Chapter 16

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

“Ilona!”I yell, pounding so hard on her door my fists ache. “Ilona! Open up. Please.”

Mere seconds pass, but it’s enough that I slide to the floor, my body shaking as I sob.

The door flies open. “Good goddess, A. What is the matter with y—” She stops abruptly when she sees the state I’m in.

Oh no, oh no, what did that distractingly handsome guard do this time? I thought he was finally— Ilona’s voice rings out in my head, but I don’t care. It’s music to my ears.

I jump up, wrapping my arms around her and crushing her to me. I walk us backwards into her room before kicking the door closed.

Oh gosh, oh gosh, this is bad, whatever it is.

“You’re okay.” I breathe into her hair. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” The relief turns to hysteria, and giggles bubble out of my sore throat.

“What’s going on?” Her voice is higher pitched than normal, laced with concern, as are her thoughts. They flow into me freely, but I don’t mind.

I don’t mind.

I don’t mind.

She looks awful. Maybe I shouldn’t have left her alone.

“I thought Mother—I’m just glad he left.”

“Who?”

“Mother’s guard!”

Confusion crosses her features, her eyebrows pinched together. “There was no guard here, Astrid.” Stunned, I can only stare at her. “Please tell me what’s going on. I’m here for you.”

I sink into the plush white carpet, and she kneels beside me.

I knew she should’ve taken Cedrik’s tonic tonight. I should’ve ensured it. This is my fault. Please don’t let her lose herself like Enira has. What has that wretched woman done? Please, goddess, don’t let Astrid become her mother.

Words lodge themselves in my throat as I forget what Ilona said last out loud, distracted by her intrusive thoughts. Clutching her blouse in my fists, I beg her not to leave my side.

“I’m a murderer,” I whisper. The word rings over and over again in my head, mocking me:

Murderer.

Murderer.

Murderer.

With the admission, my hands release her, flying up to my hair, tugging on the short strands. Ilona untangles my fingers, grasping them on her lap instead.

Two innocent girls lost their lives at my hands—I killed them in cold blood. All for nothing. Mother lied about Ilona’s life being at risk. And now she also knows Ilona is my weakness and won’t hesitate to use her against me in the future. Beyond that, Ilona worries I’m losing my mind. Becoming like my mother.

I’ve ruined everything. Put everyone at risk.

“Stop… Please stop… Stop thinking… Quiet…” I mumble incoherently, trying to drown out her thoughts with my own voice. The extra life force I consumed seems to have activated Dash’s mind-reading powers within me. It’s too much all at once. I need it gone, but I can’t make it stop.

“Ilona turn it off.”

Please.

Please.

Please.

I’m not sure which words come out of my mouth or stay in my head, which ones belong to me and which ones belong to her. In my hysteria, they all bleed together.

Spots dance in my vision, and I try to blink them away. Ilona wraps her arms around me, saying something I can’t hear. I’m faced by an onslaught of her worry and fear. Things I shouldn’t hear because she hasn’t said them aloud.

Her pity is the worst. She feels bad for me. As if I’m weak and pitiful. As if I deserve her sympathy.

“Why does everyone pity me? Don’t pity me! DON’T!” I scream.

“Shhh.” She smooths my hair down on her lap and lets me spill more incoherent words.

It’s going to be okay.

When I’ve cried myself dry, she pries herself from beneath me and crosses the room in a flurry. I’m vaguely aware of her exiting into the hallway before returning with someone else.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Dash mumbles in my ear as he scoops me up into his strong arms. I burrow my face into the nook between his neck and shoulder. “I’ve got you now.”

Inhaling his woodsy scent calms me. It’s not enough to quiet my racing thoughts or slow my pounding heart, but it allows me to relax into his hold. He speaks reassuringly to Ilona before carrying me away. I can’t focus on their words. Don’t care enough to peek at where we’re going. So long as it’s away from the noise. Away from Ilona’s pity.

“Silence,” I say, nuzzling his neck. Warm, welcoming skin greets my lips, the few inches of skin not hidden beneath his leathers. His throat works as he swallows beneath my lips.

Click.

A door shuts behind us.

Clank.

A deadbolt engages.

Warm light filters around us as Dash clicks on a lamp, still cradling me like a baby against his chest. When he places me gently on a soft bed, I peer up at him through tear-stained lashes.

“I can’t hear you,” I choke out. Finally, it’s quiet. No intruding emotions or thoughts. Only my own sit heavily on my heart. A pathetic half-chuckle escapes my lips, and I’m hyper-aware of how deranged I must seem.

I take a moment to survey the room. It’s cozy, decorated in muted shades of grey with a dark rug and drapes—one of the palace guest rooms. His room.

I turn onto my side and curl up into a ball as he steps into the attached bathroom. Water runs for a moment before he trods back to me. There’s no pity in his eyes as he kneels beside the bed.

“I hate you,” I sob. But he’s the only one I can’t hear—can’t feel. The only one who can quell the waves inside of me.

“I know you do.” He brings a moist cloth up to my face, gently wiping away my tears and snot.

He hums a soft tune as he continues cleaning me, and eventually the distractions are enough to keep more tears from falling.

“You’re okay, Astrid,” he says, his eyes flaring with such compassion that my walls begin to crack. When he’s done washing my face, he sets the cloth aside and begins massaging my scalp with a tenderness I hadn’t expected from him.

He doesn’t ask me what happened. He doesn’t need to. The concern written on his face is enough to convince me he’s probably figured it out.

In the flickering orange glow from the lamp, his eyes turn to honey. Sometimes they’re darker, like damp soil, but in the right light, they appear almost golden.

“Gold is my favorite color,” I whisper, trying to think of anything other than the atrocities my mother forced me to perform. “It’s beautiful. Your eyes are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”

“You are beautiful, Astrid,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Even with the scruff growing out along his jaw—and the barely perceptible, ragged scar—he appears younger and more boyish when he smiles. Dash has his own stories, and one day I hope he tells me them. The realization that I want to hear all of his stories rocks me to the core, so I change the subject.

“Ilona got you.”

“She said you asked for me.”

“Did I?” I don’t remember that, but then again I was wailing and spewing nonsense.

A single tear slides down from my cheek onto the soft onyx sheets beneath me. Without hesitation, Dash reaches up and swipes the remaining moisture away with his thumb. He lingers for a second on the apple of my cheek, his thumb rough against the smooth skin. It’s a welcome feeling. My eyes flutter shut, and I revel in his touch.

Murderer.

I’m a murderer.

It’s my own thought this time—haunting my moment of peace.

“I killed them.” My voice cracks, barely audible.

Silence hangs between us as Dash glances away, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a thick swallow. For a second, I almost wish his mind wasn’t closed to me.

“Your mother killed them. Not you, Astrid.”

“No. I did. It was me. All me.” He doesn’t know I mean Gianna and Chancy. He thinks I mean the bacchanal sacrifices.

“Shhhh.” He runs a hand through my sweat-matted hair.

“She made me choose, Dash. She made me choose between two innocent girls and Ilona’s life. We never should’ve interfered.” I can’t help but think it would almost be better to still be under her control. Then I wouldn’t have this guilt bearing down on me. Drowning me.

I would still think I was doing what’s right, necessary even, for my people.

“You are strong, Astrid. Don’t let your mother’s crimes weigh you down.”

Mother’scrimes. I snorted. I chose to take Gianna and Chancy’s lives. Regardless of the circumstances, that was my decision.

“She’s going to hide behind her puppets now. She won’t give me another chance to get near her.”

Sniffling, I lean into Dash’s touch until his entire hand cups my cheek. Wordlessly, he crawls into bed beside me.

“Take those off?” I ask, gesturing to the daggers strapped to his sides. I’m sure they can’t make lying down comfortable for him. He nods once and stands. I had only meant for him to take the weapons off, but I don’t complain as he sheds everything.

When he’s left in nothing but his fitted silk undershorts, he slips back into bed beside me, pulling the sheet over us and adjusting himself until he’s comfortable. We’re sharing the same pillow and staring into each other’s eyes. He’s so close, the heat of his skin calls to me.

I’m emotionally drained and physically exhausted from everything I have endured during the past few weeks, today especially. There’s something comforting, intimate, about the two of us here in this quiet moment. I want to shed all my worries, if only for a little while, so I can exist without feeling the pain and problems that circulate around me.

“I can hear thoughts now too. I can…read minds, I guess.” It’s a weird thing to admit out loud, but if anyone understands, it’s Dash. Another secret between us.

His eyes soften at my admission. “Ah, so it’s the silence you’re enjoying, not my presence?”

Grinning at him, I shake my head, mussing my hair against the silk pillowcase. “Never thought I’d seek you out for peace and quiet.”

“You wound me, Princess.” He pulls me closer, and I snuggle into his chest.

“I don’t trust you, and I think I hate you,” I tell him. “But for a little while, can we just pretend?”

“That you don’t hate me?”

“That nothing else exists.”

He strokes my hair. “It’s only you and me, sweetheart.”

My body softens into his, and the sound of our steady breathing quells the chaos in my mind. Until another thought comes racing back.

“Your parents!” I panic, shooting upright, remembering Mother’s plan to imprison them. I look down into his face. We’re mere inches apart, and his breath is warm against my lips. Something deep inside of me stirs, aches to bring him closer until no space separates us at all. But I refrain.

“She took them,” he says, closing his eyes. His face has a pained expression.

“Cedrik warned me. I was meant to get to you before she imprisoned them. We were supposed to stop them.”

“You couldn’t have. She had them captured during the transference. Luckily she thinks I’m nothing more than a guard, one who is subject to her manipulation. It works in our favor.”

“We need to rescue them.” With the magic of the moment broken, I fill him in on everything that happened. I’m extraordinarily grateful when his expression doesn’t change when he learns the full details of the slaughter. Of my choice to save Ilona, thus dooming Gia and Chancy.

“You did what you had to do.” He cups my cheeks with both his hands, his face hardening. “You were born to be a queen. You are a queen, Astrid. And this is war—war against your people. We will not let your foul mother win.”

“So you don’t want my throne?” The jest is a cover as I dig for the truth.

He shakes his head. “Hell no. That was a backup plan I did not want to follow through with. We were hoping the princess was nothing like her mother so we could help her ascend to the throne. Why do you think I got assigned to your side? It was my mother’s idea. I never wanted to intrude on your privacy, but we needed to know the truth.”

“And?”

“Thankfully, you are the perfect person to watch over Hakran.” He smirks, and I scrunch my brow. It should reassure me that all of Dash’s supposed betrayals have had a purpose—and none of them seem nefarious. He doesn’t want my throne. He wants me to take it, like I’m supposed to.

I should be happy…yet I’m conflicted. Skeptical.

“Then what do you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“I find it hard to believe the Vannyks left their own comforts behind to risk their lives crossing the Insipid Sea to help my small island.”

“We are descendants of the Hakranians, you know. Many of the Stellari people have extended family who reside here.” With one arm bent under his head he leans back, stroking my hip with his thumb beneath the covers. “Over the past few years, Hakran has become progressively quieter. More closed off. Trades have slowed down. Much of our correspondence is never returned. My parents aren’t the type to rule with great shows of power or ego. They genuinely care for people, especially those whose voices aren’t always heard. They heard rumors about Queen Enira—the Dead Queen—and we grew worried. We came here together, hoping the rumors weren’t true but preparing for the worst. We were expecting to implement change if needed.”

“How did you know the falls would work?” I ask. Even though I was born on Hakran, the Paramour Falls lore wasn’t one I knew of until recently.

“Like I said, we’re descendants of the Hakranians. Davvinia and Anwyr were my ancestors.”

My brows shoot up. “You’re descended from a goddess?” Not just any goddess either, but the one specifically linked to Hakran and Paramour Falls. No wonder he knew what he was doing when he kissed me.

He laughs, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “I worry about the lack of education and history your damned mother has provided you. All of those with abilities are descendents from a god or goddess. It’s in our blood.”

“I mean, I’ve heard that, but I thought they were only stories. No one even worships the original goddess anymore. Not truly. We call for her blessings or curse her, but that’s as far as the acknowledgement reaches.”

“It’s been so long since the original goddess roamed that she has become a myth, and myths change shape over time.”

“You don’t think it’s possible we’re from the same—”

“Not likely.” He waves a hand, chuckling at my concern. “The original goddess created thousands of gods and goddesses. That’s how the lore goes, at least. It says the original goddess is the source of all magic and all beings, that she became lonely and created thousands of beings to keep her company, dispersing her magic among them. These lesser gods and goddesses continued spawning and are responsible for creating the humanity we know, including those with and without power.”

“Shouldn’t there be more like us then? Vygoras, myndoxes, aetheyns…even etheryns? Surely the handful of royal families, nobles, and royal laborers can’t be all.”

His expression is grim, his mouth a sharp line across his face. “There were. Many more. Before they were slaughtered.”

“By who? Actually, never mind. We don’t have time for that. Davvinia and Anwyr are your ancestors? So she forgave him for tricking her?” It was mentioned in the lore book that Davvinia was tricked by her mortal lover, all so he could access her power in hopes of achieving immortality.

“Not exactly. Davvinia loved Anwyr with all her being. He had only been using her, manipulating her for her power. She was pregnant when he took her to the falls and accessed her magic. Fearing for her unborn child’s life—a child he knew nothing about—she murdered Anwyr in his sleep. It’s said she later died in childbirth, as payment for taking the life of another god.”

“But he wasn’t even really a god.”

“No, he wasn’t technically, though he had Davvinia’s goddess magic running through his veins. Everything comes with a price.”

“What’s the price of power sharing?” I ask.

“Shared magic is fueled by love, nothing nefarious. It’s a very sacred thing.” He runs a hand through his shaggy waves sheepishly while I balk at him.

“Love?”

“Well, it’s assumed only lovers kiss beneath the falls.”

“Tell that to poor Davvinia…or me.”

He recoils, his lips pulling into a frown. “Astrid, I never meant what I said. I hated it. Hated hurting you, putting you in that position. If there was another way to protect you, I would’ve done it. But if I told you what was going on, what I intended to do… I heard your thoughts. Knew you felt the same way about me as I did you, even with all the bickering. I couldn’t risk you kissing me willingly and opening your power to me.”

“Would that really have been so bad?”

“Seriously? You never would’ve trusted me fully if I accessed your magic.” His tone drops into a low rumble that warms my insides, and his eyes search mine. “I want you to trust me.”

I turn my eyes to the recessed ceiling, afraid to look at him. Afraid of what I’ll find in his expression.

Afraid I’ll begin to trust him, though I shouldn’t. I can’t. He’s right though. If he would’ve accessed my magic, it would’ve been harder to consider his intentions pure. Though I hate how he did things, maybe there was no other way to go about it.

“You’re entirely stubborn, woman. You know this.”

“I do,” I whisper. And then a thought occurs to me. “Dash?”

“Yes?”

“If you’re adopted, how do you know the story of your ancestors?”

He inhales a slow, deep breath. “My real parents loved telling me stories of the gods and goddesses, of our own Hakranian ancestors, before they passed. They were amazing, from what I remember.”

“That’s really sweet.” I roll onto my side, placing a hand under my head as I face him. “I’m sorry you lost them.”

“Me too, but I’m lucky enough to have gotten two sets of great parents in my life. Some people don’t even have one good parent.” He winces, as if he realized too late that I’m one of those people he’s referring to. I reach out, stroking his jaw reassuringly.

“You’re right. You are lucky.” I’m happy he had that in his life. It must be an incredible thing to have parents who care enough to pass down the stories of their ancestors. I wonder if Mother knows the origin of our bloodline, if she even cares. “I still can’t believe you’re related to the Davvinia I just read about recently. Or that you’re attached to my favorite place on this island.”

“Maybe it’s meant to be?” A coy look spreads across his face.

I chuckle, and the carefree humor offsets the anger and sadness that overwhelmed me not too long ago, until I realize what he said about how the magic of the falls is fueled. “The magic of the falls and power sharing are sacred, linked by love?”

He nods.

“Dash…you tricked me into kissing you. Assaulted me.” Or at least I thought that’s what it was at the time. “Your intentions might’ve been in the right place, but what if it doesn’t matter. What if that is why my own magic is on the fritz?”

A frown stretches across his face. “I don’t think so. My birth mother told me quite a few stories of the falls. If there weren’t true feelings or intentions there, then the power sharing wouldn’t work at all. That’s how Anwyr was able to trick Davvinia despite his nefarious desires—because she loved him. In our case, I meant well. I meant to protect you. I think the falls knew and bestowed us with their gift.”

Sighing, I accept his answer. The falls shouldn’t have turned my magic erratic and uncontrollable. That means it must have something to do with the transferences. There must be truth to what Cedrik said, that I need extra life forces to keep up with the amount I gift to Mother. Perhaps that’s why I feel so at peace right now, with the extra life force circulating through me.

“Do you forgive me?” he asks, his voice soft.

I don’t answer because I don’t want to admit it out loud. That I do forgive him. That despite everything, all the reasons I shouldn’t, I might even trust him a little.

I grab him by the cheeks, and there’s no patience, no hesitation as I slam our mouths together, reveling in the way his soft lips contrast with the roughness of his stubble.

Unlike that day at Paramour Falls, I want this. If I’m finally being honest with myself, I’ve wanted this from the moment he opened his arrogant mouth to challenge me. Ever since I saw his infuriating smirk and that one sweet dimple. I’ve wanted this every time he’s been close enough for me to smell his delicious sandalwood scent. Whenever he looked at me with those gold-flecked eyes that somehow saw the real me beneath all the labels bestowed upon me.

Warmth pools in my belly, dropping lower to my core. His tongue parts my mouth, exploring gently. Deepening the kiss, I moan into his mouth as he leans me back, hovering over me on the bed. It’s a kiss, an innocent kiss, yet it’s erotic and intimate at the same time. We continue tasting each other, slow and sweet until we’re both panting.

He leans back when we finally pull apart. As he wipes his plump bottom lip with a thumb, his eyes trace my features as if he’s committing me to memory.

“Does that convince you how I feel?” I ask, my voice huskier than I expected. His smile stretches wide, and his dimple appears as he nods with approval.

I know it’s reckless to give into our urges right now. Mother is on the loose, likely assembling a defense against us. The Vannyks wait in the pit, needing to be rescued. Ilona worries in her room alone.

But for the first time all week, I’m okay. It’s the first time tonight I haven’t been going crazy under an onslaught of emotions and thoughts.

He pulls his shirt off, revealing a muscular chest, and I can’t stop staring at the glorious sight. The tattoo on his right bicep catches my attention, and I realize it’s a skull decorated with flowers and a line of words. I trace it with a finger as I read it aloud. “Love is the currency of life - Ayana.” Bitter envy rises inside me and I sit all the way up. “Wait. Who is Ayana?”

He closes his eyes, exhaling heavily as he rests his head against the headboard. “We don’t have to do this now.”

“What do you mean we don’t have to do this?” My heart twists. “Dash, who is she to you?”

When Dash’s eyes flick open, they’re moist with unshed tears. His voice is hollow when he finally speaks. “Was. It’s who she was to me.”

I freeze, not knowing how to respond. I had expected Ayana to be an ex-girlfriend or previous lover, but the look on his face alerts me to the fact there’s a more painful story there. I’m desperate to know more about him, but not like this. I wish I had asked out of genuine interest rather than jealousy and insecurity.

“It was eight years ago. We were barely eighteen. At the time, I felt so grown, like I knew everything about the world, but looking back, I was so young. So stupid.” A tear slides down his cheek, and seeing him so vulnerable shatters me. Now it’s my turn to reach out and wipe away his sorrow. “I was supposed to protect her.” His voice cracks. “It was my responsibility to keep an eye on her and I fucked up. She’s dead because I was distracted for a second. Just a second too long. One second is all it takes.”

I think of the time I ditched him on horseback, how he freaked out on me, and colossal shame chokes me. No wonder he was so adamant about taking his responsibility seriously—something terrible happened to someone he was supposed to protect, and he blames himself.

“I am so, so sorry, Dash,” I whisper. It’s an apology for what he lost. An apology for how immature I was when I made a joke out of ditching him, unaware of how sensitive the situation truly was. No words can adequately sum up my remorse.

“I loved her,” he says. “I loved her, and I failed her. She used to tell me ‘love is the currency of life. It’s the true magic of our world because the more you give, the more you shall receive. Make sure you spend freely and you will enter your grave a rich man, Dashiel.’” He smiles through his tears as he reminisces. “She would have liked you. She would have liked you for me.”

Leaning forward, I plant a soft kiss on his lips, because I don’t know what else to say. His lips taste like salt and heartbreak, and I wish I could take away his pain.

When I begin pulling back, he reaches up and grips the back of my head, holding me in place. Our faces hover only millimeters apart, so close we share breaths.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, because I can’t think of anything better to say.

He kisses my jaw tenderly before moving to my neck, leaving a soft trail of kisses there. “I vowed to never fail anyone like that again, Astrid, and I meant it.” His nips at my shoulder. “And I vowed to never stop loving.”

My hands make their way into his hair, gripping tightly as I melt beneath the gentle kisses he plants along my skin.

“Dash—”

He must sense the yearning inside me—I’m begging him to stay here with me a little longer to block out the noise, to save me, to let me save him—because he nods slowly in consent.

Placing my hands on his chest, I press his back into the mattress before swinging my leg over him. Straddling his waist, I lean in and kiss him. He grabs the back of my head with one hand, pulling me closer, while his other hand grips my waist, digging into my soft flesh as if he’s trying to restrain himself.

“Don’t hold back,” I whisper against his lips. “This is much overdue.” The luxury of going slow, of fully losing ourselves in one another isn’t an option. As much as I want to be here with him, dragging out this moment, it’s fleeting. We’re on borrowed time and I’m greedy for all of him.

My words urge him on, and with a grunt of approval, he flips me over in that signature move of his, pinning my hands above my head. Unlike the soft, tender kiss from before, these are the kisses of a needy, hungry beast.

And unlike the first time he was in my bed—when I kicked him out for taking control—I allow myself to relax and submit.

Reaching down with his free hand, he yanks my bottoms down to my knees in one fluid motion before freeing himself. His erection bobs out, nudging me in the thigh. I gasp at the feel of his bare skin against mine.

I’ve connected physically with many people, but not like this. Whatever this is, it’s brand new to me. We’ve stripped ourselves down; we’ve bared our naked souls to one another, and instead of running away, I want more of him. It’s as if I can’t pull him close enough.

He catches me off guard by running a finger up my slit, and I whimper at the sensation.

“Dash,” I murmur. I’m loving the way his touch lights up every single nerve in my body. His nearness, his teasing, the anticipation—all of these are almost as euphoric as life force absorption. It’s all-consuming. Exactly the type of pleasure I crave from him.

Taunting me further, he leisurely presses the tip of his finger inside of me.

“You’re so wet for me,” he rasps. Just as slowly, he removes his finger, bringing it to his mouth. His eyes hood with desire as his tongue darts out, licking my arousal off his finger. He hums in approval. “And you are absolutely appetizing.”

“Stop…playing with me, Dashiel Dargan…before I go back to…wanting to murder you.” My words come out barely audible, in soft exhales, as I writhe beneath him, begging for more. “Please—”

“Please what?”

“You.” I can’t seem to form a coherent sentence with the anticipation lingering over me.

“Me what? Say it, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”

“I need you inside of me. I need you, Dash.”

With a dark chuckle, he plunges into me in one quick move. I moan at the sensation, and he covers my mouth with his, swallowing the noise. My body stretches and adjusts to the new pressure as he nibbles on my lower lip.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispers, and I claw at his back, urging him on as I beg for more. “Shhh. Take it all.” He begins pumping in and out of me, picking up speed as my slickness assists him. We work frantically, as if we know our time is almost up and we’re desperate to wring everything from each other. My fingernails surely leave marks as I pull him close, wrapping my legs around his waist so I can take him even deeper. He groans, and it makes my core pulse with sweet satisfaction, my release imminent.

“You’re going to make me c—” I pant, unable to finish my sentence as he reaches a hand between us, running his thumb along my nub in sync with his relentless thrusts.

“There you go, baby, cum for me,” he says. “Just like that.” His dirty talk is my undoing, and I cry out as my muscles pulse, squeezing around him and edging him toward his own relief shortly after.

With a few strong pumps, he empties inside of me. I cling to him desperately, my heart filled with something I can’t name. Something more than simple lust. His lips find my throat, and he leaves a line of soft, sweet kisses up to my lips before disentangling from me. Reaching for the damp cloth he used for my tears earlier, he cleans us both up. It’s so gentle, so considerate, that I feel like I can’t breathe.

“I take a monthly preventative tonic,” I mumble awkwardly, referring to the concoction that prevents disease and pregnancy. I fill the silence more to avoid thinking about the weight sitting on my chest right now, crushing me, scaring me. It’s not bad, but it’s…a lot. I’m not sure I’m ready to name it yet.

Dash chuckles at my flushed cheeks. “That was irresponsible of me to assume, but I’m glad to hear it.”

Pushing up from the bed, he extends a hand to me, and I accept, allowing him to pull me to my feet. Swiping at my cheeks with his rough thumb pads, he wipes away the new tears I hadn’t realized were there, then smoothes my wispy hair from my face.

“A queen,” he says, looking at me with admiration.

A murderer, the voice in my head replies. After hearing Dash’s admission, I wonder if he hears the same voice, too. One day, I want to hear the full story. But it doesn’t seem like the right time to ask.

Instead, I ignore the cloud of pain hovering over us, and I smile up at him as we both set about getting dressed.

“Dash!” I gasp.

He smirks at me. “I love hearing my name on your lips, but I love hearing it even more when I’m inside of you.”

“No,” I say, brushing off his comment. “This is serious. We need to go get your parents.” I can’t believe we were so irresponsible and wasted so much time.

His face drops and he runs a hand over his forehead. “Fuck.”

“I know.”

“Listen, you can block out the thoughts like I do. I assume it’s similar to how you control your vygora powers—turning the abilities on and off.”

“I’ll try that,” I say, my voice sounding disconnected. Hopefully he’s right. “We need to go, now.”

As I walk past him, his hand flashes out, grabbing my wrist. In one fluid movement he spins me around and gives me a kiss filled with heat and passion. It’s like he can tell I’m struggling, but instead of reassuring me or pestering me to talk about it, he’s accepting it for what it is. Allowing us to simply be…whatever we are in the moment without any heavy conversations or expectations.

“I’m so glad you’re you, Astrid,” he says sincerely. His eyes flicker as they trace the lines of my face. “I’m so glad you let me in.”

Again, a chaotic mixture of emotion clogs my throat, silencing my reply. But beneath the stress and fear is something sweeter, something more comforting than the pain normally found in its place. I’m not ready to name it or acknowledge what Dash means to me.

Instead of responding, I walk out the door, knowing he’ll follow.