

Iris’s blood-coated sister, who looks nothing like her, eventually appears in the doorway and waves for her to come along, but not before she glares at me. Her sister, not Iris.

My heart aches as Iris gets off her stool and gives me an almost solemn glance back as she grabs her backpack, picks up our trash and chopsticks, and shuts me in for another night of listening to Penelope, wondering how in the fuck I got myself here and why I don’t seem to give a damn that it’s almost the end.

The selfish, arrogant part of me, that part I play pretty fucking well, is chomping at the bit to put on his mask and act the part. To play this game. To go out with a mouthy bang.

But I’m tired.

And so, I close my eyes, rest my head against the rough cabin wall, and hope to fall asleep. If I’m lucky, I’ll never wake up.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Iris

Lying on our sides, facing each other on our cots, with nothing but moonbeams filtering in through the window for light, Dee stares at me. She’s been doing it since we got back from the hunting cabin.

“No more,” she whispers.

“No more what?”

“Talking to him.”

“Maxim?” I ask, even though I know that’s what she means.

“Yes.”

My stomach dips. “Why?”

Dee taps her head.