Page 128 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
I would drive him tobe there, the way Leiholan was.
It would drive him to danger.
“I can take it,” he whispers. “Give it to me, Wendy.” He drops my hands, his fingers cupping my face. He holds me like he’s afraid I might slip away—like he already knows what happens next.
I watch him with wide eyes. A pain-laced gaze.
“I’ll make it go away. Wendy, I promise.” Azaire’s hands slip from my face to my waist, pulling me closer, his body pressing against mine like he’s trying to merge us into one. “I’ll take the pain.”
His words are so tender—so hopeful. But he doesn’t understand that’s the very thing I’m trying to save him from.
Even though I long to lean in, to touch and hold Azaire the way I only can with him, I tug my hands away.
“I need to clean up,” I say abruptly, walking to the washroom.
For a moment, I stand dazed before the mirror, my breath shallow, the reflection before me almost unreal. Blood is smeared across my face, a cruel artwork etched into my skin. I hardly recognize myself, the sight too much to fully grasp, yet I can’t look away.
Harmonious globs of red are crusted to my skin.
They even cover my scar.
I force my stained gloves beneath the cool water, splashing a handful on my face, watching the pink water as it swirls down the drain.
This isn’t what I wanted. This is what I feared. I grip onto the sink to get hold of my destabilizing balance. The bathroom sways.
Being close to me is going to get Azaire killed.
I knew it from the beginning, and now I’ve gotten too close for comfort. There is no longer an easy way to walk away.
“I have been trying to tell you, Little Thorn,”the boy says.
“Shut up!”I finally scream at him—at me.
I need a clear mind. Not the boy.
Delivering a prophecy isn’t a one and done deal. Like all things with a Eunoia’s magic, emotional attachments heighten them. You can’tgivea prophecy without being, on some level, involved in its outcome.
If its outcome is the end of our worlds, I can’t drag Azaire into that.
The Weapon feels so small now.
Actually, it feels like nothing now.
I wonder how I’d feel about it if I still had that capacity. But I can’t see myself caring about a Weapon above the potential end of the universe. One that lies in the prophecy.
Maybe Pa did me a favor. He helped me find my focus.
As I step back into the room, Azaire picks up my hands. His touch is gentle, pleading.
I feel dazed. I feel drunk. My brain muddles in the same way Xander’s did when I touched him.
When Ikilledhim.
Azaire wraps his arms around my waist. He pulls me so close.
I love this.
I love him.
