“You shouldn’t be here.”
In his presence, a twinge of hunger rang out—subtle, and yet, I knew that whatever he was allowing me to sense was only a fraction of what he truly felt.
Atrius, I knew, was starving in a way that went far beyond physical hunger. I could feel that in him, vicious and yearning, making the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
But I only said, “It’s where I want to be.”
I didn’t realize until the words left my mouth exactly how true they were.
His jaw tightened.
“You shouldn’t be near me.”
True, a voice whispered in the back of my head. But the danger wasn’t him. The danger was myself—or maybe something even bigger, the natural tension of oil and fire inching closer.
I didn’t dignify that with an answer this time. Instead, I took another step.
It was answer enough.
We stood there beside each other for a long, silent moment, acutely aware of each other’s presence and saying nothing. And yet, saying everything—because just standing here, next to each other, our shoulders inches away, felt thick with meaning.
“It was stupid of you to put yourself, bleeding, next to a bunch of injured vampires,” he said at last.
“You have a funny way of saying thank you.”
A beat. A glance. And then, more quietly, “Thank you. For helping them.”
“Thank you for saving my life.”
“I wasn’t sure if I had, at first.” The statement came with a strange chill, gone before I could feel it too closely.
Then he added, beneath his breath, “Too many, I couldn’t.”
His voice made me think of Erekkus’s screams. The kind of sound that followed a person for the rest of their life.
I said, “I looked, but I couldn’t find Erekkus.”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“He needed to be alone. I’m in no position to stop him.”
“How old was his little one?”
“Ten.”
An ache in my chest.
“Young.”
“And yet what kind of life did she have for those ten years? All of it spent...”
Atrius’s voice trailed off.
Then he whirled to me, eyes bright, mouth twisted into a sneer.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said again.