Page 75 of Sophie's Ruin
Would our life always be like this? A desperate attempt to cherish transient moments of calm before the next storm?
When I looked at Henry, I found him watching me, making me wonder if he was thinking the same thing I was.
Even if our life would always be like this, I didn’t care, I decided, as long as he was by my side.
35
Packing up my things felt strange but also liberating, because leaving the estate meant leaving the old world behind—the world where the vampires ruled over humans. Two nights had passed since we’d met with the clan leaders, and I still had to fight the urge to pinch myself when I thought about the outcome of that meeting. Even now, doubt crept in if this was truly my reality. Fear surged that maybe I was dreaming. Would I wake up and find I was still at Celeste’s cottage and Henry was still in captivity? I quickly dismissed the thought. For the past two nights, I’d woken up next to Henry, to his hard, magnificent body wrapped around mine. I’d woken up in his bedroom at the Duval Estate, not at the witch’s cottage in the Black Forest. Itwasmy reality. We’d won.
Blinking rapidly, I shook my head to clear my thoughts and finished shoving my belongings into the small bag I’d brought with me when I’d first arrived at the estate. Thankfully, I didn’t have that much to pack. I was leaving all of the expensive gowns behind, not anticipating I would need them once we’d found a simpler, less lavish dwelling. I’d also decided not to take any of my things from my father’s home. Those knick-knacks belonged to the old Sophie, not the new Sophie I’d become. As much as Iwished I could erase the past few weeks, a small part of me knew that I wouldn’t, even if I could. They’d made me who I was today. Still broken, but healing. Flawless on the outside, but fractured on the inside.
My close brush with the darkness had revealed I was susceptible to it, probably more so than most because I was both, a vampire and a witch. But it had also proven that I could overcome it, albeit with Henry’s help, but overcome it, nonetheless. I didn’t see my dependence on him as a weakness. As much as I depended on him, he depended on me. We chose to depend on each other. It was us against the world. I hoped the new world would be kind to us. But even if it wasn’t, we would face the challenges and persevere. Together, we were unstoppable.
Forcing myself out of my thoughts again, I looked around the bare bedroom. It had never gotten the “lived-in” look because of my short time here, but I knew I’d miss it all the same. A smile tugged at my lips as the memories from my first night here invaded my mind. I could see a phantom image of me propped against the low dresser with Henry towering over me. I’d held a wooden dagger to his chest then, threatening his life. Not even in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that his life would become the most precious to me.
Lifting my eyes to the ceiling, I listened to him move about in his bedroom upstairs. My smile grew as warmth blossomed in my chest. I was beyond excited to start the next chapter with him. The past few weeks had been nothing but a prologue. Our adventure was only just beginning, and knowing that filled me with nervous energy but also great anticipation. Beaming at the thought, I grabbed the bag I’d packed and left the room, closing the door behind me with a soft click.
I quickly walked down the long hallway, my steps easy and light. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so unburdenedand carefree. Even after I’d defeated the Dark Witches, I hadn’t let myself relax and revel in the victory because there had been so much uncertainty about the clans. The future was still uncertain, and Damien was still on the loose, but after I’d looked the darkness in the eye and had come out on the other side because Henry had fought for me, I knew there was nothing we wouldn’t be able to face together. My mind was clear, and my heart was full of love and hope. I felt exhilarated and limitless, and it wasn’t because of the black magic flowing through my veins, but because of Henry and his love for me and my love for him. Nothing had ever felt so right, and I was soaking up the feeling, floating through the empty hallway. When I reached the foyer, Wren was there, piling up bags by the front door.
“Let me guess—all Isabelle’s clothes?” I arched a brow, my lips still stretched in a grin.
“Yes, and she’s still packing.” Wren huffed out a laugh.
“Henry’s still packing, too. I’m going to check on him,” I said, turning toward the grand staircase.
“Sophie,” Wren said, stopping me in my tracks. “Can I speak with you?”
“Of course.” I faced him again, meeting his pale-blue gaze.
He swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. His nervous look told me to prepare for a serious conversation.
“What happened in the past—” he started.
“Is in the past,” I cut him off.
His blond eyebrows flew up in surprise.
“I just want to make sure we’re truly able to put it behind us. I’m sorry for what I did. So, so sorry.” He cast his gaze to the ground and gave a small shake of his head. “The thing is,” he looked back up at me. “I wish I could tell you if I could go back, I wouldn’t do what I did, that I would choose death over working for the Dark Witches, but I can’t tell you that because I’m still not sure that I would. I’m not yet the man that I aspireto be. What you did to defeat the Dark Witches…your selfless sacrifice… I admire it, truly, but I’m not as brave as you. I’m selfish, and that makes me a coward.”
Speechless, I stared at Wren. Weeks ago, I would have called him weak and spineless, but I could no longer do that after what I’d been through. Perhaps the battle of good and evil Celeste had mentioned before did not only unfold on the realm level. The battle also took place on the individual level, in each and every one of us, regardless of the species. Human, witch, vampire—we all carried some darkness within us, some more than others. It was a constant battle to keep that darkness contained and not let it take over.
“I forgive you,” I told him, and I meant it. “So you should forgive yourself and keep working on becoming the man you want to be.”
A look of potent relief and appreciation washed over Wren’s features because I’d set him free—as much as I could by forgiving him. The rest was up to him. He needed to let go of the guilt. “And the selfless part?” I said, searching his face. “I think you just didn’t have anyone worth sacrificing for. But you do now, don’t you?”
Wren paled slightly, as if what I was implying was a new and startling revelation.
“I do,” he said low, as if to himself.
I walked away then, leaving him alone with his thoughts. As I climbed the stairs to the second story, another phantom image appeared before me. It was a memory of me from the night when I’d sneaked into Henry’s bedroom to search for the Tear. I followed the sheer silhouette down the long hallway, lost in thought. That night I’d revealed to Henry the truth about my mother’s death, and he’d learned that Vincent’s death had been my fault. He could have chosen to loathe me, to hold the grudge forever, but he’d found it in his heart to forgive me. More thanthat, he’d fallen in love with me despite my role in Vincent’s untimely demise. He’d chosen love over hatred. He’d chosenme. He would keep choosing me for the rest of our everlasting nights. And I would keep choosing him. Always and forever.
I rapped my knuckles on the bedroom door and walked in. Henry was standing by the bed, a half-packed bag on top of the covers before him. His gaze cast down, he was looking at something he was holding in his hands. A picture, I realized when I approached. I stopped behind his back and peeked around him at the small portrait set in a simple black frame. His human family. My breath left me as I stared at the faded piece of parchment. Henry had gotten his raven-black locks from his father, who’d been tall and broad-shouldered like he was. His deep-blue eyes were his mother’s. She’d been beautiful, with long, wavy blonde hair and a kind, round face. He and his sister, Marcy, were in the picture as well. The portrait must have been painted right before Henry had turned, because he looked like he did now, a twenty-five-year-old man, and Marcy appeared to be about twelve, six years after they’d taken her in. The girl looked innocent and sweet, with golden ringlets peeking out from under her bonnet, framing her heart-shaped face.
A ragged exhale left Henry, his large body heaving with it. The energy pouring out of him was heavy, full of sadness and regret, but it was also mixed with love and wistful longing. Gently, I wrapped my arms around his torso, resting my head on his back.
“Where have you been keeping the portrait?” I asked quietly, breathing him in.
“In the bedside table,” he admitted.
