A brand-new form of terror shot through me, a voice that did not belong to me ringing in my ears.
You can only run from Fate for so long, little prince. Did you really think you could escape the prophecy so easily?
I could practically hear the cackles of the Crones, reminding me of what had been written on my skin, carved out in ink and blood—a foretelling that I had been trying to flee from my entire life.
That tether. Thatpull.That inexplicable way that I’d been drawn to her like a moth to the flame, unable to stay away from her this whole damn time.
The Catalyst and the Conduit. Bound by a fate of inevitable destruction.
Arken was the second Harbinger.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Arken
When I finally fell asleep last night, I had been on an emotional warpath—bloodthirsty and feral andfurious.I had been ready to fight, wanting to carve my pound of flesh from Kieran’s godsdamned chest if I had to.
When I woke up this morning, I was just… tired.
Tired, bitter, sore, and hungover.
As I sat in silence at my kitchen table, brooding over black coffee, I felt a certain sort of resigned acceptance, a miserable moment of subdued clarity.
I got fuckingplayed.
I had known who Kieran was from the very beginning: a silver-tongued, sweet-talkingliar—someone who had mastered the art of manipulation and had no shame about those skills,putting them on public display. I mean, shit—it was part of his godsdamnedjob.
Somewhere in between the friendship and the sex, I must have just misread signals. Maybe I had been presumptuous. Or maybe I had just been looking for signs that I’dwantedto see—imagining emotional ties, imagining a true bond where it didn’t exist.
I always did have an overactive imagination.
After a long bath and a pathetic excuse for breakfast, nibbling on a few crackers and gulping down several glasses of water just to ease the splitting headache—I sent Bluebell off to Sienna and Laurel with notes, thanking them both and letting them know that I was okay.
It took another hour’s worth of deliberation for me to finally send one off to Kieran.
We need to talk.
It didn’t take long to get a response this time.
Fine.
I wasn’t having this conversation through sprites, though. He would face me, whether he wanted to or not. I desperately tried to bury whatever hope that I had left as I tugged on my boots and swallowed my pride.
I walked slowly down the cobblestone path to Kieran’s townhouse, my cadence a slow shuffle, as if my feet were trying to prolong the inevitable. I tugged at the loose strings on my sleeve, begging myself to let go of that tiny sliver of longing, the prayer thatsomehow,this was all some sort of exceptionally fucked-up misunderstanding. I had ignored one too many warning signs already.
My heart was a stubborn thing, refusing to submit. It clung to that fleeting sweetness, those soft kisses and the warmth of his body when I’d slept in his arms.
Gods.All of that perfection, all of that bliss—it had only been a week ago. How had we strayed so far off course?
It felt like defeat when I knocked on Kieran’s door. When he opened it, I could find nothing familiar in the expression he wore… It was cold. It was hard.
It was bitter.
Angry.
I stepped past him in the doorway, letting myself in.
“Hey.”