A terrible weight settles in my chest. I’m magically tied to Griffin, but he’s not tied to me. I’ll be forced to be here with him, without being with him. I’ll have to watch him move on.
Deep breath in. Long breath out.
Who cares if I cry?
The room rattles again, and I draw in a sharp breath. Apparently, unleashing more tears isn’t an option. My options are horrifyingly limited, in fact.
Standing, I scrub my face with my hands to wipe it dry and then unwrap the sheet from around my body, leaving it on the floor. Moving mechanically, I dress and strap on my knives and sword before gathering my other belongings and dumping them into the center of the sheet, clearing Griffin’s room of anything and everything that’s mine.
There’s not much, and I stare at the pile with gritty, burning eyes, not nearly as numb as I need to be. My inhale catches. I press the heels of my palms to my eyes, hard, forcing the insistent, rising heat back down. This was supposed to be my home. More fool me for actually believing that.
Trying to not shake the castle again with power I have no idea how to control, I tie the corners of the sheet together to create a makeshift sack. I heft it over my shoulder and don’t look back. I never look back. But the frosted wall just barely caging my emotions is still fragile, and no matter how hard I try to shore it up, my necklace helping me, pain still hammers at my heart, unrelenting and bold.
A focused thought separates a familiar thread of magic from the rest of the power surging inside of me. I turn invisible, and by extension, everything attached to me turns invisible, too—clothing, weapons, my improvised bag. My worn boots are silent as I move through the shadowed back corridors of Castle Sinta, avoiding any occupied rooms. No one would see me—but I don’t want to see them.
I walk across the Athena courtyard, trying not to feel or look at or think about anything. I can’t cry again. I can’t afford that. No one here can. The magic inside me is still crashing like a storm. My grief right now is so deep, so raw, so raging and powerful that I have no idea what would happen if I let it out. Nothing good. I think I shortened my name to Cat for a reason—as in Cataclysm.
My patently unwise vow to stay with Griffin makes it physically impossible for me to walk away from him, leaving me only one place to go. After what feels like a long march through hostile territory, I swing open a nondescript door and stare at the small, dim room in the barracks I used to occupy. A narrow bed. One small chest. A rough-hewn table that’s seen better days. A chair.
Home, I guess.
Compared to the opulence of the castle, it’s as unappealing as it could possibly be.
I light the lone lamp in the windowless room and then push the door closed behind me, letting go of my invisibility. Aching and brittle, I unpack my sheet and put my clothes and weapons away, the methodic chore helping to calm the violence of the sorrow inside me. That done, I know of only one escape—apart from death—from this kind of constant, overwhelming pain.
I undress and then slip on one of my new nightgowns, squeezing my eyes shut again as thoughts of how I’d wanted to wear the flimsy garment for Griffin flood my mind. His storm-gray eyes would have burned with passion. Strong, battle-roughened hands would have reached for me. His breath would have quickened, and I would have melted at his first touch.
My heart jolts painfully, and I open my eyes back up to stare at my cold, small bed. None of that happened. We only had a few nights together in that way before…this.
Turning to the table, I blow out the lamp, my breath shuddering dangerously, and then crawl under the blanket in the utter darkness. Beneath me, I’m not surprised to find a bare mattress with no sheet covering the coarse surface. I vacated this room. No one thought I was coming back—least of all me.
Fighting tears, I lie there for hours, trying to find sleep and doing my best to think about nothing. Because nothing is all I have.
I wake up to the door crashing open and the sudden blaze of a torch brightening my barren room. Sitting up, I push hair out of my face and squint against the light. Has someone come to arrest me? Am I to have the dungeon instead of the barracks? That wouldn’t surprise me. I am the enemy.
Flames whoosh as someone whips the torch from side to side, illuminating first the room and then…Griffin? He comes into focus in front of other large, dark figures. As my vision adjusts to the light, I gasp.
What happened to him? His eyes are wild, his face haggard. His features aren’t just drawn, they’re ravaged.
Passing off the torch, Griffin leaps forward and yanks me into his arms. Our bodies connect, and a spasm wrenches my chest. It feels so perfect, so right, when he holds me like this. Surrounding me, squeezing me until I almost can’t breathe, he rains kisses all across my face. His thick stubble scratches—my nose, my cheek—and I want more of the light scraping. The subtle sting proves he’s here. That this is real.
Griffin’s low, raw voice rips through me like a dull knife. “Thank the Gods and all of Olympus.” He shudders. “I thought you’d left me.”
My pulse roars, deafening. “I don’t understand. You left me.”
“No. No.” His heavy breath pounds against my neck. “Never leave you.”
“But…did I dream that entire fight?” Is that even possible? Good Gods! Maybe I am insane!
Griffin just shakes his head, his warmth and his sunshine-and-citrus scent enfolding me in what feels like the best dream I’ve ever had. I glance over his shoulder at the other men. Kato and Flynn block the doorway. Carver hovers behind them, all of them scruffy-jawed and tired-eyed. They look like they haven’t slept in a while. Flynn nods to me and then slips the torch into the sconce on the otherwise bare wall. They back out, shutting the door behind them.