Page 127 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain

The sudden tenderness in his voice wraps tightly around my heart, constricting my lungs.

I keep my eyes locked on his. “I fucking hate you.”

“And I love you,” Alec says with honest vehemence, brushing his warm, soft lips across my tear-stained cheek. “With everything that I am.”

My freed hand raises to slap him, but he catches it at the wrist before placing it palm down on his chest, over his heart, his large hand enveloping mine.

“It is yours,” Alec says simply, painfully, before dropping his head. “You know me,” he states, bringing his lips to my forehead, trying to touch what he can’t reach. “I beg you, see me.”

Alec loosens his grip on my wrist still pinned to the wall and moves our hands to lay palm down over my heart, mirroring the position over his. His forehead falls against mine, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Does my light not still live inside you? Do you not feel me, right here?” Our racing hearts beat in tandem, as they have since the day I was born, each deep pump of mine matching his perfectly. “Because your fire still burns for me. Your light will always live within me. The day it ceases to exist, so will I.”

His flickering light dances in my chest, begging to be fanned and fed. It bounces and fights to grow in strength with his nearness while I try to extinguish it.

I don’t deserve its warmth.

“I feel nothing.”

Alec squeezes our hands tighter. “You are lying.” He pulls his face away to look into my eyes. “You may try to lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to me.”

Alec pulls away, and I barely stop myself from leaning forward to deny the distance being placed between us.

“If tomorrow you wish to return to Crane Hills, we will go. But tonight I am taking you home.“ I don’t miss Alec’s emphasis on the word.

Without hesitation, he clamps a large hand around my arm and pulls us away, reappearing directly in my chambers.

Shoving away from Alec when we land, I waste no time stumbling into bed. I collapse, still in my revealing dress—now stinking and dirty—and my knee-high boots.

Without a word, Alec sits at the foot of the bed and unlaces both boots, sliding them off carefully and placing them at the foot of my bed. He fills a glass of water with the pitcher on my nightstandbefore handing it to me and brushing hair back from my face. I shy away from his affection.

“Do you lean away from my touch because it brings you physical discomfort? Or is it only the part of you that is trying to push me away?”

Alec’s true question is clear: if it would be counterproductive to keep giving me his soft touches. My eyes close, not bothering to answer. The bed dips next to me, and I wait for another connection, holding my breath for his warmth.

But he merely sits.

“I am staying with you tonight,” Alec states. His nearness is calming, his scent drifting across the empty space between us that’s too far; not far enough.

“You don’t have to do that,” I choke, warm tears dripping onto my pillow from the tip of my nose.

“Yes, I do.” Alec picks up my arm and traces his fingertips down the portion where I dragged a blade earlier today. He slowly brings his mouth to my arm, tenderly kissing the spot from beginning to end.

My eyes close tight, and I lose the fight in trying to deny myself the ease of his presence; the settling comfort of his peaceful energy that I so desperately need. As the minutes stretch on and Alec continues to stay next to me, constant and caring, I become too comfortable.

Before I have a chance to retreat into myself, I fall asleep.

The next morning, I wake facing where Alec sat next to me the night before and find myself alone. He must have gone to his ownchambers sometime after I fell asleep. Relief mixed with the twisting sourness of disappointment coats me. Easing off the mattress, I stop short at the sight of something shining against the wall next to my door.

I leap out of bed and bound to it.

Leaning against the wall is a metal staff.

The metal is unknown to me, the color a dark gray with a pearlescent sheen. Etchings of jasmine and vines of ivy intricately decorate the long shaft. The metal continues, unbreaking, to a speared end pointing at the ceiling. Even without picking the staff up and inspecting it closely, I can see the three deathly sharp points and razor thin edges.

Around the center of the staff is a black silk ribbon tied off into an obscenely large bow.

Motherfucker, I think to myself.