Chapter 65
Well, little diary, if I don’t write again, I have most likely gotten myself killed in Zo territory.
Liha, knowing I’m protected, but silently cringing at Dae’s presence, leaves my shield, saying that wherever my father is—she wouldn’t tell me—he’s fighting off Gravera on his own.
“I can see her memories,” Dae says once she’s gone. “Now that she’s weaker.”
Halix is ordering my guards to get useful and load our car to go home. She plucks my black sword up from where I rested it against the wall in our room.
“Keep that by you. Stupid woman,” she hisses and shoves the blade toward me. I take it from her, and she stalks off.
“So, you saw where my father is?”
“I saw a lot.”
“Where is he?” As much as I loathe him most days, he is my father and—
“You desire to go to him.”
“No one deserves to be possessed! I could—”
“He’s too far gone,” Dae says softly. “He has been for a while. He’s staying away from you to protect you, and for once, I am on your father’s side.” There’s a pause before he adds, “Gravera will inevitably force him back.”
“But—”
Cold slithers around me. “Gravera is one of the highest goddesses in all seven realms, Nizzara. I am not letting you near her until you are healed and have a fighting chance against her. Besides, I am weak from hunger, and you’re leaving a fucking blood trail.”
“This is weak?”
His power is damn near bending the stone floor as I walk on it. My bandages, placed by the healers, are not dripping blood.
A dark chuckle comes through our bond, and it curls deliciously through my entire system.
We bore through the dark Megadome tunnels for the car as I try not to imagine the depth of Dae’s power when he’s at his full strength—and try harder not to think about the car door locking me in for the hour-long drive to the castle.
His dark swirling presence wraps around my trembling hand when the driver pulls out of the parking garage, and it doesn’t leave until my feet are planted on the ground of the castle garage.
Dae’s cool, ghostly fingers caress my cheek. “Your mental shield is down again,” he breathes, and I sense his blissful emotion surrounding me.
I trail my guards to my rooms, where Preysee and the castle healers will tend to my wounds.
Once they leave and we”re alone, he says, “You still haven’t returned for that book Soriah left . . . You’re afraid.”
I pull my mental walls back up. “I haven’t had time.”
Either Dae believes me, or he knows I don’t want to talk about it right now. Something tells me it’s the latter.
When I dress for bed, I admire my cuts and scrapes that appear smaller than before.
When I emerge from my closet, having dressed myself since Preysee hasn’t returned from helping Yisabell, it’s just Dae and I as I slump into my chair to read, effectively losing my mind to the words.
He’s leaning forward in the wingback chair across from me, elbows on his knees, while I study a passage in The King of Kings.
He’s opened and closed his mouth twice already, as if to say something. Finally, he says, “I was almost too late.”
I look up from my book. His brows are pinched in pain. “It’s fine, Dae.”
He glares at me like it is not fine. “You were two seconds away from dying—to protect Liha.”
Such awe in those hazel eyes—and utter rage.
I turn the page. “I’m not afraid of death.”
“You make no sense,” he says. “You are the most fearless little shit I know when it comes to so many things, but you are the most terrified woman when it comes to you and your power.” He points a finger at me when I open my mouth. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve seen it slip out of you multiple times. Why are you afraid?”
“I—”
I swallow, my hands becoming clammy around the binding.
After a minute of silence, he sighs. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
I shake my head. “Just give me a second.”
His gold-flecked, dark-green eyes roam my face, waiting, but my skin heats everywhere they linger, and warmth soon rises to my cheeks.
I clear my throat. “I feel like there’s a war inside of me. Two massive, colliding forces. One feels light. Like my desire to learn and protect.” I look away from him. “The other is dark.”
He sits in silence, allowing me to continue.
My gaze finds his once more. “The night my father wrecked the car was the beginning of his fall into madness. I do not fear death. That’s not why I shake inside a car. I fear living to be a monster. Because I am so much like him”—my voice cracks—“I don’t want power . . . because I do want it. I’m afraid if I touch it . . .”
“You’ll become like him.”
I nod.
“You’re not him, though. The fact that you worry about this proves you are different.”
“The only thing it proves is that I acknowledge my predisposition.”
He tenses in his chair. “You won’t know until you try.”
I glare at him. “It’s not worth it to me to find out.”
He runs his hand through his hair, clearly agitated, but Lo is right. I see the tell and it’s as good as flipping a switch. Warmth pools inside me.
He freezes. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he says.
“I will not go through with my betrothal,” I say. “I will either die in the ring or get my way and end it, you know.”
His body tenses, and his eyes narrow. “What does that have to do with anything we are talking about?” but his voice is thicker.
I close my book. “Absolutely nothing.”
His eyes darken in the best way when I allow my desires to get creative. “No,” he says.
I straighten. “You don’t want—”
He shakes his head. “I already told you, wanting is not the problem.”
“What then? My betrothed?”
“As much as I hate to admit it, he is the best candidate for you. He’ll give you a good future.”
When I answer with a glare, he rises from the chair and picks me up, gently cradling me in his arms. His dark, beautiful scent wraps around me.
Nestling his nose to my ear, he turns us for the bed, pulls the sheets down, and lays me on my pillow.
“And you’re injured,” he says before disappearing into a spray of black mist. “I hear your desires. Hidden beneath all of those traitorous whispers is one for sleep.”
I glare up at him, despite how comfortable my bed is. “That one is the traitorous one,” I say, a yawn stealing the end of my sentence.
He chuckles and sits on the bed beside me. “Sleep, Izzy.”
“I hate that nickname.” But the corners of my lips betray me.
A midnight laugh floats through our bond. “Sure, you do.”
“This is really about my soul, isn’t it?”
He crouches down beside my bed, bringing him level with my gaze. “It’s always been about your soul.” His lips tug into that smirk. “I just didn’t think keeping it safe would be harder than stealing it.”