Page 133 of Ballad of Nightmares

“Not exactly good manners,” and the sight of the mild amusement in her eyes and the twitch of her lips lightened his heart for just a moment. He resisted letting it relax him too much, and he continued explaining.

“People deserve that reprieve,” he said. “People—“ he glanced back over his shoulder at the space that Darion had sat in “—people like Darion are good. People like him… they don’t deserve to be left to their own scars and wander this place with no real way to go forward.”

His eyes darted over her again, the air in the room intensifying with every sweep of their lashes over one another.

“That’s the song you hum,” he said with a jerk of his chin. “What is it?”

“My mother once sang it to put me to sleep,” she replied. “And after she died, after my father and I fled to Icemyer, the witches sang it again to me sometimes. They told me to memorize it.” Ana’s finger dragged along the wooden table like she was checking for dust. “I was never told why.”

With the last word, her eyes met his.

“It’s the same song I used to hear in my dreams,” he admitted. “Years…centuries… ago. When the sun still shone onto this kingdom and we lived under someone else’s tyranny.”

Ana settled her hips against the table. “You miss it,” she said. “The sun.”

A slow nod came from him in confirmation. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re all I was ever waiting for to remind me of how much I miss it.”

She held his stare, and Sam swallowed as he gathered his next words.

“Ana, you reminded me of everything I had nearly thrown away, nearly given up on. You remind me of everything I ever wished for and promised the people under my rule. You remind me of a life not in hiding.” He hesitantly stepped forward, watching her the entire time.

“I need you to understand something,” Sam said slowly. “There is more happening here than mercenaries coming after you. There is more than you and me.” His hands creased on the edge of the table, bending the wood. “I have demons out there dying, and I… I need your help in understanding this.”

Ana’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what I can offer.”

“I think you know more than you realize,” Sam said. He lifted up his shirt, and Ana caught a glimpse of the scar on his chest, cutting through his tattoos, from where she’d stabbed him. Her eyes narrowed.

“How do you still have a scar?” she asked.

“Whatever was on the knife you stabbed me with is also being used on my demons in Firemoor,” he said. “I know you bought it from Cordelia on Third. But I wonder what else you know about it from your time in Icemyer.”

Ana’s gaze hardened. “Why should I help you?” she whispered. “You plan on locking me in this dungeon and letting men torture me. Why would I tell you anything?”

“Because you are my salvation, Ana, and I can’t go on another day without you in my arms,” he admitted, stepping closer to her. “I can’t stand another moment without your forgiveness… and I… Ana,I’m sorry.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

ANA’S HEART SKIPPED. She couldn’t discern the look on his face or why he held such agony in his eyes. But as he drew closer, she rooted to the spot. Her gaze cast down to the moonlit tile floor and the dried rose petals dusted over it.

His fingers drifted over her hand, causing her breath to catch. Just that delicate touch… that whisper of intimacy… she couldn’t meet his eyes as it continued up her bare arm, from her wrist, to her elbow, shoulder, collar, and finally to her throat. She began to tremble with every stroke of his finger, every whisper of what felt like a shadow on her skin.

“Ana…” he breathed as his knuckle landed beneath her chin, and he tipped her head back to reveal the wet silver glimmer lining the bottom of his eyes. And through the darkness, she held his devastating gaze and watched as Sam slid to his knees.

Death bowed before her, holding her hand in his, and he whispered,

“Forgive me.”

Two words that weighed the room and staggered her heart. A booming declaration that seemed to crack through time. Her knees nearly gave out at the caress of his thumb across her knuckles. That beautiful way his face shadowed in pain stretched over his features. His brows knitted as he swallowed, appearing to teeter between reality and dream in front of her, and both drawing him into an agony he wasn’t prepared for.

“Forgive me for all that I am… For all that I have done… and for all that I will be,” he continued.

The words rang in her ears. A tear spilled over her cheek, and she watched as one crawled down his own. She reached to wipe it away, and Sam kissed her palm.

“Forgive me, Ana,” he said again.

Ana’s heart nearly burst. Everything they’d shared together, everything he’d shared with her since discovering who he was… All the raw pain tore her extremities to restless shreds. This… she pondered if this was the devastation the witches had warned her of. Why they had always told her he was never to be trusted or admired. If they knew she would fall for him more than she already had.

Because she had. She was utterly fallen and broken and terrifyingly in love with him. With all that he was, with everything he had done, and everything he would be.