Page 4 of Betrayed In Crimson
We sit in silence, the fire crackling between us. Shadows dance over his sharp features. Silas has always been the quieter one; the watcher. But tonight there’s something coiled beneath his stillness, like a predator pretending to be tame.
“This is him dumping me, isn’t it?” I whisper, staring into the flames.
“I don’t know.”
My gaze snaps to him. “Where is he really? You two are practically attached at the hip.”
His black eyes burn into mine, so dark they almost swallow the firelight. For a heartbeat, something flashes there; a warning, a confession, or both.
“I don’t know,” he repeats.
The lie hangs between us.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box. “He asked me to give you this.”
Hope surges so fiercely it hurts. I take it with trembling fingers and open it.
A silver chain rests inside; a black pendant shaped to a sharp point.
“It’s obsidian,” Silas says, his voice roughened. “Stone of strength. A shield against negativity. Against fear.”
Against what hunts in the dark, his tone seems to imply.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe. “Will you?”
I turn, lifting my hair. I unzip my coat just enough to bare my shoulders. The cold bites, but when his fingers brush my skin, I forget it entirely. His touch is feather-light. Reverent. He fastens the clasp and lingers. His knuckles trace the curve of my neck, slow enough that my pulse begins to hammer beneath his fingertips.
He feels it. I know he does.
When I turn back, we are too close. His gaze drops to my mouth.
“Thanks,” I murmur, shifting back, breaking whatever spell had begun to wind around us. “I should get back.”
“I’ll walk you.”
“You know, I did manage to get here alone.”
“There are monsters around these parts,” he says lightly.
Something in the way he says it makes my skin prickle. I laugh anyway. “Did you just make a joke?”
His lips twitch. “I’m full of surprises, Little Firefly.”
He’s called me that before, and even now I don’t know why. I’m about to ask, but there’s a softness in his eyes tonight I’ve never seen. It unsettles me. Draws me in.
“This is me,” he says quietly. “You’ve just always chosen to see my brother instead.”
The honesty strikes like a blow. I scramble for distraction and hurry into the shed, grabbing the gifts. I slip Morbius’s into my pocket and hold the other out to Silas.
“For you.”
He doesn’t move at first. Just stares at it as it might vanish.
“You got me a gift,” he says hoarsely.
“Of course I did.”
He unwraps it with painstaking care, folding the paper instead of tearing it, as if it matters. As if it’s sacred.
