Page 108 of Antiletum

“I have to go,” I say abruptly. Nearly indiscernible.

“Don’t go,” Val gasps, not moving from his position, his fingers digging into my lower back. “Please.Please.Just stay. Let me—”

My body finally accepts my brain’s command to be dragged from where I’m rooted. I twist away from Val, pushing at his shoulders to loosen his hold. He falls forward, hands flat on the floor.

“Delaney.”

His absence leaves my front, wet with his tears, instantly cold, putting him at my back, alone on the ground.

“Delaney!”

My steps are hurried, racing towards the exit, unable to turn to my husband still on his hands and knees, doing the opposite of what he begged: leaving him behind.

26

It generally isn’t smart to punch solid stone

Val

The floor is absolutely unforgiving.

Hard. Cold. Unyielding. Like Omnitas as a whole. Like theNocturne, put to rest against their will, but refusing to fully fade. To smash it all to bits, just as I did with Roarke’s fucking head, would be a relief. This sanctuary. The Citadel and the city it acts as a smokescreen overlord for. Parliament and their chokehold on magic and money and people. The Heartstones, waiting for me and my wife who I pulled into this mess without thought because I wanted her too badly to regard anything else but my end goal to have her.

Oh, if only I could destroy until there’s nothing but rubble and blood. Burn it all to the ground. Maybe I can bury myself under the ruin. Choke on the ashes until my lungs expire.

Grit digs into my palms and through my pants. On my hands and knees where Delaney discarded me while I begged her not to leave. Unable to move. Deluding myself, as I do soverywell, that if I stay in my position to plead and bleed myself dry, that Delaney might come back.

She doesn’t.

Of course, she doesn’t. She likely never will. I’m my own executioner.

Delaney finally accepted the truth of who I am and she left anyway.

Pretty sure I may have lied to my wife, when I told her I could take it. Right now, as my chest cracks open and everything of substance is ripped out in a bloody mess by an uncaring, skeletal hand, I’m not certain that I can.

My breaths heave as if the action could expel all this heartache from my body.

Not giving in to my desire to sink into the ground, cease to exist, I push to a stand. Scrub my hands over my face. Through my hair to push it out of my eyes. Then, I turn to a wall, smash my fist into it, and scream. Loud enough to rattle the rafters in the sanctuary. Tear my throat open like I’m expelling glass.

Fire races up my arm, through my split knuckles, and I let out an angry growl, pulling away to find chipped stone and a smear of blood. It generally isn’t smart to punch solid stone. But inner nature aside—my owl form and the wisdom such creatures are known for—I’m remiss to admit that I’m not exactly famous for my sage decisions.

A statue of theNoctuabarn owl stares at me from a corner, practically glowering at me with scorn and in a flash, I can see my father’s face across it.

Yes. I’m disappointed in me too.

Striding to it like it’s my ultimate foe, I shove it to the floor. It’s an effort, but the current fury and anguish infecting my system has strengthened me momentarily. I’m relieved, watching it smash and break off a wing, bringing about some of the physical destruction I crave. Completely exhausted, I fold my legs out the paneless window,exiting this sacred, cursed sanctuary into a small courtyard, leaving my heart shredded inside, littering the floor.

Just the same as all those years ago, I call on my owl, shifting on the spot. Not knowing what the fuck else to do. Equally numb and gutted, too many horrible things existing within the case of my skin at once.

Clothes fall into a heap, abandoned in the grass as I fly away. The only difference between now and then is there’s no gold clasp to pull from the bundle with my talons, too precious to let it be lost.

What possessed me to place it back in Delaney’s hair, who can say? She’s probably already ripped it out and flung it in the sewers, discarding another piece of me. Of us and what I thought we were. Maybe I should have kept it. Not given it back and held that miniscule piece of her that she willingly gave me for the rest of my days.

Subtle aches flare in my beating wing, the injury from hitting a wall muted, but not fully disappeared. At least it isn’t bad enough to not be able to shift again. Only the most dire injuries keep me stuck in my owl when I shift to avoid their consequences.

With the maze of streets below me, I resist the urge to follow Delaney. She doesn’t want me to.

She doesn’t wantme.