Page 10 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part Two

The pain and anger retracts just enough for me to unclench my jaw and open my mouth. “Let’s be done with it,” I say, not quite knowing what I mean even as I voice the words.

“If … if that’s what you want,” Bolan whispers back.

I can feel his grief. He has it tamped down, practically smothered, but it threads through his words.

I open my hand over the water’s edge. Armin’s ashes coat my fingers, but I’ve managed to protect the tiny mound in my palm. Bolan keeps his hand under mine, but I can feel the tremble that runs through him now.

“I have to tell you something,” he croaks quietly.

“I already know.”

He stiffens as if steeling himself against a physical blow, then shakes his head. “Not … that. This is … you need to know this to … keep moving forward. I think. I … know …”

“Then tell me, Bolan,” I say, surprised I’m capable of snapping at him while I’m holding a handful of my beloved brother’s ashes.

“I know …” he whispers, close enough that I feel his breath stir my hair and fan across my ear. “I know why.”

I freeze, literally numb but completely understanding what he means. Why . As in, the why that’s led to me holding a handful of my brother’s ashes in the now .

Bolan continues, “I know … how.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, as if I might block out his words even though they’re already echoing through my mind, embedding into my brain.

“Tell me,” I rasp, forcing myself to open my eyes, to keep breathing, my chest so tight and breath so shallow that I can barely articulate the words.

He swallows harshly, then hesitates.

“Bolan!”

He takes a shuddering breath. “It’s just, you … I can’t lose you more than I’ve already —”

“Tell me, Bolan.”

“There’s this new drug …” he whispers.

I close my eyes again, and I’m light-headed suddenly. Actually swaying on my feet. Bolan tugs me a little closer so I don’t fall over. It’s an instinctual protective reaction, I think, because his tone is remote, almost empty.

Bolan’s voice is never devoid of emotion. Never.

“There’s always a new drug,” I murmur back, waiting for his next words to embed even more shards of pain into my heart. “But the awry aren’t affected by …”

Bolan nods, then swallows again. I still have my eyes shut, still primed to weather whatever he has to tell me. So I feel the movement, the sides of our faces almost pressed together, rather than see it.

I wait in the before because I have no choice. I have to survive whatever revelation Bolan needs to tell me.

I’ve already fallen apart.

I cannot completely disintegrate.

Pampered princess or not, I don’t have that particular luxury.

So I hold myself in the moment. I anchor myself, my feet in the mud, the marble urn pressed against my chest … and within Bolan’s arms.

“This one, this drug, is different.” Bolan’s tone and tenor firm, as if he needs to get the words out, to be done with the secret he’s been carrying.

“There’s been a few variants of it because most dealers have been cutting it with something else.

Another suppressant. The original drug was medical grade.

Rumor has it that there was some sort of big heist rather than a leak or a single disgruntled chemist. It was developed to … ”

“Take down an awry,” I say, opening my eyes to a view of the pond, already knowing the direction of Bolan’s tale. “To contain awry.”

“Well …” He clears his throat. “Powerful essence-wielders at least.”

“You sourced this for Armin.” I make it a statement, not a question.

Bolan flinches. I’m still holding the ashes in the palm of my hand. He’s still helping me keep my arm aloft.

“Tell me.”

“I got some of the cut stuff from a mage with a potions specialization I buy regularly from. I … I’m always looking to suppress the wolf.”

“And Armin didn’t want any of it,” I say flatly, as if I’m simply reciting facts. “Any of the power that teemed within him. Or any of the responsibilities that came with it.”

“He just needed an occasional break, Mirth.”

“Don’t defend him right now,” I whisper without heat. “I … we … need to … survive this, don’t we? I need to know and to acknowledge the truth of it all.”

Bolan inhales shakily. “The stuff I sourced barely dampened Armin. His essence just … burned it off. I literally could feel heat coming off him moments after he took it.”

“The awry are immune to a certain extent to most essence-based spells or potions or …” I sigh. “But you know that.”

“Yeah, I buy from mages or other shifters, mostly. No point in bothering with human or null-made drugs, really. Except for a minor buzz.”

“Armin didn’t want a minor buzz.”

“No.”

“He got his hands on the medical-grade stuff,” I say quietly. “The uncut, human-made stuff.”

“Mirth …”

“And he took it during your ski trip.”

“I …” Bolan breathes in deeply, his arms tightening around me. “Yes, we took it that night. I … it honestly scared the absolute shit out of me. I do a lot to suppress the instincts of the wolf when necessary, but I felt … it was too much. Even for me.”

“But not for Armin.”

“I don’t know. All I know is I woke up late the next morning feeling like my heart had been ripped from my chest. Completely fucking incapacitated.

I stumbled into Armin’s room, saw his empty, still-made bed.

And I knew … some part of me knew. I tried to track him down, but I couldn’t even find his guards.

I didn’t know what the fuck had happened.

I convinced myself that he’d just taken off … even though he …”

“Left his luggage at the chalet.”

“Yeah. But … he’s done that once before, and I …” Bolan doesn’t finish the thought. Not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because he doesn’t really want to acknowledge it himself.

“There were no drugs on him,” I say, shading around the edges of Bolan’s recounting of that morning with everything else I already know. “Unless someone managed to hide them before I arrived to claim … him …” My voice cracks.

I felt hollow by that point, after also feeling like my heart had been inexplicably shredded within my chest. Just as Bolan described it.

I felt hollow as I was ushered into that cold room to identify the corpse of my brother.

“It would be a serious risk for one of his guards or even one of the paramedics to hide that kind of evidence from me, from my father. I suppose it could have been lost in the avalanche, or …”

“No. There were only three pills,” Bolan says. His tone isn’t devoid of emotion now. A bright, pulsating anger wars with his grief.

I can feel it battering against me, against all the shields I hadn’t quite realized I held between me …

between me and everyone else. Beyond simply suppressing my own essence.

This is an emotion-evoked shield that has only thickened, even hardened over, since that night with Oliver — that kiss and rejection and everything that happened after.

Born from an overwhelming need, the belief that I had to control myself, myself and everything around me.

“We took two that night.”

I clear my throat, focused on anchoring myself in this moment. This is why I stole Armin’s ashes. I need this to move forward. But it … hurts.

It hurts to confirm what I already knew.

Armin made a choice.

“And?”

“And the container was empty the next morning. Armin took the last pill.”

“He took a pill that completely suppressed his powers. Then went skiing. On an unplowed run in avalanche conditions.”

“It wasn’t suicide.”

“Then what would you call it?” I snap.

Bolan chokes back a sob, and only then do I realize that he’s been doing so over and over since he wrapped himself around me.

“It was … we didn’t talk about it. For me, it was the worst I ever felt.

Almost the worst …” His voice trails off, and his arms tighten around me.

“I felt empty, like I’d lost half my soul.

I was fucking freaked out of my mind about it, locked myself in the bedroom to ride it out. Alone.”

The wolf, he means. The wolf is the other half of his soul, no matter how much he tries to suppress it.

“But Armin?” Bolan shakes his head. “For Armin, I can only guess that it felt like …”

“Freedom,” I whisper, focusing on the ashes in my hand. “Skiing always did for him as well. On a smaller scale. It felt like freedom.”

“I should have been with him,” Bolan croaks. “We were supposed to do that run together.”

“I should have been with him,” I murmur, brushing my ash-coated fingers together. The small mound of ashes in my palm crumbles at the edges and falls into the water. I fight the instinct to close my hand around the remainder. I have to let it go. I know I do.

“You weren’t your brother’s keeper. He should have been protecting you. He left you —”

“He left us.” I force myself to tip my hand over, allowing the remaining ashes to fall into the pond.

When I turn my hand back over again, some ash remains, clinging to my skin.

But before I can make the decision to brush it off, Bolan runs his thumb across my palm, across my fingers, brushing away the remnants.

His touch is warm and solid. Comforting.

It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

So I pull my hand away.

I pivot to put the urn back into my backpack, effectively breaking Bolan’s hold on me to do so. Though he still crowds against my back.

“Do you think it’s possible for you to ever forgive me?” Bolan asks.

I don’t look at him. “Did you shove the pills down Armin’s throat? Ever?”

“No, I —”

“Armin made his choices, Bolan. You two might have influenced each other, but … if I blame you for not being on that ski run with him, then I have to blame myself, right?”

“It’s not the same thing —”

I sigh heavily, straightening and leaving Bolan kneeling behind me. The bottom of my duster slaps against my calves, heavily coated in mud. I ignore it, gazing out over the pond for a moment. “It’s done. It has to be done now.”

“I know.”

I pick up my backpack, swinging it over my shoulder. “I can’t stay for breakfast. Will you let Adeline know that —”

Bolan wraps his hand around my knee, stopping me from stepping around him. Then he drops even lower in the mud, head hanging forward.

“Bolan …”

“I need to say the words. I need to —”

“It’s done,” I say again.

That twist of pain is back in my chest, writhing around my heart.

With all my grief over saying goodbye to Armin, of having the simple truth of his senseless death confirmed, I didn’t realize the sensation stilled while Bolan held me.

That realization comes with an extra slice of agony, right across my heart.

But I shove it away. I steel myself against it, as I would if it were a malignant spell or even a knife.

Deflect. Fortify my defenses.

“I know,” I whisper.

Bolan’s head snaps back. His shoulders stiffen, twisting my way. He gazes up at me with essence-bright eyes. His wolf is present, if not verging on dominant, and his voice rasps as if his vocal cords aren’t completely human anymore. “You don’t know it all.”

I try to move away, but his hold tightens on my leg. “I don’t need to hear it.”

“I need to say it.”

“What will it change?”

“Everything? Nothing?” He shakes his head.

“I came after you that night. After you kissed me. I knew I’d made a mistake right away.

I knew what I wanted before that kiss, during that kiss, but the wolf …

” He swallows. “The reaction, my reaction … scared the fuck out of me. I didn’t know why …

no. I didn’t know for certain. And I had to sort out my head, get the wolf under control.

Try to stop myself from just claiming —”

“Would you at least stand?”

He laughs harshly. “I know my place. I know where I belong. On my knees, begging —”

“I’m not interested in your dramatics —”

“Fucking listen to me, Mirth!”

I make another bid for freedom, yanking on my captured leg so hard that I stumble back and almost fall.

Almost fall. Because in the midst of my falling, Bolan springs forward, grabs my hips, and gently lowers me the rest of the way to the ground.

On my ass.

With him now looming over me.

I shove at his chest. My heart is beating wildly.

“Don’t run from me,” he growls. “I can’t handle it a third time.”

“Or what?” I snap.

“I’ll fucking chase you,” he says. A warning, low and deadly. “And if I chase, my wolf will rise. And my wolf wants you. My wolf wants you any way he can have you.”

My heart does this weird squelching thing, tripling its intent to seemingly burst free of my chest. Then the truth of his words sinks in.

“Your wolf,” I sneer. “But not the man.”

Bolan, still anchoring me by my hips, still looming over me, tilts his head in that shifter way. Listening to … my heartbeat?

He bares his teeth. It’s not a smile. “You want to be chased, baby girl?”

“Fuck you, Bolan.”

He chuckles darkly.

I get right up into his face and snarl back. “You wouldn’t know what to do with me if you caught me, asshole.”

His wolf-bright eyes flick to my mouth, then up to ensnare my gaze. Then he slowly, deliberately, peels his fingers off my hips and settles back onto his knees.

On his knees between my legs. And looking at me as if he’s in just as much pain. Radiating grief and anger, but waiting for his moment? To reach for what he wants?

My heart thrums against my rib cage as I slowly pull my legs away from him, then get my feet under me. Bolan’s head tilts. His pupils are blown out, cobalt-blue eyes edged with the essence of his wolf as he focuses entirely on me.

He watches me as if nothing else exists in the world but each movement I make, each beat of my heart. I’m not entirely certain what’s in the process of shifting between us.

Except that pain in my chest? It’s warming and expanding.

It’s anger, yes. But it’s also need. Want. And … hope.

A terrible, potentially soul-destroying, desperate hope.

“You run and I’ll follow,” Bolan growls.

“I’ll fuck you where I find you. Then I’ll bite you, make you mine.

Because I’m tired of denying who I am to you.

I’m not remotely worthy of you. I can’t do anything to change the circumstances of my birth or the stupid choices I’ve made out of fear.

But the fucking universe says you’re mine. You’re my soul-bound mate.”

I’m not breathing properly. I’m light-headed from it. Or from trying to contain everything … all this emotion. Or maybe from trying to deny everything …

“Don’t you fucking run.”

I run.