Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
“You’ve always been so secretive,” she observes. “I never asked because it wasn’t my place, but it didn’t make sense that Ares sent you to me that night. They have their own doctor, so I knew he was hiding something. I guess you weren’t just some woman they picked up off the street.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I admit.
That acknowledgement blankets the room in silence as we both process what it means for our friendship.
“Do you hate me?” I ask finally.
“I could never,” she assures me. “If there’s anyone who understands what it’s like to cross enemy lines, it’s me. When I was sneaking around with Ares, I was convinced my entire family would disown me if they found out. But by the time they did, I think they just felt sorry for me.”
“The uncertainty has been slowly killing me,” I confess.
“Well, I can’t speak for everyone, because I don’t know how they’ll feel about it. But I can promise you that I won’t tell anyone.”
“Really?” I blink at her.
“It’s not my secret to tell.” She shrugs. “I’ve known you for six years, Chantel. I’ve seen you at your lowest, and while I know that most of what Ares does is an elaborate scheme, I trust you aren’t part of that.”
“I’m not,” I swear. “And I don’t know why he did what he did today.”
“He’s definitely up to something,” she agrees. “He doesn’t show his hand without a purpose.”
I feel like she has a suspicion about what he’s planning, but my head hurts too much to think about it. Mariella seems to understand that, because neither of us has really slept.
“You should try to rest.” She gets up. “Cristian would want you to take care of yourself.”
“Do you think he’s coming back?” I whisper.
“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “But if there’s anyone who can do it, it’s him.”
I nod, and she turns to leave, but pauses in the doorway.
“There was one thing I forgot to mention about that raven in the lighthouse,” she says.
“What was it?”
“Cristian left the door open so the bird could decide when it was ready to fly.”
A hollow carves its way through my chest as I recall what he said to me after he revealed himself.
You weren’t ready then.
“I think he left the door open for you too,” Mariella croaks. “Just in case you ever found your way back.”
30
CHANTEL
At the thirty-sixth hour, I fall into a restless sleep, dreaming about ravens and a man with eyes as deep as the darkest ocean.
I move from one side of the bed to the other, never quite feeling settled. Time moves slowly when you’re waiting for a miracle.
At one point, I’m certain it must be morning, but when I open my eyes, it’s still dark outside.
Eventually, I slip into another dream, and this time, it’s so tangible, I can feel his fingers on my face as he brushes my hair aside.
Tears track down my cheeks, and I let out a broken sound as I call out his name.
“I’m right here, gattina.”
My breath stalls, and my heart pounds as confusion and hope war inside me. It feels so real, I want to believe it, but I’m scared to look. I’m afraid when I do, I’ll lose him in the dream and wake up to my empty reality.
But as I linger between both worlds, I absorb too many sensory details. The warmth on my face. The solid weight dipping the mattress beside me. The inexplicable feeling of his presence.
I can’t ignore them, and when I finally open my eyes, I find him sitting on the edge of the bed.
I blink, wondering if he’ll disappear, but he doesn’t, and as my brain registers this is actually real, a sob wrenches from my chest.
“Gattina—”
Before he can finish, I scramble up and launch myself at him.
He catches me with a grunt, and I settle onto his lap and press my hands to his face.
“Cristian—” My voice shatters.
“I know, baby,” he says roughly, wrapping me in his arms and cradling my head against his chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?” I choke on my tears. “It was all my fault. You were right there, and I didn’t touch you, and I thought…I thought it was going to be the last time.”
I’m not sure what I’m saying even makes sense to him, but I don’t think it matters. He holds me, offering his special brand of comfort while I cry it out. I don’t know how he always finds a way to make everything okay, but he does. His murmured assurances and the steady beat of his heart soothe some of the agony of the last two days.
Once I’ve finally gathered myself, I pull back to meet his gaze and verbalize the most pressing question.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m better now that I’m here.” His warm fingers trace the curve of my face.