9. Shana

9

SHANA

" Y ou are kidding," I say.

The shock of his words has left me feeling numb. I'm having a hard time processing his words. This is a complete one-eighty from where we just were. What did that crippled Zmaj say to him that caused this?

"Shana," he says. "You do not understand how dangerous this is."

"You think I don't? Why do you think I don't want you to go?"

He frowns, shakes his head, and shrugs.

"I will be fine," he says.

"You do not know that. Besides I need to—" I cut myself off.

I almost blurted it out. What is wrong with me?

"Need to?" he asks, his eyes narrowing.

I panic, cold sweat drenching my body, and I take a step back.

"Nothing," I say. "It's nothing."

Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm not ready. I can't tell him. He'll reject me. He'll hate me. It will be just like my mother. If my own mother was that way, how can he…

"Shana," he says, putting a hand on my arm. "Please."

The note of begging in his voice is almost more than I can stand. I can't meet his eyes. Shame follows the panic. I am dirty and wrong and not a good person. I jerk free of his hand, turning away as tears fill my eyes. I cross my arms and hug myself tight, unable to hold them back.

"Go," I order him. "Go. But you better come back. You hear me? You come back."

Please come back.

I can't say the last words. They won't go past the lump in my throat. My head is pounding, and the tears are falling. I've always considered myself strong and able to keep my attention focused on the right now, but this is more than I can stand. The memories of what happened before seem to be blending with the now.

His leaving is mixing with my mom leaving me when I needed her most. That seems to be the key. I need him, here with me, and he's leaving.

He doesn't know.

I don't care! I shout at the rational voice in my head. He should know. Should somehow have perceived the truth that I haven't had the strength of will to tell him. He should know and then he would stay. Stay at my side. Help me. Help me make the hardest decision in my life. One that I shouldn't make alone.

Feeling trapped between the present and the past I choke down the tears and run, but before I take more than two steps, he has me in his arms. I struggle but he wraps his well-muscled arms around my body, pulling me tight to his chest. His wings close around, shielding me from the sun and the view of anyone passing by.

I fight for a moment longer before I give in to his quiet insistence on being here for me. I collapse into his arms, wrapping my own around his broad chest, pressing my face hard against his cool scales.

I don't know how long he holds me, but it feels like both forever and not long enough at the same time. When my tears have run their course, I'm left empty, scared, but knowing that this is it. I've carried this far enough. It's time to share it with him and if he leaves, then that is what is going to be.

I ease my death grip on him and he releases his hold too. He closes his wings, and I wipe my face dry with my palms, not that it's really necessary. The heat would dry it in moments anyway, but it feels better. I'm sure I look a mess with puffy eyes and flushed cheeks, but I cannot do anything about that.

"Kosh," I say, pausing to clear my throat and try to steel my nerves.

He doesn't speak, waiting patiently as ever. The aching in my chest and heart is so painful I want to cry again, but I try to not give in.

What if he leaves? How do I make it without him?

I close my eyes and swallow, a physical representation of pushing away fear. Let it drop away. I can only control what I can. If he really loves me, like I think he does, then this won't stop us. If we're meant to be, we will be. If not, then I better get it over with and resign myself to a life alone.

My legs shake as I struggle to not turn and run away. My eyes and mouth are dry and burning. I move my tongue around trying to create some moisture. Kosh takes his waterskin off his side, unseals it, then offers it to me. Grateful, I take a sip of water, and then swish it around.

"It is okay," he says.

"You don't know that," I say, finding words at last, but they're not the ones I need to say.

He shrugs as he takes the waterskin back and reseals it.

"But I do," he says.

"How? You have no idea what I'm going to say. It could be terrible. The worst thing ever."

He frowns, his eyes narrowing, and his jaw tensing.

"And?"

"And?" I almost shout. "What do you mean ‘and'? You could hate me. Could find out I'm not who you think I am. That I'm a monster. That I'm… dirty. Broken."

The tears fall unbidden. I'm too close to the truth now and the pain is almost too much to bear. I have spent my life avoiding this very thing, this moment. Having to confront my past and to be so rawly, painfully honest with another person.

He crouches until his eyes are level with mine. He stares at me with a quizzical expression then his lips twist into a half-smile. He wipes my tears away with his thumbs.

"You think I am innocent?" he asks.

"What?" I ask, choking on the word.

"Shana, I have done many terrible things in my life. Things I regret. Things that bring me great shame. I am not innocent. No one is. Does that make us not worthy of love? Does that mean we cannot change?"

Shock leaves me empty and silent. I don't know what to say to that. I've been so focused on my shame and regrets that I never looked at it from an outside perspective.

"You don't know?—"

"No, but I also know it will not matter," he says, cupping his hands behind my head and leaning in until our foreheads rest together. "You are my mate. Nothing will change how I feel about you."

I sob as shame and relief vie for which one will come out on top. I haven't told him anything yet, but already he is forgiving me. His forehead cools my feverish skin. I close my eyes and breathe. Existing here, with him, letting the double red suns pound their hateful rays down but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because he and I are where we belong. Together.

"I'm pregnant," I say without thinking about it.