Page 64 of Whispers of Helena
Because if I do, if I let myself breathe, if I let my mind accept even a sliver of this, then the world as I know it will never be the same again.
Rage
Helena
Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.
Romans 6:4
Silas yankson his clothes with a fury that thickens the air, making it suffocating in the room. His hands move fast and rough, jerking his shirt over his shoulders like the fabric itself has betrayed him. I scramble to keep up, snatching my jeans from the floor and stepping into them haphazardly, nearly losing my balance in my rush. My fingers fumble with the buttons on my shirt as I hurry after him, my pulse hammering in my ears.
The house is eerily silent, save for the creaking floorboards under our frantic movements. Then, just as we reach the bottom of the stairs, a shadow stirs in the dim light.
Eli nears the staircase, his eyes heavy with sleep, his hair mussed. “What’s all the ruckus? You’re gonna wake up Kiran.”
I meet his gaze, my breath short, and I whisper. “He knows.”
The sleep disappears from Eli’s face in an instant. His spinestraightens, his eyes dart to Silas, then back to me. When he sees my face, realization jolts his features.
“Shit.”
Silas is already at the door, shoving his feet into his boots with jerky, forceful movements. He clenches his jaw so tightly, I can see the tension rippling through his body, his fury barely contained. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, only at Eli.
“While we’re out,” he grinds out, “start packing Helena’s things. She’ll be leaving at daylight.”
Eli takes a half-step forward. “Silas, I don’t think that’s?—”
“I said pack her things.” Silas’s voice is like the crack of a whip, final and punishing. “And make sure Kiran stays in his room.”
I tug on my boots, my fingers shaking, and glance back at Eli. His expression softens just enough for me to catch the flicker of sympathy in his eyes. A quiet apology sits there.
I force a small, tight-lipped smile. “It’s okay, Eli. Go pack my things.”
He hesitates, his gaze flickering to Silas, then nods stiffly.
Silas grips the doorknob so hard his knuckles go white. He pauses just before yanking it open, turning his head enough to look at Eli out of the corner of his eye.
“And when I get back,” he says, slowly, “we are going to talk about why this intruder knows where my wife is buried and I don’t.”
Then, he wrenches the door open and steps into the night. With my heart rattling my ribs, I follow.
Merriweather’s hoovesstrike the ground in a fixed rhythm as she moves, but my thoughts are anything but steady. They race, tangled and frantic, as I try to make sense of what happened. Why my veil dropped, why Silas saw me as I truly am.
I didn’t will it. I didn’t even feel it happen. One moment, I was Helena. The next, I was bare, stripped of the identity I had so carefully upheld. Then it becomes clear.
It was because we were making love.
The realization sinks into me like a stone plunging into deep water. No one warned me about this, but what else could it be? The moment our bodies rejoined, the moment I gave myself to him completely, the illusion shattered. We had become one again, and the lie I had carried collapsed under the implication of that truth.
My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out the sound of Merriweather’s breathing. It was never supposed to happen like this. I was meant to ease him toward the truth, not rip the veil away in the most intimate of moments. Now, he is raw with confusion, with anger, with grief. And I am left scrambling, desperately trying to find a way to make him believe me.
But no matter how I turn it over in my mind, I find no answer.
Because there is no way to prove who I am without him realizing what he is.
A shudder moves through me. They never told me this part…never warned me what would happen if he remembered too soon. If the memories buried deep within him clawed their way to the surface before his soul was ready to bear the truth of them.
I tighten my grip on the reins. If I push too hard, if I say too much, I could break him beyond repair. But if I don’t say enough, he will cast me out before I get the chance to fix what’s already broken.
