Page 62 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

TWENTY-NINE

EMMA

After my talk with Jackson, I went and sat down in the library, staring blankly at the wall, my mind racing with all this new intel on James. The man I had… The man I was… I sighed, unable to bring closure to those unfinished sentences just yet.

What I did understand with unsettling clarity was that James was a stone-cold killer. I also realized Enya had tried to warn me about him for that exact reason. Hadn’t she said all Offensives were basically assassins? Then why was I so shocked to find out James had killed so many people?

A whirlwind of chaotic thoughts danced through my mind as I tried to make sense of it all.

I revisited every shared moment, scouring for signs, any subtle hints that might have betrayed his concealed life. He had been moody and distant, sure, but always in control. The epitome of control, even. Clearly, beneath that facade, there was more darkness than I had ever imagined.

As I grappled with this newfound knowledge, a part of me yearned to distance myself from him, to escape the danger that encircled him.

But another part of me, a part I had only recently discovered, whispered into the depths of my soul.

It reminded me of my own darkness, the secrets I held, the shadows that lurked within me, and the spilled blood on my hands.

How could I pass judgment when I, too, battled my own demons?

No wonder he’d never given me any crap about “Kevin.”

I began to comprehend his insistence on me mastering control over my abilities. Perhaps he feared I would tread the same path of death and destruction he had experienced.

We were more alike than I could have ever imagined...

He understood my darkness to its core. His tenebrosity may have eclipsed mine but both were cut from the same cloth.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to find clarity amidst the chaos.

The truth was this revelation didn't change who James was as a person. He was still the same man, the same infuriating man who made my heart beat faster, simply by showing up.

He and I had our own paths, our own secrets, and our own ways of coping with the obscurity which resided within us. His happened to be a dangerous one, but it didn't define him entirely. It was a part of him, just as my own was a part of me.

With a newfound resolve, I made a decision. I would not let his background dictate my feelings for him. However unclear those still were.

Before I could properly conclude my musings about James and his indecipherable actions, a large figure burst into the library, making me jump up instantly and take on a fighting stance.

"James!" I exclaimed, utterly surprised, when my mind finally caught up to his identity. “What are you doing here?”

“You need to come with me,” he commanded, his breath ragged as if he had just run a marathon, his eyes so dark that the green was nearly entirely swallowed by his intense, black irises.

“Why?” I asked, frowning.

“Because I’m telling you to,” he spoke impatiently.

“Do you remember what I told you about ordering me around?” I asked deeply annoyed with his tone, choosing to overlook the alarming state he was in.

His jaw tightened. “This is not the time to argue. Grab some overnight stuff in your dorm if you must but do it quickly and follow me. Now .”

I arched an eyebrow defiantly and folded my arms. If he thought I would comply when spoken to in that tone, he was sorely mistaken.

With a single shake of his head, he crossed the room in only two large strides.

"You…” he seethed, grabbing my arm, “are an infuriatingly stubborn pain in my ass!"

"Hey!" I protested, but he effortlessly hauled me over his shoulder in a fluid motion and exited my library, my legs flailing behind me while offering me an unobstructed view of his (very nice) ass.

“Put me down!” I screamed, “Now!”

He ignored me. Of course.

My threats, my pleas, my shouts—they all fell on deaf ears as he ran up several flights of stairs like I weighed no more than a feather.

It wasn’t until he lowered me back to the ground and closed the door behind us, I finally had the chance to survey my surroundings.

My eyes darted around the room, taking in its simple yet elegant design.

It was undoubtedly a living space, furnished with just the essentials.

A modest couch, a sleek desk, and a solitary chair occupied the room, which bathed in the gentle glow of a lone lamp.

To the right, a bar with three stools marked the boundary between the living area and a compact kitchen. On the left, a closed door hinted at the presence of a private chamber or perhaps a bathroom. The space exuded a sense of spaciousness and refinement, despite its minimalistic decor.

I instantly realized where we were—this had to be James's loft. The understated style spoke volumes, mirroring his penchant for simplicity and functionality.

"Why are we here?" I grunted, as I observed James stride into the kitchen, seemingly indifferent to my presence in his personal space.

He returned with two glasses and a bottle of Scotch in hand. "I assumed single malt, neat." He swiftly opened up the bottle, filled both of the glasses and handed me one of them while he took a long sip from his own before retreating to his desk.

I was still angry at his caveman-like behavior, but the aroma of the evidently high-quality whisky forced me to take a sip.

"Bowmore?" I asked, surprised.

He nodded. "Eighteen years."

Well, that was quite the peace offering.

"Why are we here, James?" I pressed, suppressing an irritated sigh.

"If you would sit down like a civilized person instead of hovering by the door like an escaping prisoner, I could explain," he snapped.

"Civilized people invite others in; they don't haul them over their shoulders and abduct them," I retorted.

He rolled his eyes. “You and your abductions. You really need to tone down the drama.”

My jaw dropped. Did he just really say that to me?

"Are you kidding me—" I began, but he cut me off.

"Enough, Emma, please! Can we just…" His voice trailed off. He set down his glass and held my gaze with so much vigor, it almost made me feel uncomfortable.

"Can we agree to a truce, even if only for a few hours?" he asked, his tone unexpectedly soft compared to his usual demeanor.

I raised a brow. "You, resorting to caveman tactics, makes a truce seem unlikely."

"You were being stubborn."

"And you were giving me orders," I spat.

"Fuck, Emma, just stop! Okay?" he growled, the harshness of his voice causing me to take a step back.

"Please."

I blinked. Did he just say please? Holy...

"Just please, take a seat."

I sighed as I surveyed the room. "Where?"

"Wherever you like."

Fine, his couch seemed tolerable enough. Taking another sip of the excellent Scotch, I seated myself, never breaking eye contact. I’d stare him down if I had to.

"Alright. You have my attention. I’m here, I’m sitting, I’m drinking. And I’m listening. Now, what is this all about?”

He took a deep breath, then downed the remainder of his drink in one gulp. "There was another breach tonight."

I frowned. "Another breach?"

“Of the Layers.”

I froze.

“Radicals?” I whispered.

James nodded. “They weren’t successful, though. I had the Council implement new safety measures after your abduction, so the Layers are still intact. But the attempt forced Maria to bubble in Cyclos again, which means all translation is out.”

“And you think they were coming for me?” I almost didn’t dare to ask, afraid of the answer.

James went completely still. While his body language exuded calm, his eyes betrayed a different story. The storm raging within him was almost tangible, and the slight tremor of his hand as he poured himself a second drink betrayed the effort it took him to maintain that facade.

I could see it now, his usual display of coldness and indifference. It wasn’t all an act, but it wasn’t entirely true either. I could see how he would force himself to remain composed, especially when he felt anything but.

“They were coming for me.” It wasn’t a question anymore; it was a statement.

He nodded. “We believe they’re still after your blood for whatever reason. We don’t know how many they are but if we’re right, your dorm is the first place they’d look. Which is why, with all translation out, I had to bring you to the safest place in Cyclos.”

I raised a brow. The loft seemed safe, but not necessarily heavily fortified.

“This loft?” I asked, surprise evident in my voice.

James shook his head. “No. With me.”

I swallowed. “So, that’s what the whole caveman act was about? Keeping me safe? With you?”

He rolled his eyes again. “If you’d just done as I asked…”

I held up my hand. “Fine! Whatever! Let’s just drop it.”

“I’d love nothing more,” he grunted.

I finished my drink in one gulp, hoping to quiet the sudden surge of nerves gripping me.

"So, what's the plan? We stay here and play Scrabble until they come knocking for another 'bloodbag'?"

Raw, unfiltered rage flashed in his eyes, and I couldn't help but catch my breath at the intensity.

"Maria will maintain the bubble until Cyclos is deemed completely safe again. You'll be staying with me until then. Hopefully, by tomorrow morning, everything will have returned to normal," he replied, his words strained.

“So basically, I’m stuck here with you,” I groaned.

James squinted. “You could do worse, you know. But yeah, until this threat has officially been cleared, consider me your personal bodyguard.”

Great.

I glanced around the loft. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“There’s room under the sink in the bathroom. It won’t be cozy or comfortable but at least you’ll be safe.”

I blinked.

James raised an eyebrow. “That was a joke.”

I rolled my eyes. “Color me shocked .”

James snorted, and for a moment, I thought I detected a hint of a smile.

“You really think I need a bodyguard?” I asked, trying to mask the fear seeping into my voice.

“I don’t actually. You’re one of the strongest people I know, but we haven’t been training long enough for you to defend yourself the same way I could.

Plus, your translation is nowhere near desirable.

If you translate during a bubble, even by accident, it could kill you. Wouldn’t want to take that risk.”

My jaw dropped.

"What?" he asked, as if it was the most normal thing ever for him to compliment me.

"You believe me to be strong?" Disbelief rang in every word.

James frowned. “Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”

I let out a laugh without humor. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because earlier today you gave me the biggest crap ever about drowning in self-pity.”

He wasn’t fazed by my calling him out. If anything, he seemed rather pleased I was still seething about it.

“Because I expect more from you,” he stated plainly.

My eyes narrowed. "Excuse me? I think all things considered, I’m doing pretty well. I believe most people would probably struggle even more, given the same parameters and situation," I retorted sharply.

Again, James wasn’t fazed by my bitter tone, all he did was shrug. “I hold you to different standards.”

I snorted. “Which standards are those?”

He looked up, his gaze clashing with my own, his voice low. “Mine.”

And just like that, my anger evaporated. Because for all his big talk and arrogance, what he just said was that he considered me an equal in every way, which was the highest praise I had ever received. And I liked that. A lot.