Page 34 of The Dark Before Light

He looks away. “Nah, but still.”

I stare at his profile. His furrowed brow. “I came because he told me this started after our session Wednesday.” I pause. “I wish you’d called me.”

He snorts. “I bet you do.”

“Kieran.” The use of his name—or more likely the note of pleading in my voice—turns his head. “Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?” His lips barely move.

Why your eyes are so angry and sad.

“The truth.”

His head falls back, eyes sightless on the night sky. “It’s the damnedest thing,” he says, so softly I’m not sure he actually intends for me to hear. “I want to say, ‘I’ll tell you if you get in the water.’ Why? Why is it whenever I see you, I feel instantly defensive? Like we’re about to do battle and I need to attack first.”

I don’t speak. We both know why. Because this is battle. A war for his life and future.

His head rolls toward me. “I know you want to help me. I just don’t think you can.”

His words, his eyes, his tone—all empty, vacant—shatter my patchwork persona. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I’m just me. Just Talia. And he’s the boy who saved me in a rainy graveyard.

And goddammit, I’m going to save him back.

Chapter 11

Talia

As I take off my blazer and toss it onto a deck chair, Kieran’s jaw goes slack. He chokes when I step out of the water to unbutton my slacks.

“Stirling—”

“Turn, please.”

Water splashes as he pivots. I strip off my pants and chuck them. Still semi-decent in a thong, bra, and a black silk tank top—all of which are about to be ruined—I slip into the water. Heat cocoons me with prickling pleasure, the contrast of cold air on my face and shoulders near-euphoric. I settle against the smooth seat, tugging my floating tank down and tucking it between my legs.

“You can turn around.”

Kieran’s wide eyes—no longer empty, thank God—take me in. He laughs roughly. “I can’t believe you did that.”

I shrug. “Compromise rarely kills. Now you have to hold up your end of the bargain.”

His smile fades but doesn’t entirely vanish. “Can we renegotiate? Maybe if you take the top off.”

“Kieran,” I chide.

He swipes hands over his face and through his hair, then gives his cheeks a few light slaps. At my questioning look, he says, “Trying to sober up enough to remember why I can’t touch the pretty lady.”

“Cute,” I mimic him.

Another short laugh, then a grunt as he hauls himself out of the water and drops onto the tiled border. Steam spills off his flushed skin. Water sluices along cuts of muscle in his arms, chest, stomach…

“Like what you see?”

I swallow and drag my gaze to his boyishly crooked grin. He’s so beautiful it hurts, a tightness in my chest and a sharp ache between my legs. My inner conflict must be on my face because his grin disappears. Predatory intensity replaces it. His muscles quiver like he’s a second from launching at me.

“Just say the word,” he murmurs.

A modicum of reason returns.

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