CHAPTER FOURTEEN #3
As Evylin began to lower herself to the terrae, Thom quickly slipped his arms under hers.
“No, no, no,” he muttered, pulling her to his chest. He held her awkwardly, brushing the hair away from her face.
He kept whispering for her to breathe. She started getting agitated.
Why wouldn’t he just let her sleep, allow her to slip from consciousness to rest with the men she loved?
Suddenly, there was a rapid pounding, startling both Thom and her. Her vision was too spotty with sorrow and hyperventilation to see properly, but she heard Deckard’s voice. “What happened?”
Evylin’s heart leaped. She caught her breath, and the tears fell free.
“I don’t know,” Thom was saying as his brother crashed to the terrae, kneeling before them. “We were just sparring and—”
Reason fled Evylin, seeing Deckard there. She sobbed, jerking free of Thom to throw herself into Deckard’s chest and waiting arms. He embraced her willingly, drawing her closer to him. He was warm and solid, secure and tender.
Evylin couldn’t stop crying. She thought she might have even wailed in her grief. Deckard said nothing but cradled her against him. Her head rested against his chest, blocking out the rest of the world. It all faded into darkness and the gentleness of his embrace.
Time fell away as Evylin wept in Deckard’s arms. He stroked her hair, silent and reassuring as he patiently comforted her.
He smelled of the forest, of sweat and dirt and pine.
And though Evylin’s heart continued to ache, though she wanted to fall into the nothingness of never-ending sleep to escape the pain of her loss, she found her sorrow lifting.
She burrowed deeper into Deckard. It was as though he’d jumped into the water and pulled her to safety. The tears had stopped, and she could breathe again. She didn’t feel quite so hollow as before, the death of Hewitt not so potent.
Perhaps she didn’t need the Day Relic, after all.
Just the thought caused Evylin to go rigid.
“Any one of us could lose our lives at any time.”
What was she doing, taking comfort in Deckard this way? This was the role she’d granted Hewitt, the role he’d inherited from Ryen. And she’d lost both of them. She couldn’t let someone else become that for her. Not when their lives were on so precarious a ground.
Evylin couldn’t risk relying on Deckard this way. She couldn’t allow him to be her safety. Her reaction to him, to his presence—it was illogical. Thom should have been able to comfort her. She shouldn’t have needed Deckard to save her. Not if she was going to survive the inevitable loss of him.
Pulling back, Evylin drew in a shaky breath. Deckard let her part from him completely, his hands resting at his sides in the mud. She could see the caution in his expression, the concern for her stability and recovery. The light had faded, marking a great passage of time as she overcame her grief.
In the dimness, Deckard’s hair was cast more brown than red. His features were almost severe in the shadows. Yet, he was as handsome to her as ever.
Evylin hardened herself. No, she wouldn’t feel that way toward him. Not when he could leave her—not when she might have to face a world alone if he died too.
“Thank you,” she murmured emptily, not meeting his gaze.
“Always,” he promised.
Wetting her dry, cracking lips, Evylin scanned the empty clearing. “Where are—?”
“They went back to camp,” he said, not needing to explain why.
Evylin nodded. Her cheeks felt tight from her dried tears. A self-derisive smirk came to her lips. “I suppose I’m not getting the Relic back, am I?” she joked irreverently.
Deckard didn’t reply.
Waving a hand, Evylin sat back in the mud. “Don’t worry. I—I agree with you now. After that. . . .”
She stared at her hands, unwilling to finish the thought. Her fingers absentmindedly tugged at her rings. She pressed her lips together and released the rings, not liking the way they made her think about her husband and the men she’d lost.
Evylin forced herself to meet Deckard’s gaze. “It still hurts,” she admitted.
“It always will,” he said.
Yes, Evylin thought, it always will. And she couldn’t bear to wound herself further.
“I need time, Jonn,” she whispered.
His brow furrowed as though trying to understand what she meant.
Evylin worked to explain without being too blunt. “You were right. My time with the Day Relic . . . that wasn’t me. Everything that happened wasn’t real.”
Deckard’s chin rose, her meaning becoming clear.
Their kiss, her affection, her comfort with him—she wasn’t ready to be that person with him again.
“I told you,” his deep voice was steady, “we can figure out the future later. I will never rush you or require you to choose before you’re ready.
That’s a promise, Evylin. Take all the time you need. ”
His sincerity almost made his kindness cruel.
Evylin whispered her thanks, but the words felt empty.
Guilt tore at her already ragged throat.
She shouldn’t do this to him. He was everything good, generous, and understanding, and she could only offer him rejection and hurt.
No matter what came, whether they survived their mission with the Calders or not, they would never be safe.
There was no safety. And one day, Evylin would lose him too.
Better to protect what was left of her scarred heart.
Better to learn to live without him now.
Better to never love him at all.