Page 71 of Synodic

I berated myself for even caring one iota about her welfare, but it was hard to erase five years of memories with the snap of my fingers. I knew she cared about me, even if it was in her own twisted way.

Would I ever see any of them again? Did I even want to? I was making a home for myself here, fighting for myself, and fighting for others who needed me.

I knew a darkness was coming, but I still preferred facing that than returning to a life where I’d felt empty and mostly alone with no purpose.

Suddenly, Rowen jerked violently and I dashed over to him. His eyes rapidly shifted beneath his translucent lids and he stirred again.

“Fou?” he asked in his delirium. “Fou, is that you?”

Fou? Who was Fou? Was that the name of his past love? The woman he sought and called out to in the darkness? Hoping and praying each night she would reach back and curl up in his embrace?

It was a name I knew I wasn’t meant to hear.

“Fou!” he called again as his veins strained in sinuous columns along his neck.

I moved closer to him to rest my hand on his shoulder, but as soon as I touched his skin, his black eyes flashed open.

He grasped my arm with reflexes I didn’t think were possible. His other hand grabbed my hip and he pulled me down on top of him, guiding me to straddle his lap. His eyes were open but unseeing, and his skin was on fire. Was the moss even working? Had I given him enough?

I quickly scolded myself for not being more concerned about sitting directly on top of a wounded man who most assuredly thought I was someone else.

“I was wondering if I’d ever see you again.” His voice was deep, ragged, and as far away as his eyes.

Coming to my senses, I tried to push off his chest, but he pressed me back down against him, locking me in place. His hands were at my waist and his fingers created divots in my flesh where they dug into my hips. I was painfully aware of how little separated me from Rowen’s hard body between my legs. I hadn’t had a chance to put my pants back on since taking them off to dry by the fire, so his touch burned directly through the fabric of my underwear.

More than anything I wanted to melt and burn right along with him. But this wasn’t right: I was pretty sure he was hallucinating I was his deceased lover.

Nothing could be more wrong.

He would hate me in the morning if anything happened. He would hate himself.

I had to get away.

I tried to push off him with more force, but I didn’t budge, and he pressed me down harder against his firm thighs.

Rowen cinched his large hand around my wrist and asked, “Where do you think you’re going?”

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Rowen jerked me violently towards him, stealing a quick inhale from my mouth.

“I asked you a question,” he said, slanting his head toward me as he brought his lips closer to my face.

Oh no. This couldn’t be happening. He was going to kiss me. I had wanted this for so long but not like this. Never like this.

Just when I thought his lips were about to press against mine, he lifted me off him and stood us on our feet in one swift motion. The way he was holding me was almost like we were lovers, but the way he gripped me was too tight and his face twisted into outright revulsion.

My eyes widened in terror, but before I could speak, he whirled me around and slammed me against the cave wall. The force knocked the wind out of me and I struggled to pull air into my lungs. Before I could even get my next breath in, his hand was at my throat, pushing against my windpipe.

Had I got it all wrong? Did he think I was the one who killed the woman he loved? The one who murdered his other half before beating and torturing him within an inch of his life, leaving him to bleed out and die alone in the woods?

If so, I understood the unfettered hatred in his eyes, however misplaced it was upon me.

The look wasn’t burning like the rest of him though. No, it was ice cold and terrifying. I tried to struggle free but he raised my wrist and slammed it above my head on the sharp rocks. He held it there, pressing harder and harder into me, and I winced at all the rough-digging edges.

How had I misread the situation so thoroughly? I was sure I sensed a moment of desire in him, but I now saw that desire was only to kill. To kill whomever he thought I was in his delirium.

“How I imagined doing this to you,” he whispered almost seductively against my neck, and my skin prickled. “Always wondering if I would have the strength to go through with killing you.” He pulled back with a growl, staring at me but not seeingme.

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