Page 61 of Mage Massacres

Palmer’s soft reply startled me. “I care. I hear you. I get it, all right? I fucked up. I lied. I’m going to apologize. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

“It’s not just that you lied,” Vaughn said, his accent thickening in his following words. “You scared her. She thought she killed you, Palmer. You should have spoken up as soon as you could.”

My mage sighed as a stool scraped across the tile floor. “I wanted to talk to her alone. I didn't realize you were all going to come rushing out before I was able to. I didn’t hide the truth with the intention of not telling her.”

“Why wouldn’t we rush out?” Briggs inquired. “You didn’t feel the pain that she felt.”

“Gods,” York complained. “Think of it this way, Palmer. In Lilk, when Satan killed her, we felt no pain from that death. But Monday night? What she experienced when you died? That dropped us to our knees.”

“That was her pain,” Stone clarified. “Not yours, but what she felt when she lost you.”

I nodded my head.

That was true.

“Whatever she felt was more than her own death,” York whispered. “I’ve seen her die a few times. But I’ve not felt anything like that before.”

“And I don’t ever want to feel it again,” Novak chimed in. “So I’m gonna need you bastards not to die.”

I was frozen in my spot, unsure if I should walk in or hope that Palmer came out. I was ready to talk our issues out, but I wasn’t positive about his intentions. I thought of myself as a forgiving person, sort of.

Not really.

I wanted to forgive him, though. That was the difference in me now. My feelings for him had been rapid and wild, an untamable natural disaster that I couldn’t avoid.

But I couldn’t forget the way his body looked, crumpled and unmoving. No thunder in his chest. No lightning in his eyes.

I wanted to scream at him for being so stupid. But I couldn’t bring myself to even call out his name.

I hung my head, violently tugging at my hair. Thoughts plagued my mind, imaginary scenarios that did nothing to calm the raging river inside me.

Two months ago, my biggest issue was the sketchy jargon in a purchase agreement. I had my wits about me, and I was confident and in control. I knew what I wanted out of life.

Or… I knew what I wanted to avoid.

Fuck.

I’d wanted to avoid everything currently happening with a passion that I couldn’t begin to explain.

Now?

I was falling apart. All the seams were busted, the pages torn. I was in a never-ending manic episode, wondering who the fuck I was today… And why my chest felt like it was wide open with my heart hanging out, displayed for everyone to see.

To think, at some point in time, some asshole decided that this was… Love?

A dry chuckle escaped my lips as I turned away from my guys. Everything I didn’t know I wanted was in that kitchen.

Everything I didn’t deserve was waiting for me to join them.

And there I was, running away. I desperately tried to out-pace the emotions, delusional, despite my attempts. I turned the corner, slamming the door to my room to lock them out, but they clung to every fiber of my being.

My breaths sawed through my lungs, leaving shards of glass in my airways as I gasped. I leaned my back against the door, sliding down until my ass hit the floor. As I cradled my head, I massaged my jaw muscles, trying to stop the grinding of my teeth.

The silence in the room was too loud. The cool air, too hot. The darkness, too bright. My dry eyes were too wet as tears spilled over my lashes.

A knock at my back made me flinch. My whole body was tense and ready to flee. My heart pounded furiously, and I stretched my left hand across my body to hold the useless organ inside my rib cage.

I could live without it.