Then he lets go and rolls to his back. “Abaddon wasn’t lying about the Essence of Creation. More can be made.”
My skin chills and not from his touch this time. I shift, so I can see his face, bracing myself on my forearm. “But why would he say it couldn’t?”
“Because he can’t make any.” Then he adds, “Who knows? He might not even know it can be made, so he thought he was lying to you.”
“So…” I lick my lips, hesitating. I should be diving on him and squealing in joy, but a warning sounds inside my chest. “How do you know this?”
Chaz moves onto his side again and pushes up on his elbow. He hangs his head and drags his finger over the back of my hand, resting on the mattress. “Because I can.”
The heartbeat rises into my ears, my pulse throbbing everywhere at once. “You’ve known the entire time? When I told you in the desert that it’s why I…” I swallow, remembering the harshness of his stare after I mentioned it. He said he could have saved us the drama.
I scramble to the foot of the bed and to my feet, holding a hand to my forehead as I take a few steps. Then I face the bed. I face him and his guilt-ridden features, and reality sinks into my belly. I told Rosdan how the essence supposedly worked—about injecting Nyla with the dust after I transfer my life into her.
The life they need. Why I’m even here with him in the first place.
“Can I have the dust?” I ask, and I drop my arm to the side.
“Nyx,” he starts, rotating to get out of bed, but I shake my head.
The tears burn in my throat, my lip trembling as he walks toward me. “Answer me, Chazaqiel. Can I have the dust?”
He stops in front of me, only holding my gaze for a second before he looks to the floor. “No. We won’t give you the dust.” He reaches for me, grazing my hip. “You can’t use it on her—”
“No!” I shove his hand off me and back away from him. “No. You don’t get to tell me you have the one thing that can save her and then forbid me from using it. It’s my life. My death.”
“If your tattoo disappears—”
“It’s not your choice!” I shout. “She won’t come back, Chazaqiel. She’ll die and be gone. I can’t just let her go without trying. I can’t. I don’t…”
The tears are falling in earnest now, and I don’t even bother wiping them as they drip off my face. My insides are crumbling, leaving holes as they cave in on themselves, and I don’t fall to the floor; I disintegrate. I slump against the dresser, legs folded in front of me. I rest my head on the wood and close my eyes, trying to grasp on to anything to stop spinning.
Everything I’ve done to try to keep Nyla from permanent death is now a part of the reason I can’t. I finally met my angel, and he’ll take the life meant for my sister. Save one; lose another.
After a few minutes, an ache in my eyes replaces the tears. The last of them are drying on my cheeks as a shadow falls over me. I look up at Chaz. It feels like I should fight him more. But before I can, he lowers to his knees.
“I’m sorry, Nyx.” His fists clench like he’s stopping himself from trying to touch me. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
He never loses eye contact, tilting his face up when I push off the floor to my feet. I start to walk past him, but he stops me by wrapping his hands around my waist. They stretch almost all the way around me.
He stares up, and I stroke his cheek.
“I’m sorry too,” I tell him.
Then I leave him there, on his knees, his eyes begging for forgiveness.
At some point, I forgot the reality of my situation. I’m not a guest or a part of anything. I’m a tool kept on the shelf until needed—one-time use. I appreciate that Chaz took the time to remind me.
I haven’t talked to him for three days. I haven’t talked at all. Not to Rosdan or Cass. Even Hannah, when she gives me a sweet smile from the other end of the couch, gets ignored. They work on the blade in the living room or conference in the kitchen. I stay wherever they are not.
The most interaction I share with anyone is at night while Chaz knots the tie around my wrists.
The first night, he said, “I need you to believe me when I say I’m sorry. If we knew you had more than one resurrection left, I’d give you all the fucking dust you wanted.”
I waited for him to tug the last loop through and rolled away, giving him my back until morning when he unbound me.
Night two: “I understand why you’re upset, but you need to forgive me.”
By last night, he was feeling otherwise. “You set me up to lose my light, bound me to a demon, and in the process, let the darkness inside me. It was all you, Nyx. I didn’t ask for any of this.” He jerked the knot as he finished but kept ahold of it, so I couldn’t move as he leaned in close. “I want you to fucking remember that.”
Then he marched out of the room, and I slept alone for the first time in weeks.
This morning, I woke up, already untied. I haven’t seen him at all, other than the few seconds it took me to pass to and from the kitchen. But when I come out from my shower in the evening, the bedroom door is shut. A relief. I need a break from the same four walls.
I grab a glass of water from the kitchen and flip on the TV. Halfway through some trashy reality show, I hear yelling and cursing coming from the bedroom. And a minute later, the door swings open. Chaz hovers in the doorway as I sit up, ready to switch rooms once he comes out. He stares at me, his features hard lines and zero give. If I wasn’t so mad, I’d find it intimidating. I do when he starts stalking toward me, and I sink into the couch. He stops a few feet away, his fists clenched.
“Here,” he says, but it’s more a growl. He throws something on the cushion beside me and slams a set of keys on the coffee table before storming away. “Now, get the fuck out.”
While he bangs drawers and the cabinet in the bathroom, I carefully pick up the clear vial next to my leg. The bottom half is filled with a nearly translucent white dust. A shocked breath leaves me. It’s the Essence of Creation. I look up at the hallway where Chaz disappeared and then at the keys. His car keys.
It takes a second for my brain to catch up, but once it does, I snatch the key ring off the table. I dash for the door, only thinking about Nyla until I hear footsteps behind me. I glance over my shoulder just as Chaz collapses into the recliner, facing away from me. My fingers rub over the glass tube in my hand, the other hand squeezing the keys.
Shit.
I breathe deep and turn around. Each step feels like a betrayal to Nyla, but I can’t leave until I know why he’s doing this. Why he gave me the dust when it might mean he’ll stay bound to Abaddon.
As I get closer, I see a pile of white cloth on the table. No. Bandages. Then his thigh comes into view, red streaks on his jeans, his bloody shirt on the floor.
“Oh my God,” I say, rushing around the chair.
Chaz glances up, irritated. “What part of get the fuck out was unclear?”