The worst—best—part was that the shirt smelled like him. I drew in a deep breath, though I knew that wasn’t smart. His scent filled my head, sending me back to the last time we’d kissed. Heat thrummed through my veins, and my skin prickled with awareness.
“Are you ready?”
Grey’s voice dragged me from my thoughts, and I blinked at him, returning to the present.
I stood in his living room, right in front of the bookshelves. He’d just changed and stood at the door to his bedroom, looking handsome as ever in dark trousers and a sweater. His jaw was no longer slightly swollen, and his hair was damp from a shower.
“Yes. Let’s go.” As much as I wanted to spend the night there with Grey, the thought of the answers the book might hold got me moving.
We left the tower in silence, passing Miranda at the hostess station and the guards at the front door. When we were in the courtyard and alone, Grey spoke. “The seer mentioned your past as being important to this, but you’ve never spoken of it.”
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised to hear him mention it. He was right—I never spoke of it.
“That’s because I hardly ever think about it,” I said.
“Really?”
I nodded. “As a child, I became very good at compartmentalizing. It’s a useful talent.”
“I’m aware.”
I looked up at him, spotting a wry grin on his face. We were passing a brightly lit shop full of potion bottles. The lights from within flickered in his eyes, which were shadowed with misery, no doubt at the memory of his past. Of course he’d be good at compartmentalizing after the life he’d led.
“I guess we have that in common,” I said.
“What?”
“Pasts we don’t think of.”
“I can’t imagine yours is full of murder and terrorizing you’d rather forget.”
“It’s not. But you need to remember that you weren’t in control then.” We passed a coffee shop, the interior bustling with people who laughed and talked. It was a such a contrast to our conversation.
“I may have been controlled by the monster within, but it was still me who did those things. I bear responsibility.” I could feel the burn of his gaze, and I looked up to catch him staring at me. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, “What are you trying to forget?”
“Nothing as bad as your memories. Not nearly.” But still, I hated to think of it. Hated to speak of it.
Somehow, though, walking on the quiet street made it easier to face. There was just enough distraction to keep me from sinking into it, and I didn’t have to make eye contact, which helped.
“Tell me,” he said.
“It’s all very human and mundane,” I said. “Just a miserable childhood that I would like to leave in the past.”
“Yet, somehow, it’s connected to this.”
I sighed, nodding. He was right. If we wanted to get to the bottom of this mess, I’d have to revisit the past I’d done such a good job of suppressing. “My mother died shortly after I was born. Car crash.” Again, the ache that I’d numbed for so long. Being forced to confront my past made me face how much I missed her.
“And your father?”
“An alcoholic. Barely knew him, even though we lived in the same house.” I shuddered at the memory. He occupied the place of bogeyman in my mind, a shadowy figure whom I’d forced into the closet.
“He sounds like a miserable bastard.”
“He was. Logically, I know that alcoholism is a disease, and part of me feels for him. He never got the help he needed. But then there’s the rest of me…the child that lived with him. That feared him…”
He reached for my hand, gripping it tight. “I wish I could go back and save you.”
The tiniest bit of warmth glowed against the coldness of my soul. “Thanks. But it didn’t last forever. I grew up and got out. Met Beatrix. Things were better then.”