Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“The fuck we are.”
Now it’s my turn to lean back, to smirk at her as she unravels the same way I did earlier in my office. This is childish. But I want to be under her skin and just as aggravating as she is to me. That satisfaction is empty, but I don’t care. I press forward well beyond any good sense. “You’re so angry, Grace. Do you think I’m not? But then, the most aggravating thing in the world is to look at another person and see your perfect mirror. Changing me won’t change how you feel. It won’t change you.”
She plants her hands on the table and rises abruptly. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Or what?” I see the answer in her energy—little pops of the threat of violence. Now is the time to turn us back to safety. I won’t. This is the moment I tuck my wings close to my body and let gravity take hold. The moment I embrace it, throw myself against the most basic law of existing: what goes up must come down. And when it does, it hurts like nothing else.
This moment with Grace is ugly and awful, but at least it’s real. If I make her angry enough to kill me? That’s something she’ll have to live with. Not me.
“Or maybe we’ll find out if you really do burn after all.” She’s practically shaking with fury. It’s a beautiful sight, though I don’t know what it says about me that I think so.
I don’t burn. I don’t feel much temperature fluctuation at all, courtesy of my skin. I won’t say that Grace is no danger to me, but I recognize that she’s taking an avenue that will cause no permanent damage and might make us both feel better. I doubt she’s doing it intentionally . . . but I am. It’s toxic, but I don’t give a fuck.
“Silas.” I barely have to raise my voice. I know he’s standing just out of sight around the doorway to the kitchen. I can sense him there, his curiosity and worry lingering at the edge of my line of sight.
He emerges a few seconds later, and I can appreciate that he doesn’t appear like he was eavesdropping. “Are you ready to eat?”
“I think we’ll skip straight to dessert. Please bring me matches, oil, and those lovely little marshmallow things you made earlier today.” They’re soft and gooey and should burn rather nicely.
To his credit, Silas doesn’t hesitate, though I catch more worry in his energy before he slips away. There’s no worry in Grace as I turn back to her. She has her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you up to?”
“One of the first times you ever spoke to me was to ask if I burn. Let’s find out together.” I lean forward, bracing my elbows on the table, daring her with my eyes to back down. “You might like the way I fuck, but don’t pretend you like me. Don’t pretend you don’t crave freedom from my presence to pursue your poor, dead mother. So burn me, Grace. Unless you don’t really want answers at all. Maybe you’re just as much a coward as I am. I’m your mirror, after all.”
18
GRACE
This godsdamned fool of a gargoyle. After the shit show in his office this afternoon, I realized he didn’t understand. I don’t have the words to make him. I don’t have the time. I sure as fuck don’t have the patience.
But then he comes here and throws my vulnerability back in my face? I didn’t have to let him in, even the smallest amount, yesterday. I might not have given him the full truth, but I didn’t have to confess even that much. Now I’m glad he doesn’t know everything about me and my family. If this is how he returns vulnerability, best not to show it at all.
And now he wants to use me to hurt himself.
Neither of us speaks as Silas comes back into the room with a small tray. He hesitates for a moment and then sets it on the center of the table between us. It contains an artful display of matches in a round container, a little gravy boat thing that appears to have oil in it, and a pyramid of fluffy square marshmallows. He walks out of the room without another word.
I’d like to believe this is a bluff, but I know Bram well enough now to recognize his lack of hesitation. The problem is that the man has no self-preservation. Which might mean that he’ll be fine if I follow through on this ridiculously risky path . . . Or it might mean that he’s about to die right in front of me. My fury burns hotter at the acknowledgment. He calls me selfish, but what is this? I don’t expect him to genuinely care for me—at least I don’t think I do—but this is so cruel, I can barely stand it. I should walk away. In fact, I will walk away. Right fucking now.