Page 63 of A Drop of Anguish
I force a smile and allow a little spark of hope to well in my chest. “I don’t want to lose you either.”
He watches me, all while his drink remains firmly on the table.
“So,” I say, looking for something more to thin the tension between us. I pull out the three notes and set them on the table between us. “Here’s what I have.”
I swear Jarron is not breathing as he carefully picks up the notes and reads each one. He sets them back down carefully, every muscle tense.
He flexes his hands, fists them, and then sets them in his lap beneath the table. “What do you think?” he asks, feigning calm. “Do you think it’s the jinn? Or someone messing with you?”
I swallow. “Honestly? It could be either. I guess it’s bizarre to think the jinn would really care that much about me. Like is it really likely an immensely powerful being would care about a little meaningless human?”
Jarron’s eyebrows rise. My mouth dries. Right, uh, besides him. That’s different, though, right? We were friends. We grew an emotional attachment. To the jinn, I’m no one. “I mean, the only real connection I have to her or the games is that my sister died in them. Is there any precedence for this? The games specifically seeking the sibling of someone previously in the games?”
Jarron shakes his head. “I find it unlikely. It would decrease the security of their secret.”
“So, it seems more likely it’s someone in the school messing with me. I mean, everyone here knows I was involved in the games. Most think I tried to join them and you stopped me.”
Jarron frowns.
“It’s not a far stretch to think they’d try to bully me this way, is it?”
Jarron closes his eyes, his jaw tight.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“No,” he whispers. “I’m not going to be okay for a very, very long time.” Did his eyes flash to the bite mark on my neck, or was that my imagination? Either way, sympathy fills my chest. I hate seeing him like this. It’s incredible the difference between this Jarron and the one he shows to the school, now most of all.
To them, he looks like a dominating world leader, or even a villain. Powerful, determined, and sure of himself.
This Jarron is lost and afraid.
Part of me absolutely hates seeing him this way. Part of me feels honored to be someone he trusts enough to reveal this vulnerability. Mostly, though, I want so badly to comfort him. I just don’t know how. Now that we’re “friends”, where is that line?
I place my hand over his closed fist. A small, gentle gesture. His eyes snag on the place our skin connects and remain there. His shoulders relax, but I don’t get the feeling it’s out of relief, more like resignation. Like he’s giving up. Letting go.
I hate that too.
“I feel like so much is out of my control,” he mutters. “I want to burn down this entire school. Or hide you away for years until this blows over.”
I pull my hand away, and his eyes flash up to mine.
“No,” I state simply.
“I know,” he whispers. “I won’t do that. I know you need to do this. But every instinct is screaming at me to take you somewhere the jinn or Mr. Vandozer or those wolves or any one else here can’t even lay eyes on you.”
I want to ask him why he cares so much. Because it seems like such a foreign thing to me. But one, it’s not a fair question. And two, I suspect it’s just who he is.
He is loyal and caring. He chooses his people, and he will tear the world apart for them. The same way his brother tore down the entire arena to help him, even though Jarron is the only thing keeping him from taking the Orizian throne.
Maybe it’s a demon prince thing, this loyalty to a fault.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He tilts his head.
“Thank you for caring as much as you do.”
His lips twitch ever so slightly. “What the hell kind of fool was I to ever think that pushing you away was a good idea?”
