Page 42 of Witch's Fate

She thrashed, trying to break free. “Let go of me, you bastard! I hate you!”

“Don’t say that.” His voice was rough with pain, his gaze rife with it.

She stilled momentarily, shocked.

“What is your problem?” she whispered brokenly. “Why, after all these years, are you doing this to me?”

He shuddered. “Because these last centuries without you have been hell. You’re the sun of my life. I didn’t realize what I was giving up when I became a warlock. You were the brightest and best thing to ever happen to me and I couldn’t spend another day without you.”

Shock made her breath catch. He’d been such a bastard to her. “But you threw me away.”

“I had to.”

“Fuck you.” She struggled to break free again, but he was too strong.

“Look at me.” His voice was harsh, desperate.

She didn’t want to, but she did. And fates, he was handsome. Not in a movie-star way—though gods knew he could pass for one—but in a familiar way. The kind of handsome that happens when you’ve loved someone for years and have memorized all their features until they become vital to you. The kind of handsome that really mattered. It was a view that tore a gaping hole in her heart.

“You threw me away.” She wanted to crumble into his arms—for him to make it better even though she knew he never could. He’d broken them. Broken them and thrown them away and there was no coming back from that.

But he pulled her into his embrace and hugged her close. His heat and strength enveloped all of her, knitting together some of her broken parts even though she’d thought he couldn’t do that.

“I made a mistake.” His agonized whisper sounded against her hair. “I made a mistake. I realized that soon after.”

“Why wait till now to come for me?”

“I fought it. Until I saw my brother with his new mate and realized what a great, gaping hole there was in my life. Ithought I had everything a Mythean could want. Power, wealth. But I made a mistake. I’m so sorry, Sofia.”

She sobbed against his chest. He was saying everything she wanted to hear, but too late. “What good does that do us now?”

“I don’t know. I just know I can’t live without you anymore.”

“You’re going to have to,” she whispered against his chest. But she clutched his sweater in her hands and didn’t move. She couldn’t move and didn’t want to move. She wanted to freeze like this forever. This was the closest she’d ever get to what she wanted—him—and she didn’t want it to end. But it was a dark comfort, tainted by the knowledge of what he’d done to them.

“I can’t. But I’m fucking this up. I didn’t leave tonight because I think of you as an object. I left because I’m afraid I’m falling in love with you again. I’m afraid I never fell out of love with you.”

Her heart felt like it was tearing into a million pieces. She spoke into his chest because she couldn’t look up. “You didn’t ever love me. If you’d loved me, you wouldn’t have become a warlock. You’d have sacrificed that. As I did. Because I loved you.” But she didn’t love him anymore. She had too much self-respect for that. But for just a minute, she wanted to cling to the idea of what might have been. So she held onto him.

“I think I’m falling for you now,” he said. “And the only way we can have anything is if I don’t do that. I need to keep my heart separate. That’s why I left.”

She looked up at him then, shocked to see the pain in his eyes. “So that’s what this relationship has in store for me if Ichoose to pursue it? You’ll never love me, and whenever you feel too much, you’ll throw me away?” She pulled out of his arms. “I’m sorry, but that’s not good enough for me. And if you do fall for me, I’ll end up like Laira. Dead. Or you’ll end up dead. Or both of us. Because fate will have its way.”

This was done. Her moment of weakness must be crushed. She stepped back and walked toward the door.

“Sofia.” His voice broke at the end.

She didn’t want to, but she turned.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was rough, his face so pained it almost looked broken. “I’m sorry for how I’ve fucked this up. But I’ll make it better.”

She swallowed hard against the tears. “You can’t.”

She turned and walked out the door.

“Fuck,” Malcolm hissed when the skillet burned his hand. He blew on it, then grabbed a spatula and flipped the pancake.

Black.

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