Page 39 of The Last One Standing (Rogue X Ara #4)

ARA

I almost killed Rogue, except I hadn’t meant for it to be him. I hadn’t seen his face above my blade.

I almost killed him in his sleep like an assassin. Was that what Adonis planted in my head?

Had he turned me into another assassin, another puppet for him to pull the strings of whenever he pleased?

I needed scissors, a knife, a sharp rock. I’d snap those damned strings with my teeth if that was what it took.

The feelers of my magic weaved through my skull again, sharper, angrier, sensing the foreign darkness, but like every other time, it was fingers swirling through smoke.

A board creaked under my foot, and I winced, glancing back over my shoulder.

Rogue hadn’t budged. With an arm thrown over his eyes, his chest rose and fell in even waves. The shallow cut on his throat sat just under the wyvern tattoo encircling his neck, thin and already scabbed over. It wouldn’t scar, but it was there now, evidence of my deterioration.

Perhaps I did need to be kept under watch, but it shouldn’t be his watch. It was too big of a risk, especially when he didn’t seem to mind if I sliced his throat. There wasn’t an ounce of self-preservation in him—in fact, quite the opposite.

The lunatic dug into the dagger.

He was either mad or he had a death wish he expected me to grant. Yet he promised, Death cannot keep me from you.

Mad, then. Definitely, undeniably mad.

He might need a keeper, too.

Releasing a breath, I continued one step at a time until I reached the door and silently turned the knob. At the subtle click, I tensed, listening. When I heard no reaction from him, I pulled the door open and slipped out.

I had a thousand different puzzles in my head, all missing vital pieces, leaving blank spots that grew more and more aggravating until I was practically scrambling around on my hands and knees to find them.

The lanterns in the hall were few and far between, but they were warm and chased away the darkness—I was grateful for that.

I was grateful for Rogue, too, which was exactly why I snuck away like a thief in the night, despite the heavy stone of emotion sitting in my gut.

I couldn’t place it, but I hated it. Guilt certainly, but there was something else, something…

nastier, darker, something that wanted to crawl up my throat and choke me.

I’d searched his room for whiskey, rum, wine, even tea, but I found nothing of use, and my brain was too loud, Rogue too quiet in his sleep.

The entire ship was too quiet, but the world too loud.

The past day hadn’t been so bad. I thought…

I thought I was getting better.

“Nope,” I cried under my breath.

My head had become a paradox, a conundrum, a fucking tornado that didn’t care which way it went as long as it destroyed everything in its path.

He’d broken me.

Three months of the worst pain I’d ever suffered, yet it took him one day—was it only one day?—to break my mind, the one place I could never escape.

And Mother…

My hands trembled, and I clenched them into fists.

No one would tell me how she was, not really. Only that she was alive and safe.

But the letters didn’t burn.

They hadn’t burned once before, and that had been one of the worst nights of my life.

I loved my mother with every bone in my body, and I needed to be there for her. In Vaelor’s death, I’d become her only reason for living. She had told me as such a hundred times over, and now, I’d been gone for three months.

Was she still there? Or had she broken, too?

I didn’t think I could survive if, after everything she’d been through, I was the one to do her in. She was the strongest woman I knew, but Alden told me of the silent void she sank into after Vaelor died, not seeing, hearing, speaking.

If I did that to her, I wouldn’t… I couldn’t…

Another silent sob wracked my body, and I pressed the back of one hand over my mouth, the other clutching my abdomen.

My guilt would eat me alive, and we would both join Vaelor.

Then, I’d be responsible for two deaths, mine and hers, and Vaelor would hate me in the afterlife—hate me for killing his mate.

Or perhaps my mother was already gone and only her body remained, merely existing until it died, too.

Bile rose in my throat, my hand knotting in my shirt when another cry escaped, muffled by my hand.

Scrunching my eyes, I counted my breaths, each agonizing one, until I reached ten, then I dropped my arms to my side and forced my chin up.

She needed me, but not this fractured version of myself.

When I finally spotted the hatch, I wiped my wet cheeks. The worn brass of the handle had faded in the center from so many hands over the years—had my hand been one of them?

My gaze followed the ladder down to the floor, the base mere feet away.

It was that easy: climb the ladder, open the hatch, and I’d be free.

From whom, though?

From Rogue, who was currently taking me back to Draig Hearth, where Mother waited? Should I even go to her? Or would I find myself pressing a dagger to her throat, too?

From Adonis? He thought I was dead.

From myself? I highly doubted leaving the ship would free me from my own head.

And what about Livvy? She was here. They all were.

But they would all be safer if I left.

I was a threat, my nightmares coming to life through my hands.

Maybe I needed to free them from me, not the other way around—or maybe that was just the excuse I’d tell myself.

I felt restless, the need to leave and move and run as vital as my next breath, but I didn’t understand why. Though the reason didn’t matter, because stagnancy felt more lethal than anything else, to me and everyone within range.

I had to leave. I had to choose to leave.

I had to choose something .

“The weapon,” I blurted. “I’ll find the weapon.”

I could do that much without accidentally killing anyone.

Rolling my shoulders, I took a deep breath and closed the distance to the ladder. I grabbed the wood and climbed a few rungs before the skin on the back of my neck pricked with awareness.

I stilled, halfway up.

Someone was watching me.

I didn’t have to look back to know. I felt them, their eyes first, then their energy, their beating heart. I felt their quick inhales, as rushed as mine, the nervous twitching in their hands. Their feet, however, remained planted.

I descended back down the ladder and landed with a thud, standing tall as I turned to face my spectator. The hall was empty, but I didn’t need to see her to know she was there.

The wood creaked as I stalked forward and halted directly in front of her. She didn’t drop her blind, but her heavy breathing was audible and reeked of an old hangover plied with fresh liquor.

“I know it’s you, Delphia.”

She staggered away, but I lurched forward and grabbed her arm. She materialized with wide, bloodshot eyes.

I released her with a flinch, curling my fingers into a fist at my side. She rubbed where I’d touched her, but her hand was misshapen, the skin pulled tight over a crooked bone, her small finger bent at an odd angle.

“It’s my fault,” she whispered, but her words grew louder as she went on, “It was all my fault, Ara. Everything. All of it. That’s why Rogue doesn’t want?—”

I slapped a hand over her mouth, gut wrenching at the contact. She whimpered against my palm, nostrils flared.

My eyes darted down the hall behind her, waiting for someone to appear.

When no one did, I pulled my hand away slowly and pointed to the hatch. She nodded quickly, and I gestured for her to go first.

She didn’t hesitate to walk around me and climb up, opening the hatch. Icy air slithered in, and I ground my teeth, thankful for the coat—the coat Rogue had given me for no other reason than I wanted it.

I swallowed the knot rising in my throat and rechecked the buttons for the tenth time. They were all fastened, my boots tightly laced, my hands shoved in Rogue’s large gloves.

As Delphia disappeared through the opening, I stared up at the black sky, a thousand stars sparkling.

With one final glance over my shoulder, I tugged the sleeves down, lifted the collar to cover my neck, and climbed the ladder.

At that first step on deck, blood roared in my ears.

It was colder out in the open.

My eyes dropped to my feet, sure I’d be barefoot again, but my boots were still there. I wiggled my toes to be sure, but I couldn’t see them, not through the leather and two pairs of wool socks.

I had too much skin exposed, though, skin I couldn’t hide from the elements. The air bit at my cheeks, stinging my eyeballs, cold in my throat and nose. I closed my eyes, sucking in a deep breath, but that only filled my lungs with ice, too.

Rogue.

I need Rogue.

All I could focus on was the cold—cold and the sound of water. I clenched my fists as I braced myself, waiting for it to soak my hair and clothes and fill my stomach until I vomited on the floor.

His bucket was always full. He never ran out, and I was foolish to think I’d escaped him. This was?—

“My fault,” Delphia said again, and I jumped away from her, eyes snapping open. “It was all my fault.”

My palm flattened over my sternum. I was wheezing.

Is this real?

The burn in my lungs was real.

Were they burning from lack of air or too much water? Was there really a difference?

Did it matter if I still died in the end?

Delphia seemed to notice, too, stepping closer as she lifted a hand toward me, but I staggered back. Hurt sank into her features, tears falling, breath hitching, but air— I needed air.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t know how to help. How can I help?”

“I’m…drowning,” I croaked.

She shook her head, saying words I couldn’t decipher, because her hands—her hands hovered all around me like my worst nightmare, the promise of touch.

The backs of my knees hit wood, and I sat back onto a bench, gripping the edge with one hand while the other clawed at my chest.