Page 65 of When Bones Whisper
“Fine, but hurting peoplefeelswrong and I won’t go against my instincts unless I am left with no other choice. Murdering Charles will not bring Alice back or undo any of the terrible things his family did to ours. It certainly won’t make me feel any better. I’ve done things I am not proud of too and yes, I justified them, but all I can do now is try to redeem myself.”
Something shifted between them and inside herself. She’d never spoken those words aloud before, but as she did, a newfound courage filled her up.
She looked at Nathaniel and sighed. His reason for inviting the Eringhorn family should not have appeased her, but it did. Even if they were wicked. It was also…touching.
By the way he stood still, hands in his pockets with a restrained tightness to his muscle, she just knew he was holding himself back. “Your kindness is terrifying.”
She jolted. “Why?”
“Because in such a wicked world, it will be the death of you.”
“Not if you have anything to do with it,” she mumbled, feeling a little better after breathing in the fresh air and being away from that packed ballroom. “You need me alive, and you are the strongest creature to walk this Earth.”
“For now,” he said, and glanced at the moon.
A sharp pain coursed into her hip, the necrotic infection from the bite so tender under the scraps of fabric of her dress. Wincing, she hid her crumpling expression by briefly turning and focusing elsewhere to distract herself.
Everything in the courtyard had been designed beautifully, from the way the statue's hands were positioned perfectly over rose bushes, to capture the blooming flowers in a bouquet, to how they were positioned so their expressions appeared different depending on where she was standing.
Or they really were shifting, and she was descending into madness. The more she stared, she swore she could see their stone smiles stretching.
With a shake of her head, and a squeeze of her eyes, she looked back at them, relieved to see they were unmoving.
“Do you like them?” Nathaniel asked when she fell into a comfortable silence.
Charlotte gazed up at the sculpture of a man on his knees, a jagged hole in his chest, stone fragments of his ribs poking out. In his palms was his heart. The statue was eerily realistic, so much so that her brows creased when she looked at the man’s eyes, clamped shut in pain.
“I see nothing but suffering,” she said, her gaze passing over each one.
“They are a depiction of my life.”
“I see none of your likeness, which is surprising considering how much you think of yourself,” she quipped and he almost smiled.
“Perhaps I am not as vain as you’d like to believe.”
Her lashes flickered in the icy breeze, heart softening. “Then you see your life through the eyes of others. Which is startling, as that would mean you have empathy.”
“Why would that be startling?”
“How can someone who feels the pain of their victims so often be the cause of it? Unless you enjoy it?” Her brows knitted together. “Like some twisted form of punishment.”
“You’re very observant,” he said in a deep, baritone voice. “I like that about you.”
“You do?”
“I thought it was obvious. I enjoy your company.”
It was, only because she’d felt like she was going crazy trying to decipher the spectrum of expressions, actions, and emotions she’d seen from him. “Yet, you want to kill me.”
“Two things can be true at the same time.”
Everything about him confused her. He was more than just morally ambiguous. There was nothing dichotomous about Nathaniel; he was good, bad, and everything in between.
“Don’t think I don’t see what you are doing,” she said upon noticing how he steered the conversation with ease.
“Please, enlighten me.”
“Every time I bring up anything intimate, like the statue's reflection of how you see yourself, you change the subject with a compliment.”
