Page 67 of These Eternal Bones
“I had nearly gutted the estate, looking for this,” he offers, but it’s a quiet, near whisper. I’m not sure it’s meant for me until his eyes find mine. “Where did you get it?”
“The library.”
He just nods. “I had suspected the Nephilim of taking it.”
“We were friends.” A pang fills my chest; it makes sense now why he can’t stand the sight of me. I can’t say I blame him.
“You were inseparable. I hated it.”
I want to smile at that, but one won’t quite form. Like the muscles are atrophied. “It cuts off…”
I know why, I don’t need to ask. They fought, she-Isaid terrible things, and then died, leaving him alone again. God, for so long. Who takes care of him when I’m not here?
“You died that night, in the cottage. The Nephilim had returned for your things. I’d held him up, attacked him, so it took a great deal longer than it should’ve.” He swallows hard, like he’s forcing the words through his throat. “You went to open the door to let him in and tripped on your skirts. Such a stupid, silly thing to do. You just tripped…but when you fell, your head struck the woodstove. In a moment, you were gone. Your last thoughts of me…it was one of the hardest ones. You died thinking I was–”
“I died loving you. I was going to come back.”
His eyes pitch in pain, a single inky tear escaping.
“I can still hear the Nephilim’s screams as he tried to tether your soul to your body. I knew…I knew before I reached the cottage. It is a visceral kind of severing in my chest.”
My tears join the bathwater, disrupting the surface. Who knows how long I’ve been sitting here, my skin long gone wrinkly.
“You were thorough in your recounting in that life, a talented writer…”
The question hangs in the air; I just nod, my knees pressing into my cheek.
“How can you stand the sight of me knowing what you know?” It’s a broken, soft kind of question, but I know what it took for him to ask.
“Knowing how deeply I am loved? I suppose fine enough, it helps that you are pretty to look at.”
He chuffs out a shocked laugh, the sound gravelly and deep before he quickly sobers. “I’ve made a mess of things, my love.”
“I’d like to get out now.”
He’s there in an instant, a warm towel in hand, lifting me from the water and wrapping me tight. It’s not that I’m not…horrified by what I learned. It’s certainly not that the weight of it, what we lost...what was taken from us isn’t shredding my heart, perhaps it’s the detachment. A skill I learned at an early age, to separate yourself from the scary, upsetting things. Things you can do nothing about.
Perhaps it’s a naïve sort of surety in my chest that he won’t endure another. Maybe it’s because I’ve lived my entire life without him, and I feel robbed of every life before. The memories and smiles, kisses, laughs, and tears, they were taken from me just the same as they were taken from him. Maybe I’m tired of the emptiness in my chest, that I want what scared Imogen so much.
He tucks me into him, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head before he tugs off the towel to dry me.
I still my chin, a wave of rightness smashing past the self-pity and agony. I want him to know I can do it; I can bear the weight of him. Perhaps it’s because I’m tired of waiting and listening, obeying and skirting around the issue. Perhaps I know exactly how to force his hand. He stops abruptly where he’s kneeling in front of me, towelingoff my legs as I dig my fingers into the wet strands of his hair, tugging his head to mine, inhaling him back.
As much as I am his, he is mine.
We’ve lost enough time.
I won’t spare a moment more.
33
Names With Power
Molly
For the first time in what seems like forever, Elric sleeps, finally free from the weight of his secrets. It unsettles me at first, the way he looks when he’s gone to the world and not displaying any signs of life. There’s no gentle falling and rising of his chest, no tracking of his eyes. He’s cold, still as stone, and hard to wake. The latter of which benefits me greatly.
Despite his heavy slumbering, I don’t dare prattle around, snagging only my winter cloak. No heavy skirts, dresses, or wool socks to warm me. I don’t so much as hazard a breath until I’m in the hall, slinking into the fur-lined cloak as I rush down the stairs, keeping my eyes peeled for Tien. My hair is wild and frazzled. I hadn’t bothered to brush it after the bath. Elric laid me by the fire as he often does, innately aware of his lack of warmth. He lay beside me, tracing patternsalong my flesh with his lips. My core was soaked and aching by the time he hauled me up and put me to bed. Even now, the bare flesh between my legs is damp and throbbing, but that doesn’t bear thinking about.
