I tell him of Jerad too. Of how I cried and cried when the courier came back with news of the prince’s death.
And for a while, it seems as though we could go on like this forever, because Nox seems normal. He teases me when I send the paper ball flying over the edge of the dais. When I tell him a story, he perches his elbow upon the surface of the dais and rests his chin on his hand, listening intently, those breathtaking eyes locked on me the entire time.
But occasionally his forefinger clenches, and then he’s tapping on the side of the dais, sometimes even pinching his side.
The shadows beneath his eyes darken.
I stop in the middle of a story about Jerad because I realize there’s something I need to tell him.
“I forgive you,” I whisper, and I can’t stop my voice from shaking.
Nox averts his gaze. “You shouldn’t.”
“I want to. Really, it’s not even forgiveness. Because I don’t hold it against you at all. It’s not you, Nox. It’s him.”
Nox rubs at the bridge between his nose, then pushes himself off the dais and crosses the room. For a moment, I think he’s coming for me, but then he turns a chair upside down.
A deafening crack echoes through the chamber as he wrenches a leg off its base and turns the jagged tip on himself.
“Nox, no!” I’m lunging at him before I can truly make sense of what’s happening, but he holds his other hand up in a command for me to stop.
It’s only then I realize the sudden burst of movement caused my heart to hammer.
His eyes bounce to my neck, then swiftly back toward the stake.
“Right here,” he says, placing the pointed tip just below his ribcage. “It’s the best path to get to my heart from the front. I’d do it myself, but…”
“It would put your family in danger. If the queen knew you took your own life.”
Nox nods.
I swallow as he comes closer. As I watch his chest, I notice it’s not moving. That he’s holding his breath to keep from scenting my blood.
He wraps my fingers around the stake, and it’s only when he pulls away that I realize this is the last time he’ll touch me.
The last time Nox will touch me, anyway.
The realization is overwhelming, and I feel as though I’m drowning in it. That if I can simply pull him into me, kiss him until the morning, that we can make it through the night.
But that’s just me again. Blaise, hoping for improbable things. Impossible outcomes.
So terribly good at pretending.
“Do it now,” he says.
“I think I’ll wait,” I snap back casually, as if I’m postponing dessert.
“Blaise…”
“I said I’ll wait.”
Nox backs away and sighs. “You need to understand, when my bloodlust takes over, it changes me.”
“I would hope you don’t murder people in your current state. It would be sort of creepy to be murdered by someone so kind.”
Nox’s lips twist. Whether in exasperation or shame, I can’t tell.
“There’s a sort of aura that comes over me when the hunger becomes all-encompassing. It’s like…it’s like it gives Farin a window he can slip through, take over for a moment. And Blaise, I don’t know what will happen this time, because of…” He sucks in a breath, then winces like he regrets doing so. “Because of how intense my feelings are for you. I don’t know what that will do to the balance of power between him and me. Usually, the more heightened my emotions, the more he’s able to take control.”
My mouth goes dry, both at the admission of his feelings and the way he speaks about Farin. It’s like I can feel the parasite lurking inside me, and I want to squirm. “Can you remember anything?”
The vials on the counter rattle.
“I remember everything.”
A chill snakes up my spine, but he continues.
“When that happens, it will influence you, too. I don’t know how exactly to describe it, but my victims, they’re—”
“Willing?”
Nox grimaces. “Eager.”
My stomach churns, and I recall the day I sliced my finger. How I felt as Nox stalked toward me, like I’d give him anything he wanted in that moment.
Like it would feel good to let him hurt me.
“Don’t trust my feelings. Got it. Shouldn’t be too difficult, considering they’ve always led me astray, anyway.” I try to plaster a carefree grin on my face, but it doesn’t quite stick.
