Chapter 37 #3
“Yeah, we’re fine. Thanks to you and your magical ring,” Archer said dryly. Kaia elbowed him in the ribs. “Ouch! I mean, yes, we’re in the tippiest of tip-top shape.”
The warped frame of the glass balcony door creaked open. Dawson emerged like a fallen god—bloody, bruised, but alive.
Relief hit her so hard her knees nearly buckled. Cuts littered his black shirt, and while she might usually have appreciated the glimpse of skin, the thought of one of those creatures getting that close to him made her fists clench.
His gaze softened when he found her across the room. He stalked toward her, scanning her torn dress and dirt-streaked skin for injuries.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Good.” He stopped just out of reach, close enough for her to see the tension coiled in his shoulders.
“Are you?”
“Fine.” He waved off the question like it was nothing. Dawson glanced around at the soulwardens tending to the wounded. “The wraiths have all been eliminated. Solflara was quite the asset.”
“ Finally , someone giving me the praise I wholeheartedly deserve .”
“She appreciates the gratitude,” Alaire relayed.
Dawson eyed the corner where they’d all been huddled. “What went on here?”
“Nothing,” they answered in unison.
“It didn’t look like nothing to me.” Caius scoffed.
“The Vallorian wielded powers she claims not to possess, fighting back wraiths to protect a group of humans.” His eyes drilled into Alaire’s, the accusation plain as day.
Not only had he seen her use the ring, but he’d seen her choose humans over his precious fae.
What else did he expect?
Alaire opened her mouth to refute him, but Dawson stepped forward—not quite between them, but close enough to shield part of her. “Stop, Caius. Tonight’s been bloody enough without us turning on one another.”
Caius’s glare could’ve melted steel, but he said nothing more. With a mocking salute to Dawson and lingering look at Kaia, he turned on his heel and walked away.
“He’s had his share of pain and suffering,” Dawson murmured in her ear. “You’ve become a convenient target for his anger. Don’t let him get under your skin.”
“What happened to him?”
Something shuttered behind Dawson’s eyes. “It’s not my story to tell.”
Alaire cleared her throat. “I need air. Come with me.” She threaded her fingers through Dawson’s calloused hands. He gave her a weary look but didn’t stop her. They stepped through the shattered doorframe onto the balcony.
Suddenly, the night sky lit with fireworks—a stunning cascade of light shimmering above them. Even the injured paused to watch, a poignant symbol of the fragile peace they all stood to lose.
Tonight had been a sobering lesson of their vulnerability, despite their success in networking with Elithian’s nobility and gleaning more information from Dexter and other noteworthy nobles.
Alaire leaned against the railing, jaw slack with wonder. She’d never seen fireworks this close.
Dawson stood beside her, hands stiff at his sides. Close enough she could feel his heat, yet far enough that she knew the distance was intentional.
Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything unsaid.
“You could’ve been killed tonight,” he said finally.
“So could you.”
“That’s different.” His hands gripped the stone balustrade.
“How is it different?”
He was quiet for a long moment, watching the fireworks paint shifting colors across his face. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “You want to know why I call you Firework?”
She nodded, taking in his profile lit by gold and crimson bursts overhead.
“Because you’re like them.” He gestured to the sky as another shower of sparks bloomed.
“Beautiful, fierce, impossible to ignore. You light up everything around you and leave me breathless every time.” His voice cracked on the last word.
He swallowed hard, jaw working. “And just like them, you’re dangerous.
One spark and everything I’ve built, every wall I’ve put up…
it all goes up in flames. And I can’t afford that, not after all this time. Not now. That’s how it’s different .”
Her chest caved inward, breath catching as if she’d been struck. The fireworks above blurred through tears she refused to let fall.
“Dawson…”
He squeezed his eyes shut, as though the way she said his name pained him. When he opened them, the walls she thought she’d breached earlier stood taller than ever. His mask of indifference snapped back into place. “We should go back inside. The others will be wondering where we are.”
“Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, you do this.”
“Do what?” But he was already stepping back, widening the space between them.
“Pull away. Shut me out. Like that.” She gestured at the distance. “Like what happened on that dance floor meant nothing.”
A crack flickered in his defenses—pain, longing, frustration—before he hid them again. “Maybe it’s better if it didn’t.”
His words eviscerated her. “You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I?” His tone lacked conviction, and they both knew it. But he still said the words.
“Look at me and say it again.”
He kept his gaze fixed on the fireworks exploding overhead. “We should go back inside.”
“Dawson—”
“Leave it alone, Alaire.” He raked a hand through his loose black hair. “ Please .”
The please shattered something inside her chest. She felt the pieces cutting her apart.
He never said please . Never asked for anything. And now he was practically begging her to stop pushing.
The fighter in her wanted to press harder, to force him to look at her and explain, to convince him to fight for them . But the exhaustion in his voice, the slump of his shoulders, stopped her.
“Fine,” she whispered. She was so, so tired. “But this conversation isn’t over.”
“It has to be.” He looked at her then, and the decision in his eyes was devastating.
The fireworks continued to burst overhead, but their beauty felt hollow now.
Somehow, it felt like this war was sinking its claws deeper into her with every passing moment, and she wondered if she’d ever find a way to break free.