Page 61 of Blind Devotion

“Is that what you want? Freedom?”

“Yes. To never have to be held against my will again. To never have my choices taken from me.”

Long, silent moments passed between us. His heart thumped frantically against my ear, such a dichotomy to the slow rhythmic flow of the waves.

“Then you have it.” The gritted words seemed to be pulled unwillingly from him.

“What?”

“You’re free to leave. None of my doors will be locked to you again.”

I licked my lips, gripping his shirt tighter. “What if I want to stay?”

“You said you wanted freedom.”

“I want the option. I want a say and to be listened to.”

“Then you’ll have that. But if you choose to stay, I’m not sure I’ll be able to let you go again. Can you live with that?”

I nodded.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

Wrapped around each other, nothing else seemed to exist. Just those beautiful waves and the joy they offered.

A wave of dizziness gently settled over me. I didn’t fight it or brace against it. In Adrien’s arms, I let it take over, ready to handle another nightmare if need be.

It was laughter I heard instead. Children’s laughter.

“You can’t catch me,” yelled a girl with good cheer in English. “I’m the fastest.”

The world lit up with oranges and yellows, a blob spotlighting a scene. A blurred image of a brightly lit beach took shape, slowly focusing, until suddenly, a girl rushed by barefoot in a loose bikini not fully adapted to her child frame. Her footsteps tossed up sand as she took cover behind anelaborately designed sandcastle. Waves rose and broke along the reef before swashing up shore and sinking into the sand. Long black hair whipped around her smiling face.

A boy—tall, though not quite gangly, nor muscular—leaped over the sandcastle with a loud roar. His foot knocked over the tallest tower and crushed one corner of the design, but he kept on going until he snatched the child under his arm by the waist and pumped his other fist in the air.

“Got you. I won.”

She shrieked with laughter. “No fair. You cheated.”

“Did I?” His fingers dug in and tickled her sides.

Her laughs grew shrill and desperate. “Yes. Stop, stop, please. Adrien, stop.”

“Say I won, and I’ll let you go.” There was something familiar about his French accent. It was strong and pronounced, some of the letters eaten up, but somehow clear. His voice carried power even though it was softened with youth. Compared to the flat-chested girl who couldn’t be older than ten, the boy had to be in his teens.

“Never. Never ever never, you pirate.”

“And you,petit démon, are too mischievous. How did I ever think you were a butterfly?”

The girl looked up at the boy, beaming. His dark-blue eyes sparkled with joy, softening out the scar that ran down the right side of his face.

“Because, silly, you think I’m pretty. Duh!”

“Oh, you have earned this.”

With the girl clutched to his side laughing, the boy raced to the water. His feet slapped and splashed through the swell of water lapping at the shore, then waded further in until his knees were covered. Then, as a wave surged, he tossed the girl in. She surfaced seconds later, spitting out salt water, and shoved a surge of seawater at him.