Page 63 of Architecti
“How long what?”
“How.Long.Have.You.Known.Who.I.Was?”She spits every word.
Oh.
She shakes her head and steps away.The space between us suddenly vast, and cold.
“Wait,” I say, and surge forward, though every rational cell screams at me to let her be angry.To use the situation to put much-needed distance between us.
“How fucking long, Lucy?Why wouldn’t you have told me?”
“Because I didn’t know.At least not at the graveyard.”
“Then when?”she snaps.
This time, it’s me getting closer.She rests her arse against the shelving filled with trinkets and bones.She’s furious, her nostrils flaring, and yet I still find myself stepping closer.
She’s seething.Heat simmers beneath her skin, but it’s pliable, changing.It seems to swing between rage and, and… lust?
I tell her the truth.“The morning of the Severance Rite.”
She shakes her head at me.“I hate everything you are.”
An urge swells up, my fingers twitching, my feet driving me forward.Midnight’s energy frissons with lethal vigour.But I ignore it and lean close, pressing my forehead to hers.
“You don’t.You hate my father.”
“No,” she says, and suddenly I’m spinning.My back slams against the bookcase.She grabs my throat with one hand and slides her scythe under my chin with the other.
“One swipe and it’s all over,” she says, but I’m no longer sure if she’s talking about my life or hers.
My heart hammers so loud I feel the beat in my tongue.I swallow against her fingers.
“Please don’t do this to hurt him.I just want to be free.Like you.”
“What?”she says, the hardness in her gaze faltering.
She releases her grip on my throat, her thumb rubbing gentle circles where I assume she’s left marks on me.
My tongue slides over my lips.Is it wrong that I like the idea of her marking me?
“What do you mean you want to be free?”Midnight asks.
I glance at the door, making sure it’s still locked.Gods forbid someone came in.Telling Midnight this is a risk.If anyone found out what Ignatius did, binding someone underage into a contract, his reputation would be defiled.And that is the one thing he won’t tolerate.Even Thalia guesses at the truth.
But I am tired of carrying this burden on my own.So I decide to do the unthinkable.
“You aren’t the only one Ignatius has locked in a contract,” I whisper.
She folds her arms, her expression thinning.“Say more.”
“When I was a child, he saved my life by forcing me into a contract.So you’re not the only one who wants freedom.”
Her head hangs low.“Trapped, just like me.”But her words are quiet, spoken to herself rather than me.“That motherfucker.”
“Let me help you,” I say, an idea forming.
“You can’t help me.I have less than a year until he reaps me.Finis and the Demonic Favour is my last chance at salvation.”
