choose h-her,” I growl thickly, my voice so shaky that it audibly wavers. “Like you . . . chose I-Isla. Tell—” Swallowing, I dig deep to find the strength to fight even when exhaustion is a plague that slips over me like a shroud. “T-tell me. Because I love her and if someone hurt her, I’ll make t-them wish they were never born.”
50
Rowena
Hope has abandoned me.
After Mags and Isla shoo me away from the medical room with orders to sleep, I spend the midnight hours watching cars wind their way down Swain’s Lane from my bedroom window. Not that long ago, I may have followed in their tracks, my feet eating up the short distance between Holly Village and Highgate Cemetery. But when dawn breaks over the horizon, I head for the old servant’s stairwell instead.
The memory of Damien’s voice chases me down the stone steps; the memory of his calloused hands on my skin propels me past the heavy oak doors and into the chapel.
The silence within is a stark contrast to my wild, turbulent thoughts.
Soft morning light spills in from the window, stretching brilliant fingers over dark-stained pews to cocoon the chapel in an ethereal glow. Tiny particles of dust dance in the sunrays, and when a shadowed streak slicks past, I accept it for the reminder that it is: I live and breathe when so many others do not.
When Damien might not.
Warmth dashes across my bare toes as I step toward the altar, and I wish . . . God, I wish that the sun might thaw the ice forming a cage around my dead, bleeding heart.
It’s been four days since Dr. Matthews injected Damien with the antidote. And it’s been four days since we almost buried him for good. Heartrate spiking, then stopping, his body thrashing before going eerily still. Handsome face ashen, strong limbs unmoving as I held him, my head bent over his, and begged him to hold on.
The irony: I found him a cure and nearly managed to kill him instead.
He’s not woken since.
Believe in him, Rowan. Just believe in him.
Trapping my lip under my teeth, I reach across the altar for a new candle. The marble is littered with them, the wrought-iron rack already full. I don’t believe, and I pray. I’m without hope, and still I return. A woman who has known only darkness determined to hold onto the light, however she can. Muscle memory brings my fingers to the matchbox and the hiss of the head striking to life is a balm to my ravaged soul.
Candle lit, my palms land firmly on the alter.
Here, in this chapel, with its thick walls that release no sound, there’s no one to hear my sorrow. Here, in this place of peace, there’s no one to bear witness to the strength that leaves me on a jagged sob. Shoulders shuddering, I sink down to my haunches with my hands clasped over my mouth.
The room spins with my blurring vision.
The sun feels like a mockery against my skin.
I’m in love with a dying man.
Our kiss down in the chambers will be our last, the night I slept cradled against his hard chest only a memory. Dr. Matthews said that grief is a curse, and I feel damned by it. Crushed by it. Stricken, I lock my fingers in place, over my lips, in a pitiful attempt to leash my pain.
And I fail.
Tears fall and my grief expands with an unsteady breath and I lean all my weight into the altar before slipping down onto my knees. Defeated. For the first time in thirty-three years, I am defeated. Dipping one hand into my pocket, I pull out the silver chain to smooth my thumb over the rounded links like a rosary. A lucky charm, Margaret called it, but luck turned its back on Damien a long time ago.
We were doomed from the start, destined to end before we’d even begun.
Give him up.
“I can’t,” I whisper raggedly, slamming my eyes shut. “Oh, God, I can’t.”
“Rowena.”
The unfamiliar voice comes from behind me, hoarse and low. Not one of my men or any of Holyrood’s spies. In the last four days, I’ve met them all. Learned their names and their backstories, all in a shoddy attempt to distract myself from the reality of Damien. Prepared to tell the intruder to leave me to my misery, I turn—and come face to face with a ghost.
Hot blue eyes ensnare me from across the chapel.
Calloused hands rest heavily on the doorframe.
And then