Lux (The Nocte Trilogy 3)

He’s hiding something.

“I can’t tell you. Not right now. It’s not a good time.” His voice is expressionless, solemn.

“Will there ever be a good time?” I ask. He shrugs.

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

I don’t like that answer.

“We just… I… I trusted you,” I tell him limply. “And I know you’re keeping a secret and I know it affects me. I can’t…I can’t.”

My heart is racing and I suddenly feel weak, and I crawl off the slippery rocks and walk quietly back to the boat without another word. Lately, I feel more and more like I’m the crazy one, like I’m losing my mind, like the whole world is composed of secrets and I don’t have the slightest clue how to figure them out.

Dare follows me and lifts my hand to help me into the boat.

The quiet between us is loaded and charged and I don’t know why. I don’t know why I feel like I’m standing on a precipice and if I make one move, I’ll fall.

When we’re halfway across the bay, Dare sits straight up.

“Let’s go to your little cove,” he suggests softly.

He sits on the hull, his shirtless chest gleaming in the dying light, his eyes vulnerable and hopeful and I can’t say no.

Instead, I just wordlessly steer toward the cove and wedge the boat on the sand. I don’t know why, I just don’t want to stay here. I have to move. I have to think. I have to try and stay sane, because it feels like I’m fraying.

I don’t know why.

All I know is… I suddenly feel lost.

Dare holds my hand as we walk through the water, to the enclosed little inlet that I so love. Without a word, I dig out the little bag holding the lighter and I make a little driftwood bonfire.

With the violet light surrounding us, we sit facing each other over a tide pool. The moon rises over the edge of the water and this place seems ethereal and peaceful and infinite.

“Do you trust me?” Dare asks seriously, his eyes ever-so-dark. He brushes a tendril of my hair behind my ear. “I mean, really trust me?”

I’m puzzled by that, by his uncertainty.

I’m scared by the hidden meaning of his words.

I reach up and trace the lines of his face, the cleft in his chin, the strong jaw, his forehead.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask finally. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”

“That’s not an answer,” he replies.

“Then yes,” I tell him quickly. “I trust you.”

Don’t I?

He stares into my eyes, his hands on my knees. “Would you still trust me if I told you that I want to tell you everything. That I want to spill all of my secrets, everything that you’ve been wondering about… but I can’t?”

There is genuine angst in his voice, and his face is pained and I can’t figure it out.

“Are you a mass murderer?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t work. His face doesn’t change.

“No. But there are things… that I wish I could say, but can’t.”

I drop my hand, stricken by the look in his eye.