Soul Fire (Darkling Mage 8)

“Yeah? Well, try to be in my place. It’s rough.”

I scoffed. “Aww. Poor little rich boy.”

He glared at me. “That’s unfair and you know it, Graves.”

“What’s unfair is how everyone just tiptoes and does things around me without saying so. What’s unfair is how people treat me like I’m too dumb and naive to understand why they do the things they do. Thea. Even Carver, once. Hecate. Now you?” I shook my head, tired, frustrated. “Just take your stupid helicopter and get out of here.”

Bastion reared up, taller than ever, his features as stormy as the dark gray of his eyes. “You can’t land a helicopter on a hillside, dumbass. I took a car.” As if that had been the most hurtful part of what I’d said. “Like I said. I don’t deal well with rejection. I like getting what I want. If that makes me a brat, then so be it.”

“You can’t just – just money your way around everything.” I knew I was being childish, but I’d meant what I’d said. I was tired of all the secrets, all the little machinations.

“Money is not a verb and you know it. And I’m sorry for wanting to make sure the Heart didn’t fucking kill you. Sorry for giving a shit.”

I planted my head in my hands, confident that a headache was coming on. “You know what? I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Wait. Don’t go. I don’t want to end the night like this. We should – ”

“There is no ‘we’ here, Bastion.”

He flinched and stepped back, almost like he’d been punched in the face. I hadn’t meant for my words to come out so harsh.

“Yeah?” he thundered, his face twisting with fury. “Well who even wants you, anyway?” Before I could react, he had his finger pressed into my chest, thrusting menacingly, his breath hot on my skin. “I’m sorry I ever fucking tried. I never should have bothered.”

“I’m – I can’t deal with this.” I walked backwards, not even needing to check for a shadow to step into, wishing to melt into darkness, to be swallowed up.

I shadowstepped then, entering the Dark Room with a destination already in mind. As the darkness consumed me, the last thing I saw was Bastion glaring at the grass where I stood, every bit a brat, yet every bit a Scion.

Chapter 22

The Dark Room was cold, as it always was. Its corridors chilled and stifled me. Yet all I could think about was how much colder I’d been to Bastion.

I was shocked, okay? Nobody tells you how to react when the dude who’s all but bullied you since the day you met straight up reveals that he has a – what was it, a crush? Infatuation, I decided.

I couldn’t set aside the way Bastion talked about his own frustrations, how he didn’t like not getting what he wanted. Impetuous bastard. But maybe it was part of how he was raised. I couldn’t hate him for it.

And worse, he said he did what he did to protect me. As I dashed through the Dark Room, as my footfalls came back to my ears numbed and dulled in the dead air of that black chamber, I thought back to my interactions with Bastion, shuffling every image, every conversation I could remember, like a deck of cards.

For just a blip, I quickly considered how I felt in return. There was nothing there, as far as I knew, apart from a competitive sort of fondness, the way you’d relate to a frisky brother, the friend who roughs and tumbles with you for fun. Sure, Bastion had been an ass at times, even taunted me to the point that I genuinely wanted to sock him in the face – but not once had he done anything to truly hurt me, or put me in a precarious position.

And I just left him shirtless and alone on some nameless hillside.

Don’t look at me like that. I panicked. But he could take care of himself. I needed to take care of myself, too, to take ownership of my decisions. More than that, though, in that moment, what I really wanted was a little TLC, to be taken care of myself, to be told that things were going to be fine.

That’s why I headed straight to Parkway Heights, the block of apartments where Herald lived. That was why I leapt towards the final pinpoint of light in the Dark Room, emerging in Valero’s reality right in Herald’s kitchen, which was warm, and smelled faintly of sugar.

My feet landed softly on his kitchen tile, still enough to make a sound. From the counter, Herald turned over his shoulder, eyes blazing with murderous intent, a huge butcher knife in hand.

“Oh my God,” I said, panting, putting my hands up. “It’s just me, dude. Just me.”

The monstrous look in Herald’s eyes faded, and he dropped the knife clattering onto the counter. He heaved in relief, his posture relaxing immediately, like a wild animal that knew it wasn’t in any real danger. He whipped around, leaned against the counter, folded his arms, and shook his head.

“We’ve talked about this,” he grumbled.

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry.”

“The last few times I almost killed you with some icicles through the chest.”

I raised my finger to interject. “Actually, the first time, it was with a full-ass ice sword. You almost stabbed me through the face.”