There’s no way they all don’t end up hating me for this. Definitely not as much as I’ll hate myself, but still.
My misery is compounded by the fact Laz is already gone when I get myself together enough to search for him.
I’m a disaster.
One minute I’m convinced I have no choice but to disappear, and the next minute I’m desperate to see his handsome face and apologize.
I’m not sure if it’s a gift or a curse, but we live in the same set of apartments. I can’t call it an apartment complex because it’s not big like the ones in human towns. It’s also not just one building. It’s a set of three buildings with four units—one downstairs and one upstairs on each side of the building.
Laz’s apartment is directly across from mine. It’s how we met. When I first got to town, I was lucky to find a place at all.
I hadn’t secured a job yet, and I was still suffering the effects of escaping Rowan. It took almost sixty years as his prisoner before I found a window to escape.
I took it and never looked back.
I’m still wanted by Autumn Court.
If I’d had access to Iron Ice, I would have made sure he was dead before fleeing, to ensure he could never do the same thing to someone else. Only he was healing too fast, and I couldn’t waste any additional time searching. Like all full-blooded fae, Rowan is truly undying. He’s not merely the anti-aging versionof immortal, like most shifters, orcs, trolls, and a few other species.
The only exception to that is Iron Ice. Behead us with it or use a blade made of it to carve out our hearts, and we can’t come back from it.
Rowan had Iron Ice somewhere. I couldn’t find it, but I know he possessed it.
It was what he used to torment me when I misbehaved. A few shavings blown into my eyes, and I couldn’t see for weeks. Inhaling it during one of his torture sessions damaged my sense of smell so severely that I never gained it back. Other times, he carved terrible things into my skin—things that took decades to disappear fully.
It doesn’t matter.
You got away.
My sense of smell was a small price to pay. I should be grateful it wasn’t my vision that he permanently took from me.
My hand shakes violently as I stand in front of Laz’s door, trying to work up the courage to knock.
I’ve decided the only thing I can do is to be honest with him about what happened to me in Faere. Maybe if I open up to him, he’ll understand the weight that still sits heavy in my chest. Having to verbally recall those events is what my nightmares are made of, but I will for Laz.
I think being transparent is the best chance I have of fixing things between us.
Knocking, I wait for what feels like an eternity, but there’s no answer.
Rolling my lips together, I try again, only firmer this time. I wait as my eyes well with tears, and eventually frantically pound my palm against the door.
“Laz, please. Just talk to me,” I say loudly enough that he should be able to hear me.
My sense of hearing is better than a human’s, and I don’t hear any rustling or noises that lead me to believe he’s coming closer.
Just to be safe, I plaster my cheek to the door and bang again.
Nothing.
My heart drops.
What do I do now?
Several hours pass with me continually popping off my couch to check the peephole.
He doesn’t come home, and it feels like I’m dying, even though I know better.
You’re not dying. You’re having a panic attack like the humans experience. You just have to regulate your breathing…
