Page 16 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Do I owe you an apology? For ripping you away from the people that evidently made you far happier than we ever seem to?” Dion cursed under his breath but Cyril’s blood ran hot, and she continued, “It’s not like it’s a well-kept secret that my entire existence has been a burden to your lifestyle, but I hadn’t realized—”

Cyril choked on her words as Dion gripped her by the arm and wrenched her up to her feet. She couldn’t suppress the whine that left her as pain lanced up her back.

“Dion, that hurts—”

Ren issued a low warning of Dion’s name as he rose, Bron only a second behind him.

“Not another fucking word from you tonight,” Dion growled, his eyes lit with fury as he shoved her away. The cragged stone bit into her shoulder with enough force that Cyril knew she’d bruise, but she could only stare at Dion in disbelief as he bit out, “You’re taking the first watch with Tyriel. Go.”

Shouting broke out behind her, but it didn’t register as much more than muffled noises over the frantic pounding of her heart. She staggered toward the cave’s opening. Attie nuzzled her as she passed, but Cyril just kept walking.

If it wasn’t for Tyr grabbing her and forcing her down onto the pack he’d just occupied, Cyril may have very well wandered straight out into the rift.

Truthfully, it might have been the best for all of them if she had.

Her hands shook so badly she didn’t know what to do with them, where to put them. A sour, sick feeling crept up her throat that she struggled to swallow down in a painful lump.

Dion had never…

They’d argued and screamed, and slammed doors, but he…

“Dove, breathe,” Tyr murmured, and a shaky rush of air filled her lungs.

It left her with a quiet sob.

Tyriel sat down beside Cyril, putting himself between her and the roiling echo of arguing still spilling out from deeper in the cave. He splayed his hand over her back, rubbing slow, soothing circles as Cyril drew her knees up and tucked her head down. Tyr could see her unravel, but she would never give Dion the satisfaction of seeing her tears.

The pack Cyril dozed off on shifted suddenly and her eyes shot open.

Dion.

She wasn’t sure when Tyriel let her fall asleep, or what shift of watch they were on now, but seeing Dion sit down beside her was not what she wanted to wake up to.

More often than not, he’d come back after they fought and slammed doors in each other’s faces, but she could never be sure if he was coming back for a second round or for a half-assed patch up.

Cyril assessed the softness in the golden eyes that studied her, and the prominent slouch in his usually refined posture.

Half-assed patch up it was.

“I never should have grabbed you like that. Never. I just…” Dion sighed and slumped back against the wall. He scrubbed his palms over his face. “When you say shit like that, it strikes a fucking nerve, Cyr.”

Cyril knew it did.

She knew exactly how to provoke him to incite the most explosive reaction, and she always had known. As for why she always felt so inclined to do so, well…that wasn’t something either of them likely ever wanted to unpack.

Cyril rested her head against his shoulder.

“It’s alright.”

It had to be.

Cyril didn’t have another option. She had no place to run to or person to turn to if it wasn’t alright. All she had was Dion, and…it had to be alright.

She felt Dion sigh as he leaned his head on top of hers.

“You know I love you more than anything.” He drew out that last word like it had some meaning. “And you have never been a burden to me. Ever.”

Debatable, but Cyril didn’t feel like arguing anymore. She’d let Dion speak his piece, if only because it wouldn’t end well otherwise.