Page 127 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
His hands rest on the back of my head.“I know, Little Thorn. I know.”
Chapter 25
You Missed My Heart
Now
B
lood sticks to my skin as I stumble through the halls—Leiholan’s mingling with the monster’s. I’m coated in crimson, and while every kid bats an eye, none of them are shocked. They think I’ve hurt another student, not a monster.
Somehow, that’s more comforting.
My body moves fast while I feel like I’m dying. I lean heavily against Azaire’s door, regaining strength before pushing it open and stumbling into his suite. He’s sitting in his room, his door ajar, already calling my name. I hear the concern in his voice more than I feel it.
The strength I stole from Desdemona withers away. I slump onto the couch.
Azaire rushes to me, dripping with worry, like the blood drips from my hands.
“What happened?”
Gods, I’m covered in blood. I stare at my hands. My trembling hands. My gloves stained red.
Without a word, Azaire wraps his arms around me. He pulls me into his chest, resting his chin on the top of my head as he strokes my hair.
I’m shocked by how close he’s willing to hold me with all this blood.
I push away from him. “Are you wearing it?” I scan his body, eyes landing on the amulet at his chest, tied with a strip of leather. “Never take it off. Promise me.”
Azaire shakes his head. “I never have.”
Mindlessly, I stand, pacing back and forth, my body fueled solely by anxiety.
Azaire rises beside me, taking my hand and pulling me into his room. “What is—”
“This was a bad idea.” I cut him off.
“What was a bad idea?”
“This.” I motion between us. “Us. I’m in the center of it, and I’m dragging you with me.” I look anywhere but at him—at the journal sitting on his desk, the neat pile of books in the corner, the closet opened slightly. “I was always scared of hurting you.”
For selfish reasons.
Fear of feeling that hurt, magnified.
I point to myself, clutching onto my chest as if I can break through and rip my heart out. “I want to be with you, Azaire, more than anything.”
Azaire grabs hold of my gesticulating hands, freezing me.
“Then be with me,” he says softly.
For a second, he steals my sight, and I nearly let myself fall into him—surrender. But the boy was right. He always has been.
I reclaim my focus, pulling myself back from the edge, doing what I came here to do. Doing what the boy knew I would before I did. “It’s not just emotions anymore.”
“What is it?”
He’s so empathetic. All I can feel is his longing to understand me. But understanding me would drive him right to the prophecy. The end of the world. The potential monster in Desdemona.
