Page 90 of Blood Oath
“Is that what you’ve been so afraid of? Us hurting—gods, killing you? That’s never going to fucking happen. Never. It doesn’t matter what terrible thing you swore to do or how much you try to make us hate you—none of us will hurt you, Maven.”
Please. I’m well acquainted with pain, and I know it’s delivered best in prettier packages. There are so many ways they could hurt me…and they would.
They’d have to if they knew who and what I am.
Crypt senses my disbelief and reaches out to remove Baelfire’s hand from my chin before gingerly brushing my hair away from my face, careful not to touch my skin.
“This oath. Has it anything to do with the anti-legacy movement?” he asks. “Is that why you think we can’t be together, love? You’re in opposition to the Legacy Council?”
The anti-legacy movement? That’s…
Huh. That’s an easy way out.
Why didn’t I think of that sooner? If I tell them that I made a blood oath on behalf of the people who hate the legacies—if I say I’m one of them…won’t that be enough to make them decide we aren’t going to work? No legacies would want a keeper who is actively petitioning for their kind to be killed off or sent back to the Nether.
Yes. This cover should work.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak when they’re watching me so closely, and I can’t calm my body’s reaction to them. I can feel Everett’s piercing eyes from outside the room. As a professor at the university, I’m sure he’s going to flag me as a dangerous student or something.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll be done with my mission and long gone by the time this fake confession could possibly catch up to me.
The knowledge that I’ll soon disappear from their lives makes my chest ache with hollowness.
“Then I hardly care,” Crypt whispers, his fingers twisting a strand of my hair.
Surprise floods me.
Silas nods. “Good. Then we’re all in agreement.”
“You know what? I don’t care, either,” Baelfire huffs, eyes fierce as he moves even closer. “Like I said, I’m always on your side. Hate legacies all you fucking want—that doesn’t mean we can’t be together. Believing different shit doesn’t mean you’re my enemy, Maven. There’s no way you can make me hate you.”
Damn it. My brain and body can’t agree on the best next course of action. I needed them to accept that lie and choose to reject me for it finally. Yet, at the same time, I’m…relieved. If they’ll get over a fake problem of that magnitude, could they possibly get over the actual truth?
No. That’s like comparing them forgiving a finger prick to ripping their hearts out.
“You should hate me,” I argue, glaring at each of them to try to get the point across one final time. Even Everett, who is still in the hallway, arms folded now. “Because if you don’t hate me now, you will hate me later. It’s inevitable. Being with me will be hell for you because nothing will keep me from what I need to do, not even you four. We’re fighting for such different things?—“
“Says who?” Silas cuts in. “Let me remind you, Maven Oakley, that just as we know little of your past, you barely know us. Don’t be so certain that we subscribe to everything you hate about legacies. I am many things, but not loyally blind. The Legacy Council is corrupt. So is the Immortal Quintet. I’ll bleed them dry if that’s what you ask of me.”
“I’ll burn whoever you ask me to,” Baelfire murmurs.
Crypt lifts the strands of hair in his hand and kisses the tips. “Make us your weapons, darling, and no one will stand a chance against our quintet. Let us be yours.”
Well. That was annoyingly unexpected.
I’m speechless. I’ve never actually been speechless before, but I don’t like it. I need to find some new barrier to put up because all my defenses are failing. How am I supposed to keep rejecting them if they rip down my walls and make me feel this way—as if maybe the obstacles looming between us are scalable?
As if they’re really on my side.
As if I’m worth fighting for.
Damn them. I’m reaching my breaking point when I know that the only person who will ever really fight for me is myself.
You’re on your own. You need no one. You are nothing but deadly calm.
But the mantras in my head are just more white noise when they’re here, determination and hunger in their eyes as they finish ripping down any chances of saving them from me. My chest aches, and my soul has been fucking starved for any kind of connection like this for as long as I can remember.
I’ve never wanted anything like I want them, and now I squeeze my eyes shut as the rest of my walls slip away.
