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I walk toward the door, hoping he’ll follow. He doesn’t. I feel like shit and look like shit. I don’t have the strength to be polite. My body itches and my veins ache. I want to claw my skin off.

“Just leave, please,” I say. It comes out like I’m begging. Nero studies my face, and the crease appears between his brows, full of worry.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he says.

“I should. Trust me.”

He steps closer and tries to put a hand on my shoulder. I move away before he touches me. I see the soft fabric of his hoodie, smell his fresh laundry and clean skin scent. When I look down, I can see his thighs flexing while he stands. All of it should make me feel something, I can feel it under my skin, but stardust doesn’t allow it to reach me. There is only emptiness and my need for the next dosage.

Nero gives up and walks toward the door. When he passes me, he stops mid-step, and I feel him inhale deeply. After that, his broad shoulders disappear through my doorway, and I scatter a stardust line across my kitchen counter.

CHAPTER 21

NO MORE WAITING

NERO

When I went to check on Lara, she looked like shit. I don’t know if it was her necromancy, the stardust, or both, but she looked high as fuck. Pale skin, dead eyes, blood under her nose, and hands shaking like her body wanted to give up. From what I understand, she keeps reliving the deaths of people whose corpses she touches.

How fucked up is that? How does anyone live with that?

I was in pain my whole adolescence, when they were breaking my bones and ligaments. When they would stab my body to increase healing speed. It was temporary and physical, mostly. But seeing her like that. She was in a mental ditch. I don’t know if she will overdose or not. I’m not an expert on stardust.

Maybe I should have stayed with her. She looked awful, but I saw how badly she wanted me gone. I’m not good at this stuff. I don’t know how to talk about things like that. About death, about suffering. It just is. I accept physical pain, and everything else… I just ignore.

Grief.

I locked that door years ago and never opened it again. Replaced it with controlled anger instead. Wolves aren’t allowed weaknesses. I was supposed to be the perfect firstborn, the ideal alpha, the son who could kill anyone and feel nothing afterward.

I wasn’t always like that. I wanted to be a kid, not a ruthless animal. Still, my father kept talking about legacy. Maybe that’s why he let my mother spare Piro. Because he already had me. He made me exactly the way he wanted. And I hate him for that. For what he did.

I give Lara three more days.

She still doesn’t leave the apartment. No one visits her. She sits in that flat alone, and I know that because my people watch the building. I tell myself, it’s for her safety. Necromancers tried to kill her.

That’s the reason. Not because I want to know who visits her and why.

Not because I want to know where she is all the time.

But tonight is enough, she needs to get out.

I don’t know how to sit, hold hands and talk about feelings. But I know her being alone and doing drugs is not gonna help her. And maybe I just miss her. Maybe I just want to see her. Maybe I want her to feel better. What the fuck is going on with me. Am I gonna buy her flowers and brush her hair like an idiot?

I do like her hair though.

I park under her apartment and roar my engine loud enough, so the entire block hears it. I got her number from Piro, so I text her.

Get down

Lara

No

I smile. Why did I count on that? Why do I love it when things are hard? Why does it feel better when she’s angry?

You have fifteen minutes to get down here, otherwise I’m dragging you out by your hair.

I know you would like it.