Page 28 of A Bond so Fierce and Fragile (Compelling Fates Saga #3)

Merrick

H e stared at the small bundle on the bed that was his mate—at the brown quilt that moved with her chest as she breathed.

She wasn’t sleeping. Not yet. But Merrick hoped the breaths that seemed to become more even now as she rested meant her mind would let her drift away soon.

She’d worked on him for the better part of an hour, and Merrick had obeyed her request when she asked him to straighten so she could reach his chest but not look at what she was doing, and had kept his mouth shut after asking her if she needed a break and she’d growled back that she “might cut into something else” if he didn’t stop fussing.

He’d watched her face instead. Watched emotions flash across it faster than he was able to pick up. Watched tears, smiles, frowns, and wistfulness pull at her delicate features, trying not to read too much into what had her moving through all those feelings.

Once she was finished, though, he hadn’t missed the slight sway of her body, and thankfully, she hadn’t protested too much when he wrapped her in the cleanest blanket he could find, ordering her to lie down or he’d make her.

Merrick rolled his eyes at himself.

He wouldn’t—it wasn’t like he could order her to do anything anymore. As soon as her eyes met his, it was all over.

She held his heart.

His soul.

His everything.

Even his magic seemed to respond to her. The souls moved differently around her now, had done since she accepted him as her mate.

Merrick shook his head as he tore his eyes away from her small body, approaching the full-length mirror that rested against the wall by the tub.

His eyes lingered on the raised basin as he approached.

If she got some sleep, he could get water, maybe even heat it up for her using the small stove already laid out beneath the wooden tub so she could clean up.

His hands clenched the longer he glared at the stupid tub.

A fucking bath.

That’s what he could offer her?

Gods, he’d never felt this powerless before.

Not even growing up in that damned camp with the ruthless older soldiers who loved to abuse their power over him and the others whenever they could.

That had stopped as soon as he came into his magic.

Even the commanders feared him then, giving him a wide berth whenever he decided to stroll around the encampment.

Merrick’s eyes were still on the bath as he halted before the mirror.

He could feel the wounds from the markings Lessia had carved into his body begin to heal, the itching already starting, but he refused to touch them. He needed to ensure the coal dust he’d scraped up from the floor around the tub remained inside as the skin closed.

On a deep exhale, Merrick shifted his gaze to the mirror.

He swallowed deeply.

Then swallowed again.

And again.

Again.

But he couldn’t stop the warmth building behind his eyes as they swept across his torso—across the words Lessia had marked his skin with.

Meeting dark, glistening eyes in the mirror as his continued to travel upward, the Death Whisperer nearly recoiled, but then he realized they really were his own.

The agony-filled darkness that seemed everlasting, that should have fled the sockets and taken over the world with its depth, was Merrick’s, and so was the hot tear that slipped down his cheek.

He couldn’t stop staring at it as it made its way down his blood-splattered face, tickling his cheekbone before sliding across his mouth, leaving an unfamiliar salty taste in its wake as it reached his chin and, after lingering for a second, fell to the floor with such a loud drip that he almost worried Lessia would have heard it and woken from what he hoped was now a slumber.

His eyes rose slowly from the shimmering spot of wetness beneath him, back to the mirror.

Lessia hadn’t written her name. Or at least not only her name.

There was one spot, just above where his hip bone jutted out, where she’d carved Elessia .

Not Lessia .

Not Elessia Rantzier .

Just Elessia .

His heart clenched.

Then his eyes traveled over the other words she’d etched onto his body.

Love.

Freedom.

Peace.

Children.

Unity.

Acceptance.

Friendship.

Family.

Choice.

Future.

A noise left him—one he’d never heard himself utter.

It sounded almost otherworldly, broken and harsh at the same time. Loving and hating and desperate and calm.

Lessia hadn’t only marked him as hers.

She’d carved her hopes and dreams onto his skin.

All her wishes were carefully cut, not a single letter bent or deformed.

All but one.

That strange sound wound its way through his throat again.

On the left side of his chest, right over his heart, she’d carved the one thing she longed for the most.

Time.

Her hands must have shaken, or perhaps tears might have obscured her vision when she etched the final word onto him, because it was the only one where the letters weren’t perfectly shaped.

Another trail of dampness snaked down his cheek as his eyes trailed the shaky t , the stem of the i that wasn’t aligned with the dot, the m that almost looked like an n , and the e that swept too far out, the line cutting across his skin like the phantom dagger that now pierced his heart.

Two bandaged hands snaked around his body, the fingers on the hand that wasn’t broken fluttering over the word—over Merrick’s broken heart.

“For only in their ultimate sacrifice can a new world be born—the world they have dreamed of, battled for, and wept over,” Lessia whispered as she rested her cheek against his back.

Tears must have stung her own eyes because while her skin was warm against his, wetness soon followed, and Merrick whirled around, pulling her against his chest more firmly than he should have, with all her injuries.

She melted against him, and he pulled her closer yet, wanting nothing more than to fuse them together, wanting something… anything!

Control. Power. Being able to fucking protect this beautiful soul whose heart hammered so hard against his bare chest he could barely take it, especially knowing it might not beat soon.

When she angled her tear-streaked face to his, he slammed his teeth together, telling himself to be strong.

“What was that you just said?” Merrick whispered back, unsure whether he really should ask the question, as he could sense what the answer would be.

Lessia unwound the hands she’d locked around his back, moving them to clasp his face.

He hated the look in her eyes. He hated it with such a vicious rage that his eyes unfocused for the second it took Lessia to speak.

But when she did, he forced himself to calm down—to listen. To be the fucking support she needed even if he hated every word leaving her mouth.

“It’s the end of the prophecy.” Her full bottom lip shook as she spoke, and he had to bend down and take it between his teeth, gently tugging on it until a soft gasp made its way into her lungs.

The shudder he was rewarded with as he pressed his lips against hers should have heated every inch of skin that aligned with hers, but when he released her and she continued speaking, the ice that had begun to spread across his heart continued until it felt as if it covered everything within him.

“I need to die for this to come true.” Lessia’s unbound fingers traced over the words, her eyes dropping down to read what she’d etched onto his skin, and when they lingered by the word future , he couldn’t fucking take it.

Gripping her hand more gently than he wanted, he pulled it around his back, and securing his own hands around her too-cold cheeks, he tilted her face to his again.

“You don’t need to die.” Merrick tried his best not to glower, but he could see he wasn’t succeeding, based on the defiance that began to shine in Lessia’s amber eyes. “You don’t. You’re choosing to do it!”

“I didn’t choose this,” she hissed back.

He wanted to scream at her.

She didn’t need to sacrifice herself for a world that had done nothing but hurt her.

He wanted to tell her they could get the fuck away from here—hide somewhere in a realm so far away even the gods wouldn’t be able to find her.

But then her eyes softened, her lips lifting into the most heartbreaking smile he’d ever seen, and the words floated away like the pressure of his magic, which had been building under his skin.

“I love you so much,” she whispered.

He couldn’t take it.

The Death Whisperer shut his eyes.

Wanted to cover his ears like a fucking child.

“I do,” Lessia continued. “And I would… I would run with you if I thought it would help. But… I saw it in my father’s eyes, Merrick.

This curse… this prophecy, it’ll catch up with us.

Besides, what would it say about me if I ran?

I’ve been hiding my entire life, and it’s time to step out of the shadows. Even if only for a short while.”

Merrick shook his head, his eyes still crushed shut so hard that colors flickered in the darkness before them.

Fabric scratched his cheek as her cold fingers tapped it.

“You and me,” she whispered.

Her fingers continued moving across his face.

Too slowly. Too lovingly. Too fucking kindly.

He couldn’t take it. It felt as if his heart would burst.

“Please. Look at me.”

Fuck.

His eyes flew open. He couldn’t say no to her. He couldn’t even fucking argue with her.

You love her because of how selfless she is.

How he wished he didn’t.

Why couldn’t he have been mated to someone fucking selfish?

Someone like himself.

He didn’t care about the world. He’d gladly sacrifice every single person he knew if that meant Lessia lived. But…

“I won’t be able to change your mind, will I?” Merrick’s eyes hungrily roved over her face, wishing to find a single strain of hesitation.

Just one and he’d fucking throw her over his shoulder again and take off.

But there wasn’t any in her beautiful, sunny eyes, nor was there any in her soft features as she tried to hike her smile higher.