Page 76 of Art of Sin

“Why not?”

I blink—he’s never asked that before.

Because I might be dead soon.

The only deflection I can manage is, “Well, that’s a mood killer.”

His eyes see too much. Too deeply. And when I expect him to roll away, be angry or hurt, instead he kisses me softly and strokes the hair at my temples.

“I wasn’t afraid of the dark as a child,” he says idly, gaze roaming my face. “Which is odd, since I think humans are by nature afraid of the dark. It comes to us as children with fluttering curtains, a closet door creaking open, the flap of wings outside a window.”

I swallow thickly. “We learn to distrust what we can’t see or understand.”

“Yes, but why? Put a person in the middle of a perfectly safe, tranquil forest in the dead of night and set a squirrel loose ten feet away. Instant panic. Then consider the same situation in broad daylight—the subject might be startled, maybe experience a brief fight-or-flight response… but then there’d be a sigh of relief, possibly laughter, because it’s a fucking squirrel.”

I crack a smile. “Where are you going with this?”

He kisses the tip of my nose. “Say a person is more comfortable in the dark than in the light. Say the blindness soothes, the silence calms, and the uncertainty, the threat of danger, is as familiar as a lullaby.”

My breath comes faster. “Are you talking about yourself, or me?”

His nose drags along my cheek, a gentle caress that ends with his mouth at my ear.

“There’s no shame in taking comfort in darkness. After all, life begins and ends with it. Darkness isn’t inherently evil any more than a squirrel wandering in the night is a monster.”

I force a chuckle. “I think you might be delirious from paint fumes.”

He licks the lobe of my ear. Goose bumps sprout over my arms and I twitch, seeking something I understand. Lust—escape. But he’s not done.

Head rising, he stares down at me. Not delirious at all, but sober and sane.

“When will you understand, mon bijou, that you are a night-blooming flower, and there’s no shame in that. Please, share your dark with me. Not these mismatched bits and pieces, but all of it. I want to see you.”

Rigid beneath him, I shake my head. I want to shove him off, to get away, but I’m terrified it will mean the end of this. Of us.

I have to lie, tell him I’m not ready or soon or When I say yes to marrying you, I’ll say yes to this—but what comes out instead is, “If I tell you, you won’t want me anymore.”

He stares at me for long moments, eyes hooded, lips thinned. “That’s horse shit. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone in my fucking life. There’s nothing you could tell me that would change that.”

The earth-shattering words are spoken with blunt confidence. Like he actually believes them.

He believes them.

“Gideon—”

I find my voice too late. He’s already moved away, sitting up and swinging his legs to the floor. Head in his hands, he mutters, “Maybe I am delirious.”

This is the world ending.

My world, my darkness, about to burn in the light.

My back against the headboard, I pull my knees to my chest. My body feels light, my mind buoyant as I draw a breath and prepare to strike the match that will burn his love to the ground.

It’s better this way.

“Nate and I weren’t kept for several months. It was almost four years. Our… handler, I guess you could call him, worked for a Mexican cartel. I was fifteen and Nate fourteen when we were taken.”

Gideon’s hand rests atop mine, a steady, warm weight on my cold fingers. I stare unblinking at a wrinkle in the sheets, unable to look at him.

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