“Do you want to sit up?” It was a ploy to put off the discussion a little longer. That wasn’t like him. He was blunt to a fault, didn’t care about anyone else’s feelings. And he still didn’t. Except with Morrigan. For some unfathomable reason, she mattered.
When her eyes widened, he took that for a yes. He put his arm behind her and eased her into a seated position, stacking several pillows behind her. When there was no longer any reason to delay, he continued.
“We fought demons. Lucifer stabbed you.” He lifted the dagger off the nightstand and held it so she could see it.
She lowered her head and peered down at her chest.
“You’re healed,” he assured her.
She raised her eyebrows. As expressive as her features were, he wouldn’t fully relax until he heard her voice. “Can you talk yet?” The longer she was awake, the more mobility she seemed to have.
Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. She swallowed and cleared her throat before trying again. “Yes.” It was a hoarse whisper, but it was her voice.
Relief melted some of the knots in his shoulder muscles. “There was a fight. I retaliated, and one of my knives hit your sister. She’s dead.”
He waited for her condemnation, waited for her to take back the love she’d offered. It had never really been his to begin with. It was nothing more than emotion, brought on by their situation. It wasn’t real.
The emptiness in his chest, the ache in his soul, was very real. He buried it and ignored it. Eventually, it would go away, or he would get so used to it the pain would no longer bother him. It would become a part of him.
A lone tear slipped from the corner of one of her eyes and slid down her cheek. That tiny drop of salty water was worse than any wound he’d ever been dealt in battle.
Damn her for doing this to him. His fingers tightened on the knife. The blade began to glow. He should just kill her and put himself out of his misery. She was going back to Hell anyway. It was inevitable.
“Maccus.” Her low voice whispering his name broke him away from the dark thoughts, ones that weren’t his own but remnants from whatever had been infused into the blade. With a mighty roar, he slammed the knife into the nightstand, snapping the blade off completely. Then he tossed the handle aside.
“What have you done to me?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. There was no fear in her green eyes, only compassion and understanding.
Hating himself and her, he jumped from the bed and paced. “It has to stop.” He paused at the end of the bed to glare at her. “Do you understand?”
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillows. Panic blasted through him when she remained still.
“Wake up,” he demanded, hurrying to her side. “Don’t you fucking dare close your eyes.” Fear was a living, breathing entity inside him.
Hatred burned inside him. Damn Lucifer and Gabriel for getting him into this situation in the first place. Why hadn’t they all left him alone? He’d been fine. Living his life. Hurting only those who’d earned it. No threat to either Heaven or Hell.
She pressed her hand against his face. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was stronger now. Whatever had been keeping her locked away in her own body for the past three days was loosening its grip.
He buried his face in her shoulder and inhaled her sweet scent. “I killed your sister.” That fact had to be clear. No way could he allow her to touch him and then withdraw in anger later.
“She killed herself.”
Unable to believe what he was hearing, he sat back. There were tears in her eyes, but she appeared calm.
“It was my knife,” he reminded her, ignoring the voice in his head telling him to shut the fuck up.
“She’s the one who summoned Lucifer and started us all down this road to where we are now. I’m not sure if she regretted