Page 151 of Shattered Jewel
I laugh at that. A low, harsh sound.
“You amuse me, Wraithwood,” I say, muscling past the knot in my chest. “Your misplaced sense of duty is certainly entertaining.”
“Is that what you think?” Her voice is softer now, the rage in her eyes slowly replaced by something akin to hurt, but she doesn’t let go of me. “That I consider you a duty?”
“I’m a liability, Elara.”
I regret my words as soon as they slip from my lips. It’s unlike me to let anyone in like this.
But with Elara ... everything’s different.
Her fingers soften their grip on my hair, and she uses her other hand to trace a soothing path down to the side of my jaw that almost makes me purr.
“I don’t deserve your faith,” I say grimly, even as I close my eyes to her touch, trying hard to ignore the fluttering feeling in the yawning pit of my stomach.
“But you have it.”
Regrettably, her hand leaves my face to rest on my shoulder. The pressure is gentle, but firm.
A silent promise of staying right here.
“Why are you so hell-bent on saving me?” I snap, ignoring how my voice weakens on the last two words.
It’s pathetic how desperately I want her answer to be different from the one that’s trumpeting in my head.
Elara scans my entire face, from my crown, to my eyes, to my mouth.
“Because,” she murmurs. “You’re worth saving.”
“Elara.” It’s my turn to warn her.
She places her hand gently over the layers of bandages protecting my heart, that traitorous organ the ruby should’ve melted along with my skin.
Elara stares down at where we’re connected, noting the pounding underneath her hand. “There’s your answer.”
Her eyes rise to mine with such conviction, it steals my breath.
I can’t push her away. Not now. Maybe not ever. Instead, I grab her wrist, intending on pulling her off my chest, then slipping out of her shockingly strong grip on my scalp, but I pause.
“Your definition of worth is skewed,” I mutter, my gaze fixed on my hand wrapped around her small wrist. I notice the difference of her delicate fingers against the my battle-worn skin, the purity of her touch against the grit of my life.
Sensing the slack, Elara moves her hand lower, tracing along the edge of my sweatpants. “Is this what you want, Kaspian?”
The little beastie is testing me, pushing boundaries.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she says, circling to my front, still keeping me in her hold. “And you shouldn’t be afraid of yourself.”
Anger flares.
I abruptly rise, sending her staggering back, then yank her against me with all the strength of a wounded, cornered animal until we’re toe-to-toe.
Elara pulls her head back to glare at me while I dig my fingers into her hips, locking her into place. Her cheeks are flushed with a color that rivals her hair, her eyes bright with—good—hatred.
But she meets my gaze head-on, and that’s when it happens.
A moment. Just a second where my facade cracks enough to reveal a sliver of the uncertainty brewing inside me. My fate, our future, everything hanging in an unsteady balance.
There’s a hushed silence as Elara takes in the change in my demeanor, that fleeting vulnerability that makes rare appearances even when no one’s looking.