Two more weeks.
In two weeks, maybe—maybe—the council will be dead. My sister will be free. And I’ll be able to let Jarron mark me.
If he still wants to.
It feels like too much to hope for.
Just the reminder that the lying and hiding is temporary helps me breathe a little easier.
Part of me wants to be annoyed with Jarron for how he continues pushing information about the war away from me. Like he doesn’t want me to know.
And if he’s keeping truths from me, then does that justify my hidden truths?
Or does it just make me a hypocrite for being mad?
I lie in Jarron’s arms, again barely able to sleep. The silky-smooth sheets feel sticky tonight.
“What’s wrong?” Jarron mutters eventually.
“Everything,” I whisper against his bare chest. His arms feel so good, but that’s more reason for my anxiety.
“Tell me.”
I swallow. “I’m worried… I’m worried that I’m going to lose you.” In more than one way.
“What do you—”
“I’m worried you’re more at risk than you’re letting on. That you’re in danger when you leave. I’m worried you don’t want me to be part of your world. I’m worried that the council is right and I’m just a replacement.”
Jarron growls at those words, but he doesn’t refute them.
I know he can’t, but that doesn’t stop it from being immensely frustrating.
Tell me I’m yours,I internally beg.Tell me they’re wrong and it was me all along.
I wish I hadn’t been such a stubborn fool six weeks ago when he’d asked me to let him claim me. I wish I could give in now and just rip the bandage off.
He wraps his fingers around my wrist and tugs it to his lips. He’s gentle as he kisses the pulsing veins. “I’m not above begging, Candice.”
I shiver and then blink away the tears. That wonderful feeling chases away those doubts, but it also makes way for more.
“Let me mark you,” he whispers. “Let me claim you. Let me give you the information you’re asking for. Please, Candice.”
The breath lodges in my throat, and I pull my wrist back from him.
He freezes for an instant, shocked at my refusal.
Do I want that? His mark?
I let the question linger in my mind, but the answer is clear.
I’m scared. I’m terrified, of what I’ll learn once I have access to his emotions, but I want him anyway.
Yes, I want it.
But doing that will chase away my only chance at working with Bea.
If I’d let go back before the war started, I wouldn’t have had weeks to brew on it, to let the doubts grow like weeds in my mind and I’d know.
