Page 149 of The Call of Crimson
Perfect.
She’s absolutely and unequivocally breathtakingly perfect.
The afterglow takes hold of my tongue, the words flying from my mouth before I even register them, “I never hated you.”
Breyla shifts onto her back, my arm still slung around her waist, so she can look me in the eyes. She studies my face, worrying her bottom lip as she assesses what she sees. “You already said that. Though I find it hard to believe, given our history, I trust you’re telling the truth.”
“I know,” I say, my heart soaring at her trust in me restored. “But it bears repeating. I have never, could never, hate you. All the harsh words of our past, cruel tricks and insults?—”
“Hey, some of those tricks were highly entertaining. Especially the time when I was the cause of your three-month dry spell,” she cuts in, and I slap a hand over her wicked mouth.
“It was six months,” I growl. “And you’ve been the cause of my pent-up… frustration for much, much longer, little demon.”
She gives me a look like she wants to say something, but I refuse to move my hand, needing to get these words out. “As I was saying… when you blossomed into adulthood, the pull I felt toward you grew unbearable. Everything I did to push you away, every time I hurt you or insulted you, it was all because I was trying to protect myself, and you, if I’m being honest.”
Her auburn brow lifts, urging me to explain. “I knew I couldn’t be with you, but I couldn’t stand being in your presence, not having you. Your father would have killed me for the things I thought about you. It wouldn’t have mattered that you were an adult. The male would have skinned me alive and left me as an offering to the gods.”
She licks my palm, grinning in victory when I finally pull my hand from her mouth.
“Did you have something to say, brat?” I drawl.
“I did, actually.” She smirks. “I wouldn’t have let him skin you alive.”
“No,” I argue, “You would have helped him.”
“I’m notthatbad.”
“Yes.” I chuckle. “You were.”
“Whatever,” she mutters. “I was going to ask if that’s why you told him that I was the problem.”
My brows furrow, trying to recall what she’s referring to. “What do you mean?”
“When I was perhaps fifteen or sixteen, I overheard a conversation you had with my father,” she explains. “He asked why you let me get under your skin and why there couldn’t be peace between us…”
I had many conversations with Raynor regarding Breyla over the years, but this one comes rushing back with clarity. A long sigh escapes me as I finish her story, “And I said you were the problem.”
She nods, the corners of her lips turning down. I see the hurt lingering in her gaze, and it feels like a punch to the solar plexus. Seeing her hurt by something I said makes it difficult to breathe. I never want to see that look on her again.
“How long have you been holding onto that, Breyla?”
Her green eyes break from mine, looking toward the ceiling.
Gripping her chin, I turn her attention back to me and demand, “How long?”
With a heavy sigh, she admits, “Only like ten years.” A half-hearted laugh escapes her lips, but the joke lands flat.
My fingers stroke her cheek as I whisper, “I am so very sorry that my words hurt you like that. I had no idea you were carrying that for as long as you have.”
“It’s okay, Aurelius,” she says, trying to shrug me off. “Really, I’m over it.”
“But it’s not okay,” I insist. “I didn’t realize you were listening that day, but that’s no excuse. They were thoughtless, cruel words that aren’t the full truth.”
“How so?”
“I hadn’t noticed you in that way, yet. But I still felt this force between us that drove me mad. Like I was somehow being both pushed and pulled whenever I was in your orbit. You were so damn bratty at that age, I just couldn’t process it all. So while you were part of the problem, the real problem was me. The lack of understandingI hadabout how I was feeling. Instead of facing that, I ran. I avoided you, pushed you away, and made you hurt instead.”
“So that’s why you volunteered for the position of Royal Emissary, why you were gone so often.”
