Page 87 of Ghosts of the Dead

“She’s gone,” I rasp out when I come to stand in front of him.

Caspian’s pale eyes snap to mine and his brow furrows. “What?”

“She’s gone.” The words burn coming out. It would be easier to swallow shards of glass. I hate him for making me repeat it. My throat is like sandpaper. “I found a rotter. Purple hair. Gemini tattoo on the wrist. Same fucking hazel eyes.”

For the first time since I’ve known him, I see genuine shock ripple across Caspian’s face. His mouth opens, then closes, but then his gaze shifts past me and something strange passes over his features. “Jace…”

I turn around to see what he’s looking at, and there she is. Autumn. Alive and laughing.

She’s sitting near the fire with Mars. She throws her head back while he gestures wildly with his hands, his skin glistening with sweat with each movement. He’s probably midstory about his special ops days. One of the more comedic ones, like when he accidentally blew up the wrong building or something equally ridiculous. I never listened to his stories, but I’m sure she would find them charming.

His grin is as cocky as ever, but it’s the look on her face that locks me in place. She’s relaxed. Happy. The firelight dances across her face, highlighting the purple streaks in her hair. It’s vibrant and alive, not matted with blood and decay.

Luna is curled at her feet with her tail thumping against the ground on occasion when Autumn’s hand drops to scratch behind Luna’s ears.

There isn’t a single sign of decay in sight. She’s whole. Safe. Alive. Not rotting in some forgotten part of the city’s outskirts.

I can’t move. The relief crashes into me so hard my knees nearly buckle again, but right behind it comes the shame. The guilt. The raw, unrelenting ache.

Because I believed she was gone.

Because I know I pushed her so far away, she could have been.

And because she’s smiling now. Not at me. Not because of me. But I don’t give a shit.

She’s alive.

And that’s all that matters.

I didn’t break her.

30

AUTUMN

Mars has me laughing so hard, I have to wipe tears from my eyes. His hands move wildly in the air while he tells some ridiculous story about the first time he tried to siphon gas and ended up with a mouthful of diesel.

“You didn’t,” I gasp, covering my mouth and shaking my head.

“Oh, I did.” He grins and beams with pride, his bare chest gleaming with a light sheen of sweat from his earlier sparring session with Jace. The old bruises are fading, but a few new ones are making their appearance beneath his ribs and on his side. “Thought I was gonna breathe fire for a week. I was almost tempted to light a cigarette after. Can you imagine? Would’ve been a human flamethrower.”

Luna lifts her head from where she’s been dozing at my feet. I lean back and wipe at my eyes again, still laughing, when heat prickles along the back of my neck. That feeling of someone watching. I turn and follow Luna’s gaze.

Jace stands at the edge of the clearing with his eyes locked on me with such intensity, I almost feel like I’m the last thing on earth he sees. His face is a mess, red and blotchy, and his eyes are puffy and raw. Not from laughter like mine. This isthe face of a man who’s been sobbing. His bare chest heaves like he’s trying to remember how to breathe. He clutches his black shirt in one hand where it looks like he’s been dragging it along the ground behind with how filthy it is.

It’s his expression that steals my breath. He looks like the world was ripped out from under him and he’s desperate to keep from shattering. I don’t know what happened out there, but my heart cracks at the sight of him. Despite everything, with his reinforced steel walls and his insistence to keep pushing me away, I want to reach out and comfort him, even though I know he’s only going to push me away again, like he always does.

“Jace?” I rise to my feet, but the word barely leaves my mouth before he’s crossing the space between us in long strides. His shirt slips from his hand and falls to the ground, forgotten.

His mouth crashes into mine in the hard, desperate kiss of a drowning man clawing for air. For a heartbeat, I freeze. This is Jace. The man who runs from connection like it’s the flames he fears. But instinct takes over before thought can catch up. My hands grip his shoulders as I lean into the storm that is Jace.

His kiss is rough and raw. It’s filled with fear, longing, and need so fierce it trembles through him. And God help me, I want it. I want him. I want to feel anything but this hollow ache where my sister should be. Anything but fear. Anything but loss.

My arms wind tighter around him and my fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. He crushes me to his chest, and I let him. I’m not pulling away. Not from him. If he needs an anchor, I’ll be one.

By the time he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. His hands shake when they frame my face, his fingers trembling against my skin.

His thumbs trace the curve of my jaw, my cheekbones, and lips, slow and reverent, like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

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