“I’m sorry, Sera.”
My eyes flew open, every part of my being seizing as I let go of my sweater. He’d lifted his head, and with his eyes on me, seeing me—reallyseeingme—it made his apology all the more unbearable. My skin burned hotly. My chest seized. “I don’t want your apology,” I choked out. “I didn’t tell you any of that to get it. I don’t want your pity or your sympathy.”
“I know.” He touched my cheek, his fingers damp but warm. “Breathe, Sera.”
I sucked in air.
“I could never pity someone as strong and brave as you,” Nyktos said. “But you do have my sympathy and my apologies.”
I leaned back, but his hand followed. “I don’t want that. Or need it and—”
“I know,” he repeated, his thumb coasted across my cheek. “But they are there in case you are in need of them one day.”
Raw emotion swelled so quickly that I had to close my eyes again, because if I didn’t, that mess of emotion would make itself painfully visible.
Nyktos’s thumb stilled. “I will go right now and end your miserable excuse of a mother’s life and take her soul into the Abyss, placing it beside Tavius’s, where it belongs.”
My eyes snapped open. “You can’t mean that.”
“I have never meant anything more in my entire life,” he swore. “All you have to do is say yes, and it will be done.”
I sucked in air as a terrible part of me lifted its wretched head. The part that existed beyond the veil of nothing, that hid beneath the blank canvas and was the fire that forged the vessel into place. The part of me that wanted to screamyesand revel in the knowledge that it was I who’d brought about her end.Me. The one who wasn’t even worth looking in the eye half the time. The irony was too sweet. Wouldn’t it be? For it was she who’d built that canvas and wielded that fire.
Nyktos waited, and in that moment, I knew he would do it. Not because he was fond of me or cared, but because he felt responsible. Guilty. Maybe even remorseful. Sympathetic.
I exhaled roughly and forced out, “No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. It wouldn’t be…it wouldn’t be worth it in the end.” I didn’t want her blood on my hands. I already had enough.
“If you ever change your mind, I know a guy who can get it done.”
I shook with a wet-sounding laugh. “Was that a Primal of Death joke?”
“Perhaps.” Several long moments passed. Neither of us moved. His hand was still on my cheek. Our eyes were locked, and the contact, the closeness…I soaked it in. Then he drew back and lowered his hand, and I missed his touch immediately. “You need to rest,” he continued before I could say anything. “And I’m not ordering you about. If you choose not to, it’s up to you. But your body needs it. Whether you want to admit it or not, the Culling causes everyone to weaken more easily, and you’ve already pushed past that once. The headaches will come back faster and worse than before, and you could go into another rest.”
“I don’t want that,” I murmured.
“Good. Neither do I.” His gaze tracked over my face. “The embers of life in you are very strong.”
“Yeah, I figured. You know”—I lifted my hands, wiggling my fingers—“I can bring people back from the dead and, apparently, summon them when I’m really angry.”
There was a slight warming in his eyes. “I wasn’t talking about either of those things. You were cut with shadowstone. That would kill a mortal. It would also kill a godling. Your skin and veins would already bear the mark of it, and what blood of mine you have in you wouldn’t have stopped it.”
“Oh.” My eyes went wide. He was right. I’d forgotten. Looking down, I yanked up my sweater. The cut was there, angry but no longer bleeding. “Wow.”
“Yes. Wow,” he repeated dryly.
A giggle crept up my throat, and that was totally the whiskey.
Nyktos smiled faintly. “Makes you wonder how else the Primal embers may be protecting you.”
Chapter 13
There was a padlock on the balcony doors when I returned to my chambers.
Obviously, that wasn’t to stop someone from taking me. It wasn’t necessary with the charm.