Page 85 of Starchaser
We can have a future together.
He loves me. He’s finally said it—finally confessed his feelings for me. So then why don’t the butterflies in my stomach take flight?
“I—” I clutch my abdomen, my head light. “I can’t breathe.”
Will smiles, squeezing my hand. “I understand it’s a lot to take in—”
“No,” I gasp, “I can’t—breathe.”
Will’s eyes widen as realization dawns on his face. He cuts a glance at my corset before taking hold of the oars once more, rowing us back toward the narrow sliver of rock from which we departed.
“Just”—Will grunts, rowing us back to Castle Grim with surprising speed—“hang on.”
My head spins, dark spots edging my vision. I stare at him, almost dreamlike, attempting to piece together what he said. It sounded a lot like…
“Were you…” I wheeze for breath. “Asking me…”
He barks a wild laugh, the creases in his forehead deepening as he fights against the current. “Maker of All, Aster,yes.”
In minutes, he ties the boat off and grabs me beneath my arms, dragging me, half-conscious, onto the stone landing. He reaches for the front of my gown—hesitates.
“May I?”
It takes everything in me to nod, my head as heavy as a ball of lead.
Will rips the gown open with what feels like little effort, sliding it from my shoulders. I watch through a haze as he opens his pocketknife, slicing through the bindings of my corset.
The medallion clatters to the ground, and I gasp at the influx of air as breath floods my lungs.
Will rubs little circles on the small of my back. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
At his touch, my frenzied heartbeat slows, the fog in my head clearing as my breathing regulates. But as Will retrieves the medallion from where it fell, my pulse quickens once more.
His brows knit. “I see,” he murmurs.
I cross my arms over my chest, feeling as if my thick cotton slip might as well be made of lace. “Will—”
“Please, Aster, don’t give me your answer just yet,” he says softly, his expression somewhat pained as he slips the chain over my neck, letting the medallion fall to rest between my collarbones. “Wait here. I’ll go fetch you something to cover up with.”
Without waiting for me to protest, he hurries up the stairs, disappearing around the corner.
I allow myself a minute—one minute—of self-pity. If it weren’t for the Underling—if it weren’t for the Order, or the war, or sixhundred years of hatred between Nightweavers and humans—what would my answer be? It doesn’t matter, now. Without Morana’s blood, Will is cursed to turn into a Shifter. Even if we could find a way to cure him before tomorrow, I’ll never escape the Underling who’s marked me for death. No matter what, he’ll keep coming for me. I can’t continue to put everyone I love in danger.
One minute of self-pity. One minute of grief. One minute of hope. When the minute has passed, I bury those feelings along with my fear and fish my daggers from my gown.
With one last look at the staircase above, where in a few moments, I imagine Will appearing to find me gone, I make my way along the narrow ledge of rock, moving as quickly as I can toward the bridge to Jade.
I tighten my grip onthe hilt of my daggers, my teeth chattering as a gust of cool air blows through the underside of the bridge where I wait. In the distance, fireworks bloom over the rooftops of Jade, each shrill whistle followed by a crackle that sounds far too much like gunfire, causing my muscles to tighten with every eruption. I look to my right, where the boats appear like swans on the surface of the water. By now, Will has surely returned to find me gone. Will he come looking for me? Will he alert Killian and the others that I’ve gone missing?
I grit my teeth at the sound of gravel crunching underfoot.
“What took you so long?” I ask, injecting as much venom into my tone as I can muster as I turn to find the Underling leaning casually against a stone pillar.
His gilded eyes twinkle with amusement. “Oh, I’ve been here,”he drawls. “I just wanted to watch you contemplate your decision a minute longer. I thought you might still change your mind.”
My lip curls. “Break the compulsion.” My knuckles turn white as I clench my daggers in my fists. For the first time in my life, I know I’ve been physically outmatched. My daggers have no effect on him, my bracelet offers me no protection against his compulsion. He’s already in my head—in my blood. He can make me do whatever he wishes with merely a thought.
But he doesn’t. And I think I’ve figured out why.
