Chapter Fifty-Two

With their mission restored, Kierse felt lighter than she ever had with Graves. Maybe with anyone.

"I truly thought you had left for good," he told her.

"You shut down as soon as you found out about Nate. I told you I would come back. I swore we would talk about this."

He ran a hand through his hair, and when he looked at her next, she saw that he was thrown off. That she had surprised him when he was not usually surprised. He truly had thought that she was never coming back. Even when she had been yelling at him and telling him she would be back, he'd immediately thought that she was like everyone else in his life. That she would abandon him. Right after she had finally let her guard down around him.

But of course, he had no idea how important that was. She'd never told him her past. She had been as closed off as he was. So closed off he'd thought that she'd leave and never look back. That was written all over his beautiful face. All because she couldn't share her own pain. As he couldn't share his.

"I will try to explain. I never talk about my history," he began. "You see, I was born a monster." He clenched his hands into fists. "On the day I was born, I killed my mother. Not a natural death from childbirth; a death from my being born."

"What's the difference?" she asked.

He met her gaze, wholly empty. "Giving birth to a warlock kills the mother. They can't survive the magic or the loss of it."

"Oh," she whispered. Then the realization lit in her mind. "That's why you assumed I was a warlock. Because my mother died as well."

"Yes. See, my mother was Irish and fled her people to be with my father, who they would never have approved of. She was the light of his life. He would have done anything for her. But when she died, my father blamed me for her death."

He glanced away at that admission. She wanted to tell him he was worth so much more than what had been done to him. She hoped he already knew.

"On the same day, King Henry VII of England died," he added. "He blamed me for that, too."

"That's absurd."

He nodded as if he knew it to be so and it didn't change the years of hurt. "It was. He died of tuberculosis. Something that I found out much later. It was just a lucky coincidence. Something for my father to beat into me for the six years that I lived with him." His jaw clenched. "Years later, I went back to my little hovel in a town that no longer exists to repay him for those years of kindness, but he was already dead." Graves's brows furrowed. "It was for the better. I didn't need his blood on my hands, but I'd never forgive him. You see, he sold me."

"Sold you," she said gently.

"Yes. Like a cow."

She'd seen and heard of terrible things in her days. Her heart ached for a child purposely sold by a parent. Kierse had just been left to fend for herself. She couldn't imagine the pain of knowing his father had done it on purpose.

"A merchant came through our village right after my sixth birthday. He gave my father a pittance and took me away. I lived and traveled with the man for several years before I managed to escape." His eyes went distant. "They weren't easy times. It took another couple of years to find a way to get on a boat that would take me to Ireland and my mother's people. Because I thought surely they would accept me, even if I was only half Irish."

"And did they?" she whispered.

"They did. For a time." He met her gaze, distant and hurting. "But that's a different story." He let her see the man that was underneath all the bravado. As she had done for him. "So you see, it was from my father that I first learned nothing is permanent. The longest I stayed anywhere was in Kingston's company. But even then, two master warlocks don't suffer each other long. We moved in and out of each other's lives. No one who gets close to me lasts. They all end up leaving." He reached out slowly and took her hand into his. "I assumed that you were the latest in a long line of disappointment."

She swallowed. "You assumed wrong."

He was silent for a beat before saying, "I did."

And then Graves leaned forward, fitting his mouth to hers.

Kierse released into him. He tasted as delicious and inviting as ever. But as her magic wrapped itself around him, for the first time, she felt more than just his fire. She felt him.

The magic that made him so powerful radiated off of him—a pure golden light. Endless, boundless, eternal. It felt like infinity. And then underneath the sensation, she could smell it. The musky scent of leather and new books. Just as he had described and yet so much more. Those were base scents. His magic was more nuanced than that. She could breathe in the smell of the first snow of winter, rosemary, and a hint of tea. All were distinct, and all were distinctly Graves.

"You were right," she said against his mouth. "Your magic does smell like leather—and you said parchment, but I smell books. Like your library."

He grinned. "Yours smells faintly, too."

"Of what?"

"Spring."

She wrinkled her nose. "Spring? That's not distinct."

"There's this lake in Ireland. It's tucked away far from prying eyes, and in the springtime, thousands of wildflowers bloom. They're the brightest yellows and sharpest purples and darkest blues. The grass is so green it looks like a sea. Everything smells fresh and new. As if anything could be possible. That's what you smell like."

Graves kissed her again. Deeper. She felt herself drift away. Felt like she could let this moment happen. Let him consume her in a way no one else ever had.

But at its heart, she hadn't given him all that he had given her. She pulled back slowly, hating that she had to drag herself free of him.

"What is it?" His hands were still tangled in her shirt.

She looked down and swallowed. "I understand your story. About being given away, that is. I was abandoned on the streets when I was very young." Graves released her shirt and watched her intently, waiting for her to continue. "I told you that Jason picked me up when I was young. That he trained me to be his protégé. But that isn't all of it."

Graves tipped her chin up to make her look at him. "Tell me."

His command spurred her forward. "He wanted to teach me how to be a better thief and bring me into his circle. I learned everything I could from him. He was a great thief. Though, to his chagrin, I was better."

She froze up at the thought of what was next going to come out of her mouth. But his calm, steadying presence kept her together.

"Jason was... volatile." A harsh laugh escaped her. "God, why is it still so hard to talk about him? He was an asshole and terrible and unforgivable."

"It's always difficult to speak of those who hurt us most," Graves said softly as if he, too, understood her pain.

"Maybe that's it." She glanced down, wanting nothing more than to hide from Jason's memory forever. For him to never again hold this sway over her. "Because I was special, we were together more frequently. He treated me like... family. And you have to understand that when it was a good day, it was like the sun was shining on a summer afternoon. He made the world turn."

"But what about on a bad day?"

She shivered. "On a bad day, I was never sure if I was going to live or die by his hand."

Graves went deathly still. "He hurt you?"

"Hurt me?" She looked up into his eyes with a disquiet in her mind. "For years, I never knew which step was going to end up with a kind touch and which was going to have me thrown off a building."

"He threw you off a building?"

"To get over my fear of heights," she said. "He broke my arm once in three places. It was reset wrong. So he broke it again just to be sure I wouldn't have a disadvantage in his schemes. And all of his other guild members hated me for being his favorite." She laughed hollowly. "What I would have given to be anything else. The level of abuse that I suffered at his hands..."

She couldn't even say.

"Then Gen... Gen found me. She saved me," she explained. His hand covered hers, so strong, so comforting. "I'd wanted to find my exit from Jason and his thieving ring. He caught wind of my plans to leave. He was... let's just say less than pleased. I tried to run, but he'd been in this game far longer than I had, and he found me. He stopped me." Her voice shook, and her hands trembled. The harsh words were the truest ones, and yet she'd never said them before.

"You don't have to keep going," Graves told her, low and menacing. "I already want him dead."

"I have to," she forced out. "He told me that he was just taking back what was his. That he owned me and that I could never leave. That he would kill me before allowing it. And he must have thought I was dead after he beat me to within an inch of my life and left my broken body in an abandoned alleyway." She hiccupped over the next word. "Even in death, there was no escape, no exit from him."

Twin flames danced in his eyes.

"And they call us monsters."

Kierse nodded. Men could be just as much monsters as the ones with claws and teeth.

"That was what I saw," he said faintly as if afraid of spooking her.

"What do you mean?"

"The one time I could read you, when you were overwhelmed with Imani's magic, I saw you bloodied up and lying in an alley. I saw what Jason had done to you." Graves clenched his hands into fists.

She gulped. "Yes."

"I didn't realize that at first. I wasn't sure why your brain was stuck on that image."

"Now you know," she whispered.

"How did you escape him?"

"I was mere blocks from Colette's brothel. Gen brought me in," she explained. "I was terrified at first that I would be forced to work in the brothel or run jobs for people. That every person I came in contact with was only being nice to me as a ruse before they would hurt me." A long breath escaped her lips. "But that wasn't the case. That wasn't Gen. It took me a long time to figure it out, but she was always just my friend. She helped me heal."

"And where is Jason now?" Graves asked with deathly quiet.

She shook her head. "Dead, I think. I stuck a knife in him." She looked down at her hands, picking at her nails. "He should have suffered more, but when I went for my revenge, I took what I could get."

"Good," Graves said, slowly removing his gloves. "I wouldn't have been able to suffer him being alive. I would have killed him myself."

"His death belonged to me," she told him, brushing back her hair with trembling hands. "It's why I have trouble with accepting comfort, accepting any sort of actual intimacy." She took a deep breath before adding, "It's why I couldn't love Torra."

Graves went still at the name. She hadn't spoken about Torra since he'd held her as she cried in the subway tunnel. But here was the truth. The one even she hadn't been able to face.

"There wasn't enough left of me that wanted more than just casual sex." She looked up to meet his eyes, every ounce of openness on her face. "It's why when I came to you in the tunnels, that was... It was different with you."

"Ah," he said, swiping a tear from her cheek. His face softened. "That is why you couldn't fathom that I would think you would leave."

"How could I leave the one person I'd allowed myself to be vulnerable with? The first person I ever considered more with."

He cupped her cheek. "I see it now."

"What a pair we are," Kierse said with a choked laugh.

"What a pair, indeed."

Then his lips were upon hers again. She opened her mouth to him, letting his tongue slide across hers. His hands, his blessedly bare hands, came up to cup her cheeks, and she leaned into him. She wanted this. It wasn't a matter of just sex. This was so much more. She had confessed her darkest secret and revealed exactly who she was. And he still wanted her.

She wanted more than the sum of its parts. She wanted it all.

"Graves," she whispered. "I want this. I want to be with you."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

He pressed a kiss to her lips. "Come with me."