Page 86 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
“I choose him—”
“Shh,”the boy cuts me off.“Allow me to hold you without the crushing restraints of a world beyond me. Let us just be here.”
I nod against his chest, leaning into him deeper. His breath pushes through my hair like the wind, and I hold him tighter. For better or worse, this is the single person who has been by my side for years.
For better or worse, his arms are my comfort.
After a while, the boy says,“Given your past, do you feel safe to be with him?”
“Yes.”I struggle to lie to myself, and the boy must know it too.“He’s strong.”
“Strength is not power,”he warns.
I look him in the eyes, the dark green swirling until it’s a muddied brown, and I clarify,“He’s powerful.”
Chapter 18
A Halo Wrapped
Around My Neck
A
zaire and I lie in his bed, his fingers wrapping around my gloves. He wants to take them off—it isn’t the first time I’ve felt it.
If the boy were around, I know what he’d say.
Don’t you dare.
But after the last night I spent with him, he hasn’t come back. Not even as a ghost in my head, a conscience of my thoughts. He disappeared with one last goodbye:“It is too painful to see you with him. Please return when the inevitable happens.”
I’ve been ignoring that goodbye. He told me he was clay for me to mold, yet struggles to believe in me. There’s no way to reconcile that your brain thinks you can’t find love, so I don’t try to.
It’s been a week with Azaire, of feeling almost close enough to touch him. Seven nights of indulging in one another’s pasts and futures.
Or lack of them.
It’s easy to see that neither of us know what we’re going to do next. And tonight, in his arms, the Weapon comes up, as it tends to.
“We wait for Lucian,” I say, hoping Azaire will let it go, that I can take care of this on my own. “He’s the person best equipped to find answers.”
Azaire’s eyes and fingers remain on my gloves. “I can’t do nothing. Not when I know it’s happening.”
Whispered words slip past my lips. “I don’t know how I’d feel if Ma weren’t involved.” Something about the lack of eye contact and the dark room makes me feel safe enough to tell the truth.
His fingers trace over mine—over the leather. “Yeah.” He nods absentmindedly. “I get it.” His eyes shift to mine. “Why can I kiss you but not hold yourhand?”
“Oh,” I sigh. Facing the dark ceiling, I hope that avoiding his silhouette might make it easier to just get on with it. It doesn’t. “Is Yuki coming back anytime soon?” I ask instead.
It feels like even my bones are frowning.
“Yeah, but not for a few hours.”
“Okay.”
Our hands are the conduits for our magic, everything we Eunoia channel goes in and out through them. Though any skin-to-skin contact with me is tricky. If I say the wrong thing, if there’s any small accident, the other person can’t deny me.
They are at my mercy. That’s what happens when you’re powerful, I’ve been told.
