Pure Requiem - Aja James Page 0,34

own round with terror and sorrow.

“Two husks. Cadavers. One with its chest torn open. One simply shriveled as if it had everything vital sucked out of it. They were wearing my parents’ clothes. That…that thing had killed them. I remember…I remember…”

“Fuck,” I utter unhelpfully. I don’t know what else to say.

She shudders and gasps against me, crumpling like a rag doll. She’s not as strong as she wants others to believe.

I know this intimately. I’m the same. Maybe we’re kindred spirits after all.

“It’s no excuse for what I said to you after I saw you shapeshift. I just…I just…”

“Shh,” I murmur against her buzzed hair, stroking her back in circles again.

“It’s over. It’s past. I’m glad you found me. I’m glad you told me. Rest now. No more talking.”

I say the words to soothe her, but the moment I say them I realize that I mean them. I forgive her. It’s what friends and family do when they hurt each other, I think.

So I do it too. I forgive her.

She’s obediently silent for a long while, her breaths deepening as she drifts to sleep.

But before she completely gives into slumber she says, “Can I still call you An-Nisi?”

“Mmm,” I murmur noncommittally.

I don’t think I can be anyone’s “blue-green heaven.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” she whispers.

“Yes,” I answer.

“I’ll be here.”

It’s the least I can do when Liv just gave me back a piece of my soul.

Chapter Eight: Hear My Words That I Might Teach You

*TAL*

I have just finished cooking a simple meal of steak and potatoes when my Mate bursts into our apartment, breathless and agitated.

The door clicks shut and automatically locks behind her.

I await her words in silence. I suspect I know what has caused such a stir.

After a long pause, she says, “You are the talk of the day, General. First in the training hall, then by volunteering for a death mission. Shall I congratulate you on both?”

I can tell she is trying to rein in her temper. Her words are enunciated in hard, staccato syllables. She is extremely “pissed.”

I try not to bristle at her aggressiveness and sarcasm.

First, because she’s never taken this tone with me before. Never. Despite her greater strength and powers, her innate predatory instincts, she’s always been my “little one.” My kitten to protect and cherish.

Second, I can feel her fear like a gaping wound. She’s lashing out because she’s afraid. I understand it. I want to comfort her.

But at the same time, I am a warrior. This is my role. She cannot keep me in a safe box like a pet. I realized in the past couple of days that I am not content to live a “normal” life.

“Come here, ana Ishtar,” I coax, keeping my voice low and soothing, opening my arms.

“No,” she barks immediately, stubbornness and defiance ringing in the sharpness of her tone.

“Haven’t you done enough for the races? Haven’t you sacrificed and hurt enough? Why must you fight again? Why must it be you?!”

With every word, her voice escalates in volume, until it cracks at the end like a whip, coupled with a despairing moan. She is close to tears. Perhaps her eyes have already welled with them.

I cannot bear her worry and pain. But I will not change my mind. She must learn to accept it.

“I want to fight,” I say simply, keeping my voice calm. “I am a warrior, Ishtar. This is my chosen role in the universe.”

“You weren’t always!” she cries, taking a few steps closer, but not close enough to pull into my arms. “You were born a blacksmith’s son. You were gentle, peace-loving. You carved woodwork and—”

“I was born a slave,” I interrupt softly, speaking what was always unsaid. “Not officially, perhaps, not claimed by any Dark household. But as a Pure One, we were all oppressed slaves back then, the lowest of the low. You know this.”

I hear her take a shuddering breath.

“I was a wood and metal worker because it was one of the few trades I could learn on my own. And the same for my father. I couldn’t read or write. It wasn’t until I met Ninti that I learned.”

The breath she takes at the mention of the first Pure Queen, one of Sophia’s incarnations, sounds angry and heated.

Ishtar is possessive and easily roused to passion. Even though she knows there was never anything between Ninti and I but friendship and comradery, she is jealous. When her veins had been pumped full of Medusa’s poison, this unfounded