Page 7 of Illusory (The Marked Saga #8)

Cursing Tessa and the godforsaken day she was born, I hauled my ass out of the kitchen and down the narrow corridor that led to the basement door. My feet felt heavy and wooden like I was carrying two clunky blocks of concrete, their weight seemingly intensifying with every step I took toward the door, as though there was a full-blown mutiny breaking out in my uncooperative legs. Like they wanted to stage a coup and separate from the rest of my body entirely.

If only I could separate from my sister instead.

Who in the hell did she think she was anyway? Always telling me what to do and how to do it, throwing around her little ultimatums and threats like she had any right. I was getting sick and tired of her and her meddling ways. And I wasn’t scared of her either. Not one bit.

And I sure as heck wasn’t going downstairs to see Trace because she made me.

I was going downstairs to see Trace because I loved him, and I wanted to make sure he was okay. And because I knew I couldn’t keep avoiding this. It was time for me to face the music.

At least that was what I’d told myself as I turned the doorknob and opened the basement door.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, I strained my ears and eyes for any sign of life, hearing only the low strum of some chaotic metal song playing in the distance. The bottom landing was swathed in shadows, the air as still as a grave. The perfect conditions to stage an attack…

A chill crept down the length of my back at the pervasive thought and I hesitated, my foot hanging in the air as I tried to will it to drop down onto the first step.

Stop being such a chicken shit , I scolded myself. This is Trace , for crying out loud .

I mean, sure, he was upset about what I had done to him, and also probably a little freaked out by the spectacle I’d made with the whole wings thing, but he was still my soulmate. And we loved each other.

If I couldn’t reach him, then who could?

Solidifying my resolve, I lowered my foot down onto the first step, and then the next until I’d somehow managed to make it down the entire flight of stairs. The window shades were drawn shut, and all the lights were turned off, bringing the large space into absolute darkness save for a single lamp illuminating the homemade prison cell I’d constructed for Dominic all those weeks ago.

And then I found him—Trace—his familiar form sprawled on a mattress in the corner, his forearm draped over his eyes as if to block out the entirety of a world he no longer wanted part of.

My heart pinched and lurched beneath my ribs as the urge to go to him—to comfort and take care of him—swelled inside of me. And suddenly, my feet were moving again, taking me to him before I’d even consciously made the decision to move.

As if sensing my approach, he bolted upright and in one fluid move, pushed off the bed and swung around to face me, his back flattened against the concrete wall as a low rumbling growl sounded from someplace deep within him. An angry place. A place I wasn’t familiar with.

Shaken, I gasped, freezing mid-step as I took in the sinister outlines that skewed his features and made it seem as though he were sneering at me. It was hostile and aggressive and completely unlike Trace. Everything in me was screaming for me to leave; to heed his warning and put space between us.

But my stubborn heart refused to let my feet move.

It’s still Trace , I told myself again, repeating the words like a wish I’d desperately wanted to make true. He’s still my soulmate .

Taking a courageous step toward the cell, I opened my mouth to say something—to greet him but was immediately cut off.

“You need to leave,” he snarled, his voice ripping through me like frozen shrapnel. “I don’t want you down here.”

Mind-numbing pain hit me from every direction. I tried not to react to his words, tried not to let them flay me from the inside out, but I couldn’t seem to pull off the feat. It felt like a fatal blow to the heart, and I was already reeling from its internal damage.

“Trace…please,” I begged, my words sounding small and uncomfortably desperate. “Can we just talk for a minute?”

His gaze never left mine as he leaned down over the speaker sitting on the end table beside him and then raised the volume all the way up before straightening again, the menacing scowl never leaving his face.

A wiser woman might have taken that as her cue to leave, but I wasn’t exactly known for being quick on the uptake anyway.

“I know you’re angry with me,” I shouted, refusing to be drowned out by the loud music. “And you probably hate me for what I did to you, and honestly, I don’t even blame you but—”

“ Stop talking . Just stop fucking talking ,” he snapped, cutting me right the hell off as he pushed both his hands through his hair, clutching at the roots as though my voice were causing him physical pain. “You have no fucking clue what I am, Jemma, or what I feel about you right now and I’m not in the position to explain it to you.”

His words were a serrated blade to the stomach, twisting and turning around in my abdomen in order to inflict the most amount of damage possible. In the entirety of my life, I had never known words could be that sharp or cut that deep.

Disgraced tears burned under my lids as the weight of what I’d done—what I had allowed to happen to him—hit me all at once. I’d ruined his life, and he hated me for it, wholly and completely, and something told me he wasn’t ever going to be able to forgive me for it.

Not this time.

“I never meant for any of this to happen to you, Trace.” Tears tumbled down my face like drops of summer rain. “I’m so fucking sorry. If there had been another way…” I shook my head, letting the rest of the words fail me. It didn’t matter anymore. What was done was done and no amount of begging or pleading was going to undo it.

His next words came out so low and biting that my legs nearly gave out entirely. “Please just do us both a favor and leave me the fuck alone before I do something we both regret.” His dimples pressed in as he flexed his jaw, his nostrils flaring as if to control the adrenaline seeding the wrath under his skin.

Because that was precisely what it was. Pure, unbidden wrath. Hatred that rolled off his skin like an entity clawing out at my body, slashing at me with its serrated blade. I could see it in his eyes, in his posture. I could feel it in the low violent thrum of his clipped voice.

And still, I didn’t move, unsure of what to do. I couldn’t just walk away and leave it like this, could I? To run away like some scared little weakling. But what was the alternative? Force him to hear me out? Beg him to absolve me of my guilt and take me back? Fight for us?

Shit .

Maybe that was exactly what I was supposed to do…

“Please let me make this better, Trace. Let me—”

“GO!” His booming voice slammed into me like a freight train, knocking me back a couple of steps as the cold truth finally sunk all the way into my bones and then settled in the marrow like the frostbitten remains of what should’ve been, but would never again be.

Trace was done.

We were done.

The damage I’d done was irreparable, unforgivable , and he wanted nothing more to do with me. I could see it then, plain as day, and I had absolutely no one to blame for the gut-wrenching agony but myself.

Incapable of standing the burning humiliation for a second longer, I spun around on my heel and did the only thing I knew to do: I ran . From the basement. From the crushing pain that had suddenly put my heart in a chokehold.

And most of all, I ran from him.

* * *

“That was fast,” remarked Tessa as I charged up from the basement stairs and then slammed the door behind myself, nearly knocking it off its hinges.

My head was spinning, my heart hammering, my hands trembling with emotions I couldn’t contain. I didn’t know what to do with myself; what to say, where to turn. The walls were closing in on me again, drawing in closer and closer together as they threatened to steal the last drop of air from my lungs.

“I take it he agreed,” she surmised, like the idiot she was.

“I never even asked him,” I answered hoarsely, the thought having just dawned on me. I knew it wasn’t going to go smoothly with him, but I was wholly unprepared for what I’d encountered in the basement. For the palpable, visceral hatred oozing from the first man I’d ever loved.

“What do you mean you didn’t ask him?” she barked at me, already ticked off that I hadn’t followed her instructions.

Reeling, I whipped around and faced her, not even bothering to hide the fact that my face was soaked with tears. My hands curled into fists at my side as I gnashed my teeth together. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to hit her . To scream at her. To keep running and never stop.

“Jemma?” Her angry expression morphed into one of immediate concern. “What the hell happened down there? What did he say?”

“What did he say?” I repeated, my chest heaving violently as I struggled to fill my lungs with air and find the words that would make her stop staring at me like she was—like I was some helpless, wounded little bird who’d fallen out of its nest. “What the fuck do you think he said, Tessa?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking,” she answered cautiously, as if acutely aware that the slightest misstep might cause me to detonate right before her eyes.

“Oh, you don’t know?” I repeatedly scathingly and then threw my head back and laughed maniacally, but there was absolutely no humor behind it. “He wants nothing to do with me. Ever again. Shocker, right? I mean, I only turned him into the undead,” I said, the words tasting like wet sand in my mouth.

“He’s still upset.” It wasn’t a question. It was the understatement of the fucking century.

“ Upset?” I took a menacing step toward her, my eyes narrowing into a fierce glare. “Upset doesn’t even begin to cover what he is right now. You know what, Tessa? How about the next time we need a favor from someone, we ask someone that despises you for once. Frankly, I’m sure the list of candidates is at least a mile high.”

She flinched back, her eyes widening as though affronted, but she quickly collected herself. “Look, I get that you’re angry right now, but you don’t have to take it out on me. I’m not the one that—”

“Yeah, you are the one, Tessa!” I cut in, using her name like a filthy curse word. “You’re the one that’s always sticking your nose in my business and making my life worse. You’re the one who’s only ever thinking about herself; about completing the fucking mission of the day with no regard for who’s life you’re blowing up in the process. Just once—just one goddamn time—I wish it was your life that was being blown up in your face and not mine!”

“Jemma!” Her voice pitched in shock, but I didn’t bother sticking around to hear what she had to say about it, no matter how stunned or appalled she looked. No matter how many times she called my name and demanded I get back there. I meant what I said, and I wasn’t going to take back a single word of it.

Not this time.

And not ever the fuck again.