Page 66 of A Bond so Fierce and Fragile
Because the way her life was shaping up, she doubted it would be the long one of the Fae, and if so, she needed to feel every damned emotion she’d longed for before the end.
Starting now.
Chapter 12
Lessia
Merrick still hadn’t said a word.
If she hadn’t felt his heart thundering against her chest, she might have thought he had more serious injuries than the wound that had already begun clotting in his side.
Lessia tightened her arms around his neck.
It wasn’t a physical wound that kept the Death Whisperer on his knees.
No. It was a mental one. One that cut through hearts and souls and tissue without drawing blood. But one that would scar all the same.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his hair as he hugged her back, fighting the tears threatening to spill over.
Merrick only shook his head and held her closer, even though he was still careful not to press on any of her open wounds.
Gods, she loved him so much.
It felt as if it would choke her. It was as if it could drown out all else, leaving just him and her together in this mess that was their reality.
Even now… even finding out what she’d kept from him, he didn’t hold it against her.
The rage she could feel shifting within him wasn’t directed her way.
Lessia couldn’t help the sob that left her.
She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want to leave this world.
She just… didn’t.
“I won’t allow it.” Merrick finally moved, altering his position so his back leaned against one of the wooden masts and gently tugging her with him so she straddled him, his arms remaining around her as if he couldn’t stand having an inch of space between them.
“Merrick,” she started, but the look in his eyes made her swallow the words she’d planned to say.
The sharp darkness in his eyes was eerily similar to what she saw there when she became lazy as they trained.
Gently removing her arms from where they’d rested around his neck, Merrick laid her hands atop her thighs, and he spoke quietly as he pulled straps of fabric off the tunic he wore, using them to bind her bloodied wrist, then moved her broken bones into place—letting her take small breaths when pain shot up her arm before continuing.
“I won’t allow it, Elessia. I won’t. There will be a way. There is always a way. And we’ll find it. I promise you we’ll find it together.”
His eyes bore into hers.
“You’ve fought so bravely for so long. Please. Please just fight a little more.”
She followed the silver swirls within his eyes, relishing the sense of falling—the sense of freedom and love and safety—they always ignited in her.
“Please,” Merrick whispered when he finished, his hands moving to cup her cheeks. “Fight a little more for me?”
Lessia swallowed at the pain pulling at his sharp features—at the hope making the silver in the dark eyes before her glitter in the sun.
You and me.
She could see it so clearly.
