Because something in him changes.
He blinks again, but now that the fog has cleared, something else is revealed behind those brilliant blue eyes.
I’m not entirely sure why, but I take a step back.
His throat bobs. “You said this would work. You said we’d be able to get back.”
“I thought we would,” I say, eyes widening at the panic flaring up through him. “I don’t know why it’s not working.”
His gaze snaps to mine, and his posture goes rigid.
He advances toward me, but it’s more like an animal stalking its prey.
“You said we could make it back.” His breaths are going ragged, his face contorted in whatever craze has overtaken him.
Oh. Oh, no.
It hits me then. Why he’s so upset about not making it back. Perhaps part of it is fear. Dread about what will happen to him if he dies on this island. But Farin is a survivor. I recognize the type, and I doubt he has any intention of death getting in the way of what he wants.
But that’s the problem.
I, inadvertently, have gotten in the way of what he wants.
And what he wants, is Blaise.
Realization washes over me in thick, salty waves, filling my nostrils and thickening the air in my lungs.
“You were just trying to get back to her. This whole time. All that’s happened between us. It just made the process easier for you if I was on your team instead of fighting you,” I say, my fingers clutching the sides of my trousers as anxiety and sorrow overtake me.
Something shifts in his expression, something cold and dark that he slips on as easily as one might don a mask.
Except he’s not donning a mask.
He’s taking it off.
“I would have thought someone who’s lived so many lives would have been less naive,” is all he says, and now he’s looking at me like I’m the prey he’s about to devour.
Fear courses through my veins, dread at the very male I fancied a kindred spirit. I’d been isolated in my experiences for so long, I’d craved someone to share them with me. I’d looked into Farin’s heart and pretended I’d found a mirror when all I’d found was a ghoul capable of shifting into whatever I wished to see.
Stupid. So, so stupid.
“We’ll find another way back,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, like one might do with a rabid animal you’re trying not to spook.
Except Farin’s not the one spooked.
My back hits the cave wall, and it’s like life itself is telling me I can’t go any further. That I’ve taken more than my fair share from it, and this is the end.
I don’t know what happens at the end. I’ve only ever tasted beginnings and middles.
“There has to be another way. Our bodies are back in—”
I catch my breath, because Farin cocks his head to the side, a silent challenge.
Because my body is back home.
He doesn’t have one if the tapestry runs out.
“You tricked me,” he says, his voice a whisper, but it’s trembling now. “All this time, and you were just waiting time out. Waiting for us to reach the end of the tapestry, where you get to go home, and I get to go…where, exactly, Wanderer?”
“No,” I gasp, and it’s true, even though the stupidity of my honesty drives a hole in my heart. “No, Farin. I didn’t know this would happen. I didn’t want…I wanted to save you,” I say. “Wanted, hoped for a life with you.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, because he lets out a choked cackle, one that reminds me of a strangled animal.
“You hoped for a life with me?” he asks, his voice dripping with malice. “Well. It seems neither of us are going to get what we wanted, are we?”
He takes a step closer, and I punch at his face, but he grabs my wrist, twisting it back toward my side, pinning me up against the wall with his body.
“Tell me, Wanderer, I’m going to die here anyway it seems. What should I do with my last moments?” He presses his forehead to mine, his grip serving as iron clamps against my wrists.
I struggle against him, throwing my weight into his left side, where his shoulder is injured.
“Think that’s going to help you, Wanderer? Think I don’t know how to suffer a little pain?”
Slowly, like he’s mocking me, he releases my wrist, then lets it fall, so that it slaps the stone wall behind us. Except it’s not stone that my wrist hits. My attention fixates on my fingertips, though his are trailing up my arm, cupping my cheek in his hands and tucking my hair behind my ear.
“You don’t have any suggestions?” he mocks, his lips dripping acid. “If that’s the case, I think I’ll just use my imagination then. Have a little fun with you. Tell me, Zora,” he says, pressing his warm lips to my ear. I shudder in terror at his touch, as his voice pierces my very bones. “Do you ever fantasize about how you’d like to die? I’d be willing to let you pick. I’d—”
But he doesn’t finish whatever he was about to offer.
