Page 66 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood
Harrow’s eyes reflect my sadness. It’s unbearable on him. “I can’t.”
His clipped response fuels my anger. “You’re the Prince of the Underworld! So do something. Prove you’re more than some shadowy stalker. Bring her back. Go back to wherever you came from andbring her back.”
Harrow is as silent as one of the garden’s marble statues.
“Bring. Her. Back.” I slam my hands into his chest. The dark glassy armor bites against the sides of my fists. “Don’t just stand there.Do something. Bring her back!”
“I’m sorry, little raven?—”
“I don’t want you to be sorry.” My fists pummel into his chest again. “I want her back.” The next time my fists hit his armor, my skin splits. “Bring”—more pounding—“her”—more blood—“back!” More pain.
When it becomes evident that my hands aren’t affecting him, I switch tactics. My palm cracks across his cheek, leaving a smear of blood behind. I slap him again and again and again. Red wells up on his cheeks beneath the bloody prints. He doesn’t fight back. Harrow doesn’t even attempt to stop me.
Does he think he’s doing me a favor by standing here like some lifeless sack of straw? Acting as my punching bag? His lack of retaliation only makes my blood boil hotter. Iwantto fight. Ineedsomeone to tell me to stop and calm down or to meet me head-on. Anger is better than sadness. If I don’t have an outlet, a distraction, I’ll have to face this for what it is.
“Fucking coward!” I grit my teeth so hard there’s a crack somewhere deep in my jawbone. I slap him again, but the fire is draining from me.No. If it goes out, I’ll be nothing. Just a pile of empty lost ashes at the mercy of the wind. I need the flame.
Harrow stares down at me. “Seeing you this sad is the worst thing I’ve ever had to witness. Worse than torture, worse than endless darkness. The brokenness in you is spreading into parts of me that only exist because of you, shattering them in solidarity.”
The aching emptiness his words trigger splits open the flimsy defensive wall that guards my emotions. It was once so strong, an iron fortress of protection. Years of tragedy have eroded it like perpetual waves against stone.
I cover my face as the tears pour from my swollen eyes. The sounds of rain pattering against feathers and muted thunder continue outside the wall of wings encircling me.
When I’ve cried myself empty, I look up at Harrow.
“Why did you do it?” My voice is a pitiful broken thing.
“I didn’t do this.” His voice is gentle. Suddenly I cannot stand to look at him. Rot and deceit beneath the face of a flower.
“Yes, yes you did. You told me you were Death.”
“I am.” The words are spiked with regret.
“Then this is your fault!”
“I don’t choose when it is time for people to pass. I just rule over the place where they all end up.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’ll never lie to you.”
I want to believe him. My hair flings water as I shake my head. “I can’t accept that. Bring her back.”
Harrow reaches a hand toward me. “Lenore…”
“Don’t touch me. Bring her back or get out of my sight. It’s your choice.”
Real, raw hurt stains his metallic gaze. “I can’t bring her back.”
Folding my arms across my chest, I turn my back on him. “Then I guess you’ve made your choice.”
“Please, Lenore.” His fingertips brush the top of my shoulder. I shrug him off. There’s too much pain overflowing in my veins. Hate is better than hurt. Right now, my hate is directed at Harrow.
“Don’t come back until you can give me what I want.”
The storm rages. For a moment I wish to take it all back and throw myself in his arms. Something stops me. Stubbornness, pain.
Harrow’s final words are just a whisper. “I’m sorry I can’t be what you need.”
