Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
He went very still. “How…how do you know when you find this missing piece?”
“There’s a few ways but the main one would be, um, the sensation that you’ve met before.”
“The recognition.” He froze. “The familiarity. You feel so familiar to me. You always have.”
“You too.” I smiled softly.
“So there’s an explanation for all of this? A black-and-white reason you’ve become every-fucking-thing to me, yet…I don’t even know your favourite colour, favourite fruit, favourite memory?”
“Gold, dragon fruit, and my brother finding me on the steps of the hospital—not that that’s a memory but a story my family has told me over and over again. And yes…I’m sure there’s a reason we met. An explanation for why it’s so strong between us. Why I feel safe with you even though we’re surrounded by danger.”
A few moments ticked past before he murmured, “I’d like to meet your brother.” He nuzzled my nose with his. “He’s the reason you have the worst/best name I’ve ever heard.”
Tears shot up my spine at the thought of Henri going home with me. Of walking into my family’s house. Of saying hello to Krish. “One day.” I swallowed back stinging hope. “Hopefully, you can meet them one day. My parents are the most wonderful people. Our community so caring. I come from a large group of families—some related, some not, yet we all look out for one another. You’d probably be overwhelmed if I’m honest.”
He huffed. “Your dad will probably take one look at me and kill me on the spot.”
“Lucky for you, my dad is Buddhist, and killing is against our philosophy.” I toyed with the sprigs of black hair between his pecs. “He won’t even kill the tiniest bug. He gives water to the smallest cricket. He’s the wisest, kindest man I know.”
“And I’ve killed four men, so what does that make me?”
“Protective.” I ran my finger over his bottom lip. “Prepared to do whatever it takes to keep me safe.”
He licked my fingertip. “And I failed you in so many ways. Failed Peter and all the others…I’ll never be able to change that.”
“No, you can’t. But you can help us now.”
The air grew static with unsaid things.
Were we safe to do this?
Hidden from the cameras with our voices as low as possible?
The best privacy we were going to get but still so, so dangerous.
“Are you finally going to tell me?” he asked ever so quietly. “Tell me what you’re planning?”
“Not here.” I shook my head, fear creeping through me. “But…tomorrow. I’ll go to the jewel quarters at dawn before the Masters start summoning and speak to Peter. I’ll arrange a meeting for you two. He can tell you. He’ll have the most up-to-date information.”
“Where?”
“The kitchens.”
His eyebrows shot up. “The kitchens?”
My mind raced with what tomorrow would bring. Excitement. Dread. Fear. Hope.
“It has a dead spot in the recording,” I whispered. “It’s the safest place to talk.”
“Is that where you’ve been running off to while I was writing?”
“Yep.”
Silence for a moment before he said, “I went to check on the jewels a few times while Victor was away.”
“You did?”
He scowled. “Victor liked me enquiring about how he ran his home. I figured he’d like it if I cared about his jewels too.”
“So you did it for appearance’s sake?”
“I told myself I did, but…that’s not entirely the truth. I failed to save my own flesh and blood. I need to get the jewels free so I don’t repeat my past. I need to help…for selfish reasons.”
“Selfish?”
“I need to find a way to redeem myself.”
Snuggling into his arms, my whip marks twinged, and the sapphire scars on my thigh and hip already itched with healing. “Don’t beat yourself up for doing the right thing for shadowy reasons, Hen. You want to save them. That’s all that matters.”
“I want to scar you again even though I know it’s wrong. What matters in that scenario? That I want to do it or that I know I shouldn’t?”
“I…don’t know.”
“I can’t stop thinking about cutting you. I’m hard just thinking about the blue lines on your thigh branding you as mine. I…I didn’t mean to cut you with the whip. I miscalculated. I thought I had it. I—”
“Henri.” I kissed him softly. “It’s alright. Dark thoughts are okay.”
He groaned. “No, they’re not. Not when I act on them.”
Shadows crept under our blanket with us. The familiar depression I’d seen him suffocate beneath settled in his eyes.
“Listen to me.” I grabbed his chin. “You are not your thoughts or your past. You are your actions and your present, okay? You cut me…yes. It hurt, I won’t lie. But…you’re not the only one turned on by the thought that you’ve branded me.”
“I’m not?”
“I love you,” I said simply. “The marks you’ve left on me will always remind me of that. When we’re out of here and living a normal life far, far away, I’ll look at that glittery H on my thigh and remember how much we overcame together, how much we fought side by side. It will be a talisman of everything we did and every game we played to win.”