Page 154 of Spark of Sorcery
I nod again. Dray grins like a maniac. Beaufort’s face remains neutral.
With trepidation, and for the first time, I peek at Thorne.
For once, his face isn’t neutral. His neck is corded, his jaw hard and his eyes … his eyes are swimming with hurt.
The sight of this man – so strong, so stoic, so damn hard – with pain like that in his eyes, breaks me. Tears prickle behind my eyes.
“Oh Thorne,” I gasp, reaching out towards him, then remembering and pulling my hands away. “Beaufort said … I didn’t mean … I would never …” My words fade away. I inhale and exhale, shame burning my cheeks. “I betrayed you.”
“No, you didn’t,” Beaufort says softly. “You’re his mate – just like you are ours. It’s what fate wants and we can’t stand in front of that – none of us can.”
I shake my head. “Thorne disagrees,” I mutter.
Beaufort and Dray turn to look at their friend.
The usually emotionless shadow weaver, screws shuthis eyes. His shoulders rise and fall, and then he opens them again.
“You haven’t betrayed me, Briony,” he says.
“Then why does it look like I broke your heart,” I cry out.
He looks a little startled at my outburst. A sad smile flickers briefly over his face, then fades away, and it has those tears in my eyes rolling.
“It’s not …” He meets my eyes. “It’s what I want. I want to kiss you, Briony. I want to touch you.”
We gaze at each other over a distance. A distance that feels so vast. A distance that neither of us can close.
“I know,” I whisper. “I want that too.”
The pain spirals in his eyes again and then he’s turning and walking away.
“Thorne,” I cry, rushing forward, but Beaufort catches me in his arms.
“Don’t Briony,” he says gently, “you’ll only make it worse. Just let him be.”
“It isn’t fair,” I sob.
“Nothing is in this life,” Beaufort says, holding me tight.
Beaufort lets me sob into his chest, wrapping his arms around me and gently shushing me as he glides his warm palms up and down my spine.
All the intimate things we’ve done together and none has felt as intimate as this. It makes me cry even harder because as I do, I realize I’m not just crying about Thorne, about this twisted situation, I’m crying about it all. The loss of my sister. The loss of my dad. All the cruel, nasty thingsMuriel ever said or did to me. How alone I felt. How lonely I’ve been.
All of it comes rushing to the surface and I ugly cry against Beaufort, leaving a wet mark on his shirt.
When there are no more tears to cry, he guides me gently to a chair, lowers me into it and swipes all the wetness from my face with his thumbs.
“Better?” he asks, resting his forefinger under my chin and tipping it upwards so I’m looking up into his face.
“A bit,” I confess.
“Want some ice cream? A hot chocolate?”
“Something with a bit more kick?” Dray asks, from where he’s watching us from the other side of the room.
“Ice cream, please,” I say. “I’ve never had one before.”
Beaufort pinches my chin affectionately, then pads away and Dray comes to sit by my feet.
