Page 16 of Caging Darling

Astor would be disappointed in me, I think.

He’ll have to get in line, because I’m disappointed, too.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Who, on this miserable excuse for a paradise, could you possibly be apologizing to, Darling?”

CHAPTER 6

My heart ceases beating. Falls through the bottom of my chest.

The voice is coming from behind me, freezing me in place as the icy green ocean brings its waves to trickle between my toes, soaking my entire body with a chill. His voice is so familiar, so much a part of me, I think for sure it’s in my head. I can’t even bring myself to turn around. Not when the disappointment of his not being here will pick me apart bone by bone until there’s nothing left of me but sand and dust.

“You always did have an annoying habit of apologizing to those who should be apologizing to you.”

My heart aches, not just at his voice, but at the sorrow in his voice. The hesitant apology. Awful, stubborn, wonderful man.

He came.

My whole body trembles, and I can’t tell if it’s from the icy water at my feet or from sheer relief. It’s over. He came.

“I thought you hated me,” I breathe, my voice a rasp that I’m shocked he can hear over the howl of the wind. I still can’t bring myself to look at him. Not when I’m so terribly afraid that I’ve tipped over the edge. That my mind has finally cracked wideopen, and the fantasies I’ve concocted for myself have spilled out, melding with reality.

“Darling,” he says, actually choking on the word. “How could I ever hate you?”

The lump in my throat stabs at me, pulsing. A thousand hateful responses come to my head. Then immediately flee. Every scenario I’ve considered, every carefully planned insult I’ve polished to perfection, gone with the gentle caress of his voice.

“You came,” I gasp, and even the words feel as if they’ll break me. I spin around, digging my heel into the wet onyx sand, preparing to launch myself into his arms.

When my eyes meet his, the ground falls out from underneath me.

They’re empty. Black. Shadows. Just like the rest of him.

The wraith is in the shape of Astor, has his voice. Even the way he carries his shoulders is the same.

The hope flaring inside my chest withers. Peter must have miscalculated my faerie dust dosage. In his desire to cease competing with the substance for my love, he’s given me too little to keep me from seeing the shadows.

“Oh.”

The wraith cocks his head at me. “Disappointed, Darling?”

I wrap my shawl tighter, tugging on my shoulders as I press my closed fists up against my chest. The trembling has taken over now, so much that I hardly feel as though I’ll be able to stand upright much longer.

“I thought…”

“You thought he’d come for you.”

A flush burns at my cheek. There’s no condescension in the wraith’s voice, which should have been my first clue this wasn’t real.

No, my first clue should have been the fact that Astor planned to kill me to get his wife back. I shake my head, like somehow that will clear my head of the delusion that he cares for me, and survey the area. I’m near the cave where I once held Astor prisoner.

I hadn’t realized at the time what a luxury that had been. The power to keep him trapped. Close by. Where I could visit him whenever I wanted.

I squint, trying to figure out when exactly I would have made a wraith of him. It must have been during one of our conversations. A particularly painful one, at that.

Ah.

“You’re from the night I told Astor about the lengths my parents went to in order to find me a husband.”

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