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𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 : 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 

𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃'𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 

(𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃)

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I logged the coordinates into maps on my computer and found the destination within minutes. Shifting on the bed, I angled my computer towards Crow as he peered down into the screen beside me. We were still in his bedroom, his color slowly returning to his cheeks but he was unsteady on his feet still and I could see the lightest sheen on sweat wishing to bead across his cheeks.

"It's an hour away," he said, stating the obvious.

"Forty minutes if I go really, really fast."

He rolled his eyes at me. "It's on the border of town, near Charlon." He still wasn't wearing a shirt. "We only have one car–"

"It'll be fine–"

"He's doing this to draw you away," said Crow, shaking his head. He, also, didn't actually wash his hair like he said he would. I'd caught gray droplets sliding down his neck from the dried blood that had been matted in his locks. "You could get yourself killed by going alone."

"You can't come with me."

"I know that," he spat, "but–"

It was always a fun game of who could interrupt the other first as I spilled, "John was specific with his rules. I come alone and as much as I would love to have you with me, you can't come. I'm not going to risk your life."

"But you can risk yours?" he argued. I noticed how his eye was looking less swollen and I hoped this meant something good. Or maybe it had just been the blood that had made it look so full and thick.

"Come on," I scoffed. "I have a plan, relax, okay?"

"A plan?" he said in the same tone I'd used. "You never have a plan."

"Well, I do, this time." Did I, though? All my plans consisted of me screaming and kicking my feet and praying I didn't get killed. Getting hurt was inevitable but if I could avoid heaven or hell just a little longer...

"Then tell me what it is."

"Um, no."

"You don't have one, Blaire."

"I do!"

"Then just tell me what you're going to do when John has you in the middle of nowhere with no one around to help!" His cheeks were flushed. "Tell me what great plan you have on how to escape whatever skilled killer he throws your way."

"I've had time to prep myself," I said, closing my laptop. "While you were...gone...I've had time to train, get a demon blade–"

"But John has yours."

I frowned. "You saw it?"

"He threatened me with it every hour on the hour."

I rubbed my eyes with a sigh. It was just like John to do that and it made my stop flop with unease. "I don't have my knife but I have a knife. Cass and I made a whole batch of them from one of my mom's spells. It doesn't get the whole job done like the body clean up, but it can kill a demon."

I felt Crow's eyes on me and I turned to face him, resting my elbow on my leg and my head in my hand. His brows were furrowed as he asked, "How do you know?"

"We tested them."

"My god, on who?"

"Ken."

"Ken? Who the fuck is Ken?"

I felt a smile push to my lips. "He worked for John."

Crow rubbed his eyes like I had moments before, looking exhausted. "And how the hell did you find someone who worked for John?"

"Okay, this might surprise you," I murmured, leaning closer, "but I had help." He gave me an annoyed look and I felt my smile come out entirely. "Your good friend helped us actually, called Ken right over with a fake request, you know...demon business or whatever."

"Which one of my good friends wanted to help and not kill you exactly?"

"Macabre."

His brows furrowed with shock.

"Met his husband, Monroe, and Monroe's sister Eva, too," I said, playing with the dark comforter. "They've been training us, actually. Me, Cass, and Luke."

"How did you get them to trust you?"

"Told Macabre that John was the devil and that he'd taken you," I said with a shrug. "It was enough to get him on our side, unless..." I looked up from the bed to meet his eyes. "...he'd always been on our side?"

"He helped you with your mother's affairs," said Crow, "and didn't kill you every time you stepped into the church, so, you tell me."

Maybe they were all on your side.

This was a conversation for another day. "He's helped me a lot, not just with John but with..." A little laugh escaped me. "...with giving me something stable, a schedule."

Crow's brows furrowed. "And that's been good?"

I nodded. "After you were taken, everything got so crazy and it was hard to focus but it'd been like that since Pandora and I just hadn't seen it until you were gone." I sighed, feeling the pressure in my chest. "I didn't realize how much of a rock you were to me after she died and..." I wanted to touch him, to crawl into his lap and have him hold me against his skin. "I'm sorry that happened to you, that you had to be gone."

"Blaire–"

"I shouldn't have left you in that tunnel with him," I whispered.

"There's nothing that could've stopped him," he told me and I saw him flex his fingers against his leg. "It was better to be me than Cassandra or you. It had to be me."

"It was my fault, though," I whispered, feeling like that was the only way I'd ever be able to speak to him now. Barely above silence, a mumble under my breath. "He knows how important you are to me and he did this because he knew–" I sucked in a deep breath. "He could've killed you."

"But he didn't."

We just loved having the same conversations about different things, all the same way, all the same tones and defenses.

He spoke again, this time his voice softer. "I would've done it all over again if it meant you got out safely. It doesn't matter how many times we argue about who should've been there and not. I'm here now. I'm alive, I'm home, and that's all that matters to me." There was something he wasn't saying, some underlying reason, but I didn't press him. "I think I'm ready to try some water and something for the pain."

I cleared my throat with an eager nod. "I'll go grab them."

I was thankful we didn't speak more about it because I could feel the emotion rising in my chest and it didn't seem right to cry now. He was home, he needed water and a good night's sleep. He didn't need me sobbing and weeping over the things he'd done and hadn't done.

Retreating into the kitchen, I poured him a glass of water and found some cheap Advil in the first aid kit. I rolled two of the pills between my fingers, taking two for myself with a gulp of water. I had a building headache and it wasn't one made from ghosts. It was from Crow being home, from how late it was and how late I'd still need to be up for.

He had been right, in the bedroom, how there was nothing I could've done to change the fact that he had to be the one chosen. But everything he'd said...it was to make me feel better. He was trying to chase my guilt away but it would never leave me. I had it all over my skin, this guilt and worry that he would've been dead because of me and how I'd brought him in. He'd been trying to make me feel less guilty by taking on the responsibility for some time now.

He did it with Cage's death and then with Pandora after.

He loves you.

I had to smack the delusion away. All I'd ever heard the past week, the past month, was how it was okay to love him. How it was okay to accept him as something more than what he already was, but how did he feel? The ghosts heard rumors we were lovers, but that didn't mean he felt anything. Yet, here he was trying to convince me none of it was my fault. Here he was taking the blame for murders and vicious acts he'd never done. What did that mean? He took the blame and for what? For me to hate him?

To take away the hate from the people who deserve it the most?

I didn't need to enter the bedroom to hear him wretch. I set down the glass of water and pills on the bedside table as I entered the bathroom, seeing him hunched over the toilet bowl. I hated vomit, I hadn't the sight, sound, and smell but this was different and I could admit that. I didn't want to leave his side, not even for a second.

It smelled like blood, metallic and heavy. Black goo coated the bowl as he spat. A thick layer of blood coated his mouth and tongue when he pulled back to look up at me as I crouched down beside him.

"What–what did he do to me?" he whispered, shivering almost violently.

I ran my hand over his back, his skin clammy. "Cass is looking for answers, we'll figure this out."

He nodded, looking like he wanted to speak again but he turned violently and threw up a new half pint of blood. It drained from his mouth like someone was sucking it free from him, forcing it out of his stomach and veins. It was almost like John had an invisible hand down his throat, working out the lifeblood, the redless ichor for himself. Like a blood geata but backwards and wrong.

I kept rubbing his back until he pulled back from the bowl and raised a weak hand, flushing. He wiped his mouth with one of the towels hanging to his right on the shower door and glanced at me as he fell back against the glass to face me.

He forced a smile, bloody and raw, and said, "How about–that water?"

I rose to instantly grab it as he stayed put. I didn't want to see him move until he was sure he felt better, but I'd assumed he was before and look where he ended up. The sweat against his back made me think it was from sickness but from the looks of his wounds, still unhealed, made me think it was from the pain but how could I know for sure?

I handed him the glass and murmured, "You don't think this magic shit is contagious, do you?"

"You're not a demon, Blaire," he murmured and I wondered why he kept saying my name. He'd said it more than a few times already tonight. This is just you looking too much into things. "You won't throw up blood, not like this."

He took a tentative sip of water and I asked, "Do you want to stay here or try to get into bed?"

"Here."

I nodded before planting myself against the wall in front of the toilet, my feet touching his outstretched legs. The tile was cold against my legs and I felt a shiver run through me.

He gave me a long look. "You don't need to stay."

I glared. "Of course I do." Still with that look on his face, I sighed and added, "What kind of person would I be if I left you alone to choke on your own blood?"

He didn't argue, just took another small sip and placed the glass between us. Did I mention already he still wasn't wearing a shirt? "John...he kept me in the basement of some big building."

"You remember where it is?"

"I don't think I was ever conscious long enough to know."

I rubbed my jaw, thinking over my encounter with the demon Macabre sent. "Ken told us John has all his guys spelled not to know where he is, so they can never tell anyone his location."

"I know exactly what the room looked like but not where it was."

"Do you..." I didn't want to push him, didn't want to force him to relive anything he didn't want to. "...want to tell me about it?"

He shifted, running his finger against the grooves in between tiles. He was silent for a moment, as if considering what words to say, before he spoke in a soft voice. A soft voice that sent a strange shiver over me, his tone something I would expect to hear after a long morning in bed. "He kept me in what I think was a cell, behind a closed door...all metal. Not the kinds you'd see in a prison with bars, just a metal door with a small window." His eyes were so focused on the ground and I wondered if it was because he was afraid to see my reaction. "He'd send someone in to torture me, usually Conner or Ace."

When he said the boy's name, he met my eyes and I couldn't help but suck in a short breath. I couldn't imagine all the things Ace could've told him, all the taunts and sneers. Did he talk about Pandora? Did he talk about me? Blondie had thought Ace was in love with me, could he have used that to hurt Crow? To prove points even I couldn't make?

"Does it...pain you to know the truth about him?" asked Crow. "So much happened with John in the tunnel and up until now, we never had a chance to speak about it. I wasn't even sure if you knew the truth until recently when he told me he...he called you that night."

The night Crow had been taken.

I nodded, staring at him. He had lied to me for so long. The night of Blondie's party, he had practically screamed at me how he'd killed Pandora, how he had ruined her body and taken her from me. But he was a liar.

"Why did you lie?" I whispered, feeling a thick emotion crawling over my skin. "Why were you protecting him?"

Crow looked away.

"You told me how you killed her. You didn't deny anything."

His hands were balling into fists against his legs.

"You lied to me," my whispers were turning into accusatory hisses, "and you hate being called a liar. You hate people thinking you're untrustworthy, that you're bad, but you lied. You lied and then lied about lying, you–"

"It was easier for you to hate me than hate someone you could've loved."

His voice startled me and I frowned. "Someone I could've loved? Who?"

"The Dolion boy."

"I didn't love Ace," I said, still frowning. I'd seen him as a friend, sometimes a little too attractive for his own good, but there was nothing there. Yes, maybe, if things had gone differently and he'd been different, too, things could've ended up with us together in a way. Romantic or platonic, I would never be for certain. "I didn't love him, even before he confessed."

"You didn't need to hate him," muttered Crow.

"But I needed to hate you?"

"It was easier that way."

I shook my head, letting out a scoff. "You let me believe you killed my best friend and my father. How was that easier? How can me hating you be something you wanted?"

"You know about Cage?"

"Of course, I know about Cage!" I spat, wanting to jump up and point and shout in his face. "I read your secret letter to me, which I'm no longer sorry I did by the way, and you didn't murder him. You helped him, you made me think you'd killed my father and had–and had somehow been involved with my mom's death but you weren't!" I didn't know why I was getting so worked up or why there were now tears pooling in my eyes. "You could've told me the truth about all of this, about the prophecy, about me being the goddamn chosen one, about your involvement in fucking everything, and how you knew I'd be the last one standing. You let me go through all of that–that shit with the Hollins kid and you just stood there, knowing it was me, knowing we could have ignored all that bullshit–"

"You had to see it for yourself," he whispered. "You would never have believed me–"

"That doesn't matter!" I cried, slamming my fists against my thighs before burying my face in both hands. Snotty, loud sobs wrenched free from my throat and swallowed up the quiet air. It felt like I was suffocating with the need to release, to get all the tears and ugliness out. How long did I believe he was a bad man and I held back? How many times did I have to remind myself of what he did to Pandora, when I tried not to believe it, and how he killed Cage? How many times did I hold myself back, how many times did I prevent myself from moving forward and seeking guidance and strength from this man?

My shoulders shook as I hiccuped and sobbed, near the point of wailing. I couldn't stop or control myself, it needed to be let out. It'd been building for so long, all these brutal realizations weighing down on me and now Crow was home, returned to me, and it was all rushing free.

I felt his hand on me, burning against my cold. It ran up my arm to my shoulder, then to my back before he was pulling me against him. Even against the roughness of his scars and wounds, he was still so perfect to me. I didn't want to curl into him like I was and I sure as hell didn't want to get my tears and snot all over his beautiful chest but he let me.

His hand ran down the back of my head and through my hair as he whispered, "I'm sorry, Blaire, I'm so sorry..." He was so warm I could've fallen asleep if not for my whimpers and sniffles. "I wanted to keep you from it all for as long as I could. The prophecy...the murders...you didn't need that, not then. You deserve a normal life, not–not this one."

"You made me hate you," I whispered, trying to swallow. "I hated you so much that you made me want to kill you. Crow, I–I was going to kill you."

"Then why didn't you?"

Such a simple yet jarring question. I pulled back to look into his eyes and found him already searching for me.

"I don't know," I whispered as he reached a weak hand up towards my face. Even his fingers were warm, like a cooling fire, against my cheek and tears.

"I'm sorry–"

"I vowed to myself that I would kill you," I told him, "but I tried to summon you, still, after you were taken."

His brows furrowed as if I'd caught him off guard. "You–you what?"

"I tried to summon you with–with some stupid spell from my mom's journal," I said, forcing a laugh through the tears. "It didn't fucking work, obviously–"

"John had the place spelled, he had his men spelled, there was no way to get me out."

It was reassuring to know I hadn't exactly failed but it didn't help give way of my anger. "I hated you so much but I was willing to risk everything for you. I tried to summon you, knowing it'd be a lost cause, and I was doing all of this for some–some asshole who'd been lying the entire time–"

"Blaire, please, I'm sorry–"

The tears were coming back, like they always did. But so did the anger. It came rushing in like a wave. "But you don't fucking get it! You don't get it! He took you! Don't you get that?! He took you from me!"

I wanted to hit him and I struggled to pull away from how he was holding me but he fought back with what strength he had left. He caught hold of my wrist and I got flashbacks to the motel, to our confrontation in the driveway of the cabin, to every time he'd ever touched me. I pushed back against him and he struggled to keep me rooted to him. I could only imagine what I looked like to him, how deranged I must've been because I felt it. It was deeply rooted inside of me, this feral being frothing and devouring everything at the mouth.

"John knew what he was doing," he said to me as I slowed my struggle. I was getting tired and I had the sudden fear I was going to overexert him. "He knew it had to be me, Blaire, it was always going to be me he took."

I took him but the face when he released my hands and I whimpered, "I missed you so much." I bowed my head as I added, weakly, "I was so lost–"

"Not as lost as you think," he murmured back, pushing my hair out of my face. "You found Victor and convinced him to help you. You were able to create more demon blades and get answers about John's whereabouts. You found out about the prophecy...about me..."

He met my eyes and nodded, eager to get me to start nodding back and when I did, I said, "And I learned that I could successfully bring someone back."

Surprise flushed in his face. "From the dead?"

I nodded, holding onto his wrists as his hands cupped my face to keep me looking at him. "Brought back an old host body and–and a kid at the party I went to tonight."

"And they're okay?"

"The host, no. But the kid, yes."

He brushed more hair back, tucking it behind my ears as pride sparked to life in his eyes. His hazel looked nearly deep brown today. "I always knew you could do it."

"Would've been easier if you had been with me," I said, taking a deep breath to keep from crying.

"I won't ever leave you again," he whispered, as if reading my mind. "I promise." But there was a look in his eyes that told me otherwise.

~

Crow ended up having two more heavy demon blood episodes hunched over the toilet, shaking and convulsing. It took me three different tries to get him to stand on his own two feet. Blondie hadn't texted back yet with any solution so all we could do was wait and hope the small sips of water he was getting would be enough to sustain him until then.

His wounds were still raw and he finally allowed me to wrap them in gauze after complaining it would be uncomfortable. I wrapped him tightly because I had a feeling he would begin to thrash and the gauze would get caught on the bed sheets.

He leaned heavily against me as I walked him to his bed, having already thrown back the comforter for him. I don't think he'd ever experience something like this in his life. Nothing this bad medically, that is. Demons were lucky they could heal from any ailment. They could heal from knives, bullets, and getting hit by cars. They could get through a fever in seconds and a cold under that. But this, something magic induced? It was hard to tell if that would ever go away on its own or with a magic cure.

I sat him down slowly before helping him move his legs up and onto the bed. When he was finally resting back against his pillows, looking ashen and sweaty, I raised my hand to his forehead.

"God," I muttered, "you're still burning up."

He swatted my hand away weakly. "I'll be fine in the morning."

"You're a moron if you really believe that."

"You have no faith."

"I never have faith." A lie but one I could easily joke and sneer at him. "Just try to get some sleep, okay?"

I turned the light off and instead of leaving, I walked around to the other side of the bed. Crow's eyes followed me through the dark as I crawled under the blankets. They were soft under me and warm, but I wasn't sure if that warmth wasn't just emitting from him instead.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Getting ready for sleep?"

He regarded me as if I was the moron now. I narrowed my eyes and ignored his bewildered look and rested my head against the pillow near his shoulder. I rested my hand around his bicep and felt him flex nervously.

"Why are you in my bed?" he whispered like he had to be this quiet in the dark.

"I told you," I murmured, "that I wouldn't leave you to choke on your own blood." I shifted to get comfortable and as I did, I said, "Now, just go to sleep."

It was safe to say, getting into bed with him was a mistake. I woke, I don't know how many hours later, feeling like I couldn't breathe. At first, I thought I was only lost in a dream but a pressure was building up in my head and the darkness I had been staring into was the bedroom and the pressure was coming from a hand wrapped around my throat.

There was no cute waking up moment wrapped up in the other's arms unconsciously done through the night. There was no sheepish embarrassment and secret loving comfort. Instead, there was a hand on my neck, applying tight pressure and I couldn't breathe, I could barely see–

I batted and scratched at Crow's arm, reaching upwards until I could drag an aggressive hand over his face. His hold loosened at the discomfort but he was taking me by the forearm and throwing me across the bed. I bounced, landing roughly on the floor.

Not having any time to fully recover, to suck in deep lung-fulls of air, Crow was bouncing over the bed and towards me. Even through the dark, I could see his eyes were black. There wasn't an ounce of recognition in his face as I cried out for him to stop.

I crawled on all fours until I could get to my feet and tear out of the room, stumbling and crashing into the door and walls as I tried to make it into the kitchen. Hitting my shoulder and hip, I tripped forward and into the main hall. I considered changing direction, running to his office and locking myself behind a closed door but I needed a weapon to defend myself. I raced towards the kitchen but Crow was faster, he always had been. His strength was ten times mine, even on a bad day.

I was almost in the kitchen, my arm outstretched for the knives when his hands clamped down on my shoulders and tore me backyards. I skidded across the floor, the skin of my knees and thighs burning against the wood before I slowed in a crumpled heap. I could feel my heartbeat all the way in my neck, throbbing against my pulse.

Watching his bare feet stalk towards me, I tried to rise back up onto my knees but he sent a swinging hand down at me. What was happening? What was going on? A sharp hand. It cut across my cheek and I howled, feeling my flesh split. I didn't get the chance to register what had just happened before his big hand wrapped itself around my throat and thrusted me onto my back. Straddling me, his weight heavy on my hips and thigh, he came down at me like a fury. He held a knife in his free hand and tried to slam it down into my face but I got a hand up, gripping his wrist. I shook with the force, trying to keep him away but I wasn't strong like him, I didn't have the power to keep him back with one hand.

Please, don't hit me, please don't–

"Crow–" I wheezed as he clenched. "Please–" Tears sprang to my eyes and I tried to kick my legs but the pressure kept getting tighter and the knife was getting closer. But I tried to speak again, because this wasn't him, this was not the Crow who I'd curled up next to. "Archer–"

He blinked and the black in his eyes disappeared. His brows instantly furrowed and whatever blank look that had been there moments before was now gone. A look crossed his face as he stared down at me, and he whispered something I didn't quite believe were his words, "Oh god, baby–"

Realization struck as he looked from my face and to the knife and he threw it aside and away, the blade skidding across the floor near the door. His hands were shaking and he didn't know if he wanted to touch me or not because of the concern so heavy in his eyes.

I moved first, raising both my hands up slowly and taking his in mine as I whispered to avoid croaking, "It's okay, hey, it's okay."

He started to shake his head but I kept nodding, moving my hands over his and to his arms. His mouth was open, as if wanting to speak, but the horror on his complexion told me that whatever had just happened was done against his will and knowledge.

"Archer," I whispered. His first name on my tongue was something holy. "I'm okay." I moved one of his hands to my face and let him cup my cheek before moving it to my pulse, the feel of my heartbeat jutting against his palm. "See? I'm okay."

His hand faltered with a shake. "I hurt you."

"And I'm fine."

"You're–you're bleeding," he said, dragging his thumb under the stinging cut. My blood came off on his fingers and he looked pale. "Oh god," he moaned, "Blaire–I'm–I'm–" He threw himself off of me and said in a thick voice, "I'm going to be sick."

He bloodied the sink in seconds as I sat up slowly. With him hunched over the counter, I reached a tentative hand to my neck. It throbbed and ached under my fingers, no doubt going to bruise. But it could've been worse. He could've woken from his daze and seen me stabbed through the face.

It was something John did, I was nearly certain of it. Whatever he'd done, cursed him perhaps, had taken control. I could see soft rays of sunlight working its way through the curtains in the kitchen. It was sunrise. I hoped Blondie would text me in the next hour about what she'd found, if she'd found anything.

The sound of Crow's retching took me from my thoughts and I rose slowly. I'd been tossed around like a rag doll and I hadn't fought back. There wasn't anything in me that told me to fight and hurt him, other than throw him off of me. I could never hurt him and that terrified me.

"Something's wrong with me," he muttered by the sink, reaching over and turning the faucet on. "John...he's done something."

"It's worse than before," I said, moving cautiously towards the kitchen table so I could sit in a chair with a back. "Whatever he did, it has an influence over you. It's not some demon plague like I thought before."

He ignored my choice of words to describe his sickness and nodded. He was hesitant to walk over to me but pulled out a chair across from me and sat down. "I should call Victor, he could know."

"He won't be awake yet," I said with a sigh. "Neither will Cass with any answers, either."

"Blaire..." He was looking at me so longingly I could've cried.

"Don't," I said with a forced smile. I was trying my best to hide the hoarseness to my voice, his hand still a phantom over my throat. "You didn't mean to–"

"I would have never."

"Crow."

"I would never have hurt you," he said. "I would never have raised a hand to you, not before and not now."

"Not when we were enemies?"

He shook his head. "We were never really enemies. Not really."

"We wanted to kill each other."

"You wanted to kill me."

I frowned, feeling silly, as I asked, "You never actually wanted me dead?"

He shook his head, drawing slow circles on the table and I pictured him doing that to me. Across my back, on my leg, on my hand. "Everything was to prepare you."

"And Pandora? How did that prepare me?"

"Ace and Conner told me if I didn't confess to...murdering her, they would've gutted you by the end of the night." He looked up from the table and met my eyes. "I hadn't known about John yet, but they made it clear that I had to follow their rules. They were with you that night, it sounded like a viable threat."

But the ghosts. The ghosts had told me about Crow, about how Pandora was gone...but it made sense with the prophecy. Crow hadn't wanted me to know until it was time, until I'd figured it out on my own and I understood how Beatrice had warned me off with clever little clues, with warnings only half true. Hadn't even Andrew Stone told me something similar to all of this? Back in the confessional booths?

"You begged me not to go inside the barn," I whispered, feeling my throat tightened with emotion. I couldn't help myself, not when we were talking about her. "You sounded–you sounded so scared."

"I was. I didn't know what you would find but I knew it wasn't good."

"Would you have really come for me? If I'd asked."

He didn't even nod, only stared directly into my eyes and a part of my soul. "In a heartbeat."

"I thought you'd done it, at first," I murmured with another sigh. "In the moment, when I was driving to the barn, I was so sure you'd done it but...but I knew you didn't. Does that make sense or am I contradicting myself?" I didn't wait for him to respond. "I had this gut feeling for so long that you'd been lying."

"Is that why you kept asking me for her last words?"

I nodded. "Because I knew you didn't know. I was waiting for you to slip."

"You almost had me," he said, "at the motel." His drawing circles and drumming his fingers and I felt an ache spread through my stomach at the need for him to be touching me like that. "I was so close to telling you the truth but it wasn't my place. You had to discover the truth for yourself and even after we discovered the Salucci girl and the Hollins boy, it wasn't my place to intervene with fate."

"Then I resurrected the host body."

He barely smiled but it was prideful. "And Victor told you the rest, I'm sure." I nodded and he sighed and added, "It was supposed to be me doing that, telling you the truth once you were able to tap into your powers and truth. Victor...it was good he told you."

"But you wish it could've been you."

"I do." His hair hung in his face and I wanted to run my fingers through it, push it back so I could see his eyes. "I'd been trained by Cage, lectured over prophecies from centuries before our time, it should've been me. I could've helped ease you into it–"

"The truth would've hurt either way, it didn't matter who it came from." His brows furrowed and I sighed, "But it would've been nice if you had been there to do it. I might not have sobbed the way I had if it had been you. Better to hear that all my loved ones died for me and I would end up dying anyway from the person I thought killed them all on purpose."

"I only killed Cage."

"Doesn't matter and you know it."

He rubbed his face. "You're going to die."

"Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it?"

"I'm glad it was Victor to tell you, it would've been difficult to tell you that."

"Don't worry," I said, trying to make light, "Macabre still stuttered through his speech and explanation."

"I would've done the same," he murmured, leaning back into his chair fully, long legs stretched out. His hands were in his lap and I could see his wounds, still raw and some still open.

"Would you have cried?"

"No."

"Liar." I stood slowly, grazing my hip against the side of the table as I neared him. I wasn't sure what I was doing but I was doing it. "I think you would've cried for me."

"I've been preparing for this for years, I wouldn't have cried–"

"I think you would've weeped for me."

"Blaire–"

I stopped next to his seat, placing my hand nervously on his shoulder. "I cried for you and you weren't even dead."

Reaching up, he rested his hand overtop mine and whispered, "Coming back to you was my only driving force."

"I thought, maybe, you were dead when the summoning didn't work."

He still held onto my hand. "I wouldn't have allowed myself to pass until I was home and returned to you. There's too much unfinished business."

I opened my mouth to say something along the lines of what else, wanting him to slip, to tell me something, but a loud knock against the door made me flinch and freeze. One of Crow's hands went to my waist, gripping me tightly as he stood, pushing me behind him as the pounding sounded two more times.

Just like it had last night.

I stepped around him, leaving the comforting warmth he had given me for a fleeting moment as I approached the door. I couldn't see anyone through the windows so I cracked open the door and slowly peered outside. Seeing no one, I spotted a white envelope on the welcome mat. I snatched it up and quickly closed the door, locking and latching us inside.

"That was it?" asked Crow, approaching me.

I nodded, flipping the envelope to see if anything was written on it besides my name in a messy scrawl. I didn't bother waiting to inspect or open it later, tearing through the seal. I pulled the letter out, just standard plain paper, and read over the message.

My breath stilled and I couldn't meet Crow's eyes. He didn't need to see this so I faked a smile and quickly folded the letter and slid it back inside the envelope as I said, "Nothing important–"

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not," I said quickly. "Just meaningless threats, all John has ever been good for."

"You expect me to believe you?" he asked with a scowl.

"Can you?" I murmured. "Just for now?"

There was a pause where he looked down at me, suspicious, before finally nodding and taking a step back. He didn't need to know what was written in John's unforgettable handwriting, he didn't know what I had to do. He could live in blissful naivety, just a little longer.

leading up to the bigger chapters of the act!! 16 & 17......get ready for some pain and suffering and....a secret third thing ;)

lmk ur thoughts so far <333 bc a lot will b happening soon!!!!!

every time crow & blaire have a moment i feel like this:

pls pls vote/comment <333 or you'll never see why chapters 16 and 17 are so cherished to me