Page 140 of Cursed Shadows 5

They were rogue, they were bounty killers, and they used the black metal, so in turn,Iused it, too.

The colour drains from my face.

I can’t bring myself to lift my eyes that bit higher, to see his beauty, to meet his gaze that is soft on me.

I stare at his neck. “You are back.”

His hoarse voice is as soft as it can be, “Yes.”

“You stole a world.”

“Yes.”

“Was it worth it?”

Again, he answers with no hesitation, “No.”

“That darkness…” I start, soft, and tug away from the bench, though I keep my gaze from his face, “it will plague Licht—won’t it?”

Daxeel is quiet for a moment. “One day the sun will rise on Licht but not touch the earth.”

So the darkness will invade the light lands.

I say nothing.

Daxeel joins me in that patient silence.

He keeps to the door, standing, watching—but he waits for me.

I consider the gloss of his leathers.

He is silent.

I lift my gaze to him—and my lashes low over the burning wetness of my eyes. “I loathe you.”

His face shutters.

Daxeel leans his weight back onto one boot, then drops his head. His downcast gaze is on the floor, those inky curls falling into his lovely face.

I hate that I want to touch him.

“I loathe you,” I echo, “for all that you have done, to me, to Eamon, to the realms beyond Dorcha.”

Daxeel keeps to the swing door, not a step closer to me. But his head is tilted forward, almost hanging in shame.

His eyes lift to watch me from beneath his long lashes.

I point my finger at him, an accusation. “This was between us—and you dragged all the worlds into our slights.” I scoff, a wetness in my throat. “And they say in your culture that females are the ones of emotion.”

Unmoving, unflinching, he is still against my viciousness. Daxeel just stands there… and takes it, the cost of my attention.

“Do you remember that night under the willow?” I ask. “You told me it was for a male to protect a female. That males are stronger, females are meant to be kept. That we are pretty and lure the flowers into bloom, but the flowers wince from you because they fear you.”

Still, he just watches me—he listens.

“Twice, I have bested you,” I tell him, my chin lifting, and I turn my pointed finger to touch my own throat. “I am the reason you wear that scar—” his eyes flicker “—but you are the cause of your own misery.”

“Yes.”

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