Page 60 of The Trials of Ophelia
The wrong arm, stupidly. Because when she curled into my side, I winced, and those shrewd eyes caught it.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, pushing away from me.
Not in the Spirit-guarded hell.
I pulled her back. I’d spent too long not being able to act like I wanted to hold her—no way was I letting go now.
But she kept her narrowed stare on me, picking apart my tells.
I sighed. “I got hit today. The alpheous—straight to the ribs.”
“Tol!” She shot up, unbuttoning my shirt and pulling it aside with hands wracked by tremors so slight, others might not notice. She gasped at the mottled, dark purple bruise spread across my ribs.
Shit, it did look worse than I remembered. Maybe it was her worried eyes on it making the pain flare—another flaw I needed to hide.
Ophelia was up before I could respond, tugging her robe tighter and padding around the foot of the bed. “I’ll get Rina.”
“Hang on there, Alabath.” I grabbed her wrist, careful not to react to the flare of pain through my side at the sharp movement. She was probably right—I should see Santorina. But… “Sit for a second.”
I tugged her closer; her steps were reluctant. Angels, she was so gentle—a word I had never associated with Ophelia until I woke up in the infirmary. Grabbing her hips, sinking my fingers into the cool maroon silk, I pulled her closer again until her hands were braced on my shoulders.
“Tol,” she murmured, her eyes glued on that bruise.
Absolutely not.
“All right, then,” I sighed, and slid my hands down her body. Wrapping them around her bare thighs, I lifted her. She clasped my neck as she squealed, but I sat her across my hips. With her thighs bracing mine, I settled back against the pillows. “These smell good,” I said, sniffing the sheets. “They smell like you.”
She rolled her eyes. “You need to take care of this.” Touch featherlight, she ran fingertips over my bruise. She eyed it as if a look that searing would erase any pain I’d ever felt. Didn’t she know she did that just by existing?
“I will. After. Jezebel only gave me an hour, and we’ve already wasted time.”
“For what?” Her eyes narrowed.
I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, cupped her cheek. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay after everything today. You snapped those walls up pretty quickly out there.”
Her head cocked to the side for a second, but she shook it quickly. “I’m fine. Physically at least.” We both looked at the scar on her arm.
The scream she’d released echoed in my ears, and dammit, I never wanted to hear that sound again. I won’t, I swore. She’d never feel pain like that again. The images from my nightmares tried to rear up, but I forced them away. My fingers curled tighter around her hip as if they could sear that promise right through the silk and into her skin. Mark her with it.
“And not physically?”
She sighed and finally met my eyes. “I’m fucking terrified, Tolek.”
And it was the way her voice cracked on my name that tore down the rest of those shields she kept up for the world. Ophelia took coaxing, and I’d always done—would always do—that for her so she could work through the emotions she kept bottled up, too stubborn to lay them bare.
“Terrified of what?” I ran a hand up and down her arm, softly over the scar as if it wasn’t even there. Didn’t change a piece of her.
“Terrified because you all could have died today. Because two people did die today, and Seron will never walk again, and it was by pure coincidence none of our family was on that platform.” Her voice was rising now, words heated and torn. “And it was for me! You’re all searching for these emblems because I carry an Angelcurse. This—this—I don’t even know what it is because I haven’t gotten any answers!”
She was breathing quickly now, hands gripping my shoulders.
“We all knew what we were getting ourselves into,” I soothed. “We would never let you risk your life alone.”
“But I’m the one that’s destined for it,” she shrieked. “I’m the one meant to, so none of you should have to!”
“If you’re destined for it, then we are, too.” I kept my voice calm, not stoking the fire she was barely controlling. That wasn’t what she needed this time. Now, she needed to be tempered.
“No, that’s not?—”
