“I’m no good for her.” I can barely stand on my own two feet, but I’m not so blitzed I don’t remember that. “I’m no good for you. So take your phone and your cute glasses and your Judgy McJudgerson ass and go—fuck!”
Like a world-class dildo, I trip over my own feet, nearly face-planting into the fireplace. The only thing that saves my head from becoming a shish-kebob is Kirin—he catches me just in time, hauling me against his chest.
I should maybe thank him for that. Maybe not. Either way, now the four-eyed fucker won’t let me go.
“Nice save,” I say, smacking him on the back, but he’s still got me in a lock, arms tight around me, refusing to budge.
“Kirin, seriously. I’m good.”
No response.
“Look. I’m sorry if I sent mixed signals, but I’m really not in the mood for a cuddle tonight, so if you don’t mind…” I try to wrench free again, but he only holds on tighter, like some kind of giant boa constrictor about to crush the life out of me.
“It’s okay, brother,” he says softly.
“Fuck off.”
“I got you.”
“You’re gonna get my fist in your face if you don’t let go.”
“I got you, Baz. I got you.”
He keeps on saying it, over and over, refusing to release me from his death grip. And I keep on fighting. Trying to push him away. Trying to push all of this away, as if we could ever go back to a time where it didn’t hurt so fucking much.
But we can’t. And eventually, I just… break.
All the fight drains out of me, and I collapse in Kirin’s arms like a rag doll, two minutes from giving up completely and chucking my own ass into the fire.
Kirin won’t let that happen though. Instead, he pours me into one of the leather chairs and takes a seat across from me, his eyes glassy, his face pinched with worry. “Talk to me, Baz.”
Talk. Right. Where the hell do I even begin? I drop my head and stare down at my hands, pale and useless in my lap, wishing instead they were covered in blood.
Janelle Kirkpatrick’s blood. Dark and warm and glistening…
The thought seizes me in an instant, chasing away the drunken haze with a flood of adrenaline. Purpose. Passion.
Kill her. Slay your demons in this realm, just as you did in the land of dreams. She’s weak. No one would blame you. It would be so easy…
“Baz?” Kirin’s hand on my knee snaps me back to reality. I try to suck in a deep breath, but a shudder rolls through my body, leaving a blistering pain in its wake.
“Fuck.” I grind my teeth and clutch my chest. Kirin’s on his feet in a flash, reaching for me, trying to help me sit up again, but all I can do is ride it out and hope to goddess I’m still in my right mind when it’s over.
It’s never been this bad before—a brutally searing agony, like my flesh is melting down to the bone. In a fit of desperation, I tear off my shirt and pitch it into the fireplace, then snatch the bottle back—the only thing guaranteed to numb the pain.
Kirin watches helplessly as I chug. And slowly, the pain recedes.
“Goddess, that’s… wow.” Kirin shakes his head, his eyes wide, fixated on the mark on my chest. It’s starting to fade now, but he saw it. I know he did.
XX. The mark of Judgment.
“He’s still with me,” I finally confess, because what the fuck else can I do? This shit is either going to kill me, or turn me into an empty, drooling husk. I can’t keep outrunning it. Can’t keep hurting the people I love by keeping them in the dark. “Don’t ask me how, but he is. The minute I’m sober, or lying awake at night, or hell—jerking off in the damn shower, that motherfucker is waiting to pounce. Half the time I can’t even tell the difference between my own thoughts and his crazy-ass rantings.”
Like the one where he’s trying to get me to kill that bitch…
I take another sip of the booze, but it’s quickly losing its luster.
“And this is why you’ve been ghosting us?” he asks.
“What choice do I have? I’m not in my right mind when it happens—I could hurt someone. What you saw tonight? That shit would’ve been a hell of a lot worse without mage’s little helper here.” I shake the bottle in front of his face.