Page 21 of Wicked Ends

I lift my hand and knock, hearing a pause, a shuffle within, and then her voice: “Yeah?”

“Rose. It’s me.”

She opens the door and just stands there. Her dark hair is pulled up in a knot that looks like it was done in the dark, there are shadows beneath her eyes, and her skin is paler than usual, except for the angry flush of the mark on her arm. I study her, suppressing the urge to take her by the shoulders and demand answers. Instead, I simply step inside, careful not to crowd her.

She closes the door behind me, then walks across the room and drops onto the edge of her bed, legs folded under her.

The room is still, save for the faint hint of magic around her, a little stronger than before.Curious. I remain standing, watching her. “You look tired.”

She shrugs, staring at the floor. “It’s been a hellish couple of days.”

She’s not telling me everything. I can see it in the way her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt, and in the stubborn set of her chin. Rose never admits to fear.

I sit beside her, careful to keep a distance, to give her space. “What happened last night?”

For a split second, she debates lying, then clearly decides it’s not worth the effort.

“Ash wanted to do some training.” She says it as if the words leave a bad taste in her mouth. “Help me learn to use my magic. So I went to the woods to meet him.”

What she says hits a nerve, but I force myself to remain impassive. She doesn’t need judgement from me right now.

“He didn’t hurt you.”

“Not unless you count a bruised ego and possibly frostbite. Magic is a lot right now. More than usual. It’s exhausting.” She flexes her fingers, and for a moment, gold sparks flicker between them.

So her magic is stronger, that’s what I’m detecting. I don’t let my surprise show.

I take her hands before she can tuck them away. They’re warm, and I am uncomfortably aware of her pulse under my thumb. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

She looks away, but doesn’t pull her hands back. “No one else can do it for me. Not really.”

“I could try.” I mean it, and she knows it. If there were a way to shoulder the burden for her, I’d take it gladly, no matter what it cost me.

“Yeah, but then you’d probably just complain about how I’m not doing it up to your standards.”

“Only if you endangered yourself.” I squeeze her hands, gentle, careful not to bruise. “You matter to me, Rose.” I pause, searching her face for a sign that she understands me. ‘Matters’ is hardly the right word. She’s more than that to me.

She glances up. “You’re not going to lecture me about Ash?”

“I want to,” I admit. “But I don’t think it would help. You’re safer if he can train you to use your power.”

She studies me, searching for a catch. “You’re not mad?”

“Only at myself,” I say. “For not being there. Not keeping a better eye on you.”

“You can’t babysit me twenty-four seven, Lucien.”

“Possibly not. But I could try.”

She rolls her eyes, but her mouth twitches at the corners. “God, you’re stubborn.”

I let go of her hands, but only because I reach for her chin, tilting her face up to the light.

“You haven’t eaten,” I say.

“I had leftover pizza.”

“Leftover pizza is not food.”