Page 142 of Dance of Thorns

She giggles, her dark eyes twinkling as she pushes a lock of blue back from her face.

She puts her hand out. “What’s your name?”

“Bane,” I say, taking hers.

“Bane? As in, the bane of my existence?”

“If you ask me nicely.”

She grins again.

Fuck,she’s got a pretty smile.

She hasn’t let go of my hand yet, either.

“Nice to meet you, Bane. I’m Lark. Wanna be friends?”

39

DOVE

At first,I have no words.

I just cry.

I fucking cry and cry, screaming into his chest. Then I cry some more, because I’m angry with myself for crying in the first place, instead of dropping to my knees and begging his forgiveness.

Because as the truth sinks into me like razorblades, the realization and recognition of that truth flows out of my veins like blood.

I’m not Dove.

I’m the other.

The razorblade twists, gouging and carving deeper.

I’m not Dove.

I’m Lark.

AndI’mthe villain of this story.

Eventually, the only sound is my hitched, ragged breath as he holds me in his arms, both of us still kneeling in the middle of the room.

When I shift because my knees are starting to ache, Bane pulls me with him as he moves to sit against the wall. I slide down to the floor beside him, numb, just staring into space, my hands limp in my lap.

We sit in silence for so long I lose track of time.

Bane’s brow furrows. I glance at him curiously when he leans over and reaches underneath the old desk. He smirks, pulling out an ancient, half-crumpled pack of cigarettes with a loop of duct tape glued to the back of it.

“Agatha hated it when you smoked,” he says quietly, slipping one between his lips and lighting it with a faded pink plastic lighter stuffed into the pack.

The end of it glows and catches as he inhales. I feel my throat tighten as he exhales a thin plume of smoke through his lips. He plucks the cigarette away from his mouth and hands it my way without looking at me.

“Oh, no, I quit after rehab.”

Bane says nothing, just staring straight ahead. He doesn’t pull the smoldering cigarette back from me.

“Actually…thanks,” I mumble, taking it from him. My fingertips brush the backs of his knuckles as I do, and I feel a deep, dark pulse between us as I bring the smoke to my lips.