Page 27 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
He grunts. “Because. I don’t want to touch you by accident. And I happen to like black.”
“But the mask? You do realize it’s unnecessary, right? I’ve already seen your face. I saw it the day you kidnapped me.”
He’s quiet. “Maybe for a second. But I don’t need you picking me out of a line-up, after this is over. With my luck, I’d hang for this.”
My heart falters mid-beat. I may not have known him for long, but bile floods my throat when I picture him dangling from a rope. “I wouldn’t turn you in. Not ever. Not after the favor you’ve done me.”
“A favor.” A sigh bleeds out of him. “Is that what this is?”
“Yes,” I say emphatically.
“Was your life really so bad?”
“Well, no.” My eyes lock on the flames without really seeing them. “Of course not. It’s just that it wasn’t my own. This stupid Mark is supposed to give me everything, but it’s never actually worked out that way. Mostly, it’s kept me coddled. Pinned under my family’s thumb. It’s wrapped me up in a nice, pretty cage.”
He swallows thickly, and I get the sense he’s gathering his thoughts. “I believe that. I believeyou. But being charmed has to be better than being cursed.”
I shift. He’s right, which is precisely why my discontent is so hard to explain. I sound ungrateful. Spoiled.
I am those things, probably.
But I want so badly to be more. I want the chance to grow past all that.
“Not,” Jack says, “that it’s a contest. Because I’ve thought a lot about what you said. About your life being artificial. And it sounds stifling.”
The concession reaches into me and lays a warm hand against my heart. “It feels that way sometimes,” I say softly. “But what’s life like for you? Being a Null?”
He makes a gruff sound of surprise. I wait, giving him room to consider.
It’s a question I never dared to ask Weston. Because, for all that I’ve spent ten years pining for that man, we never existed in easy closeness like this. He always came to visit Brendan, and though he lingered to talk to me in the library, or the hallway, or anywhere, really—wherever I happened to be that day—the interlude never lasted as I wanted it to. Brendan would always tug him away. I’d stick close to them, afterward, mostlyto negate Weston’s Mark, but he and I didn’t have many chances to speak candidly like this, alone.
Jack grunts. “It’s...hard to explain. And it’s probably different than you think, because I can deal with the bad things. I’m used to them now. It doesn’t bother me anymore that I can’t sleep through the night because my blanket’s always falling off, or I’ll roll over and sprain my thumb, or a mouse will decide to start chewing on my toe, or?—”
“A mouse?” My hand flies to my mouth. “Chewedon you? That actually happened?”
A low chuckle rumbles out of him, and I startle. It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.” I twist around.
He gazes down, his eyes a faint glint in the darkness. “What, you think my curse leaves me alone at night? Because it doesn’t. It doesn’t leave me alone ever. Andthat’sthe hard part—not that bad things always happen, but that I don’t know what they’ll be. Which direction they’ll come from. It’s like my heart’s always beating a million miles an hour. I’m just…on alert, all the time, waiting to see what Fortuna will come up with next. And that feeling always gets worse when I’m with people. Because then I’m dreading for them, too. Waiting for something to happen and for it to be my fault. And I hate that. I hate being a burden.”
His words slip between my ribs, sharp. Aimed. Is this how Weston feels? Like he’s always on the brink of something disastrous, and he’s just waiting to find out what? Like his mere existence is an inconvenience for everyone else?
It must be.
At the thought, my heart tilts on its axis. I miss him likehe’s been carved out of me, yet the fresh flood of longing rearing up in me feels...different tonight. Half of me wants the Null I left behind, while the other half wants to be right here. Because when I look at Jack now, my heartbeat stutters in nearly the same way it did with Weston.
Slowly, carefully, I set the brush aside. I rise up on my knees and brace my forearms on Jack’s legs.
A hiss skates in through his lips. His thighs flex beneath my touch, the muscles cording with tension. The firelight paints his shirt in shades of flickering gold.
“Bria,” he says, hoarse. “What’re you doing?”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. A layer of thick black fabric insulates my skin from his. “We’re not touching. And you don’t have to dread, around me. You don’t have to worry at all. You can just relax for a minute. Be yourself. Let go.”
A pained sound escapes him. His eyes flutter closed.
