Mark of Betrayal (Dark Secrets #3)(121)
Author: A.M. Hudson

“Shut up, Morg.” He threw a pea at her from Mike’s plate. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“Should be,” she scoffed under her breath.

“So—” he grinned, leaning closer, “—care to sneak away from this dreary evening?”

“No way!” Morgaine sat forward, throwing her napkin down.

I rolled my eyes. “Morg, stay out of it.”

“No. Mike will freak.”

“Yeah, and Mike is about this close to getting replaced by Falcon.” I held up an imaginary tiny thing between my fingers, “He needs to chill out. He’s making me tense all the time.”

“You wouldn’t replace him.”

“Yes, Morg. I would.” I stood up with Jason. “I can only take so much of his over-protectiveness.”

“It’s for a good reason, Amara.”

“Well, Jason is officially my boyfriend, now.” I stared her down. “If my advisor says it’s a good idea, then you can damn well go along with it, Morg. Discussion closed.”

She sat back, folding her arms, practically resting her bottom lip in her lap with its pout.

“I’ve never been in the Garden of Strategy before,” I said, strolling over the squares of marble and grass, patterned like a chessboard.

“Elysium has one just like it,” Jason said.

“Did anyone ever hold a game here?” I nodded to the decaying ruins of stone pawns and knights, their cracks bleeding vines and moss.

“Once.” He nodded, keeping his gaze ahead of us. We strolled along, quiet then, until we reached the end of the manor, just below his room and, above that, my windows. We both looked up, my head turning slightly to the side to catch his thoughtful gaze.

“What is it, Jase?”

“Can I talk to you in private?”

“Sure. We could go to the Garden of Lilith,” I suggested. “The guards aren’t allowed in there.”

He looked over his shoulder to Blade, standing in the shadows, playing with his phone, not too concerned about what we were doing or saying. “I’d rather go someplace else they’re not allowed to go.”

“Where?”

“Up.” He grabbed my hand, grinning, and jumped into the air, taking me with him. I felt his arms wrap my waist and barely had time to hold my breath before we flew through the open window and into his room.

“Jerk!” I shoved him when he released me to the safety of the floor.

He just laughed and wandered over to light a lantern. The room came to life under its golden flame and he sat down on the foot of his bed, placing the lantern on his blanket box. “Come. Sit.”

I plonked down right on his hand; he moved it, clearly finding my sudden moodiness quite amusing.

“I’m going to get in trouble now, you know. You should have told me you were gonna do that,” I said.

“Why? Then Blade could’ve stopped us.”

“Exactly.” I folded my arms.

“Don’t do that.” He shoved his hand between the fold and pushed them down. “You know damn well you would have come anyway, if I asked you.”

I smirked at his smirk. “Okay. Fine. I would. But, just tell me next time you’re going to hoist me a few feet into the air.”

“Sure thing.” He laid back on the bed, his hands behind his head.

I could smell the strong, aromatic spice of his cologne, coming up from the heat under his shirt, and I wanted to lay on his chest and sniff him. He was just so gorgeously human.

“You like human?” he said.

“Stay out of my head!” I slapped his chest, letting my hand fall down on the bed right by his ribs. In truth, I didn’t really want him to stay out of my head; I liked it. I missed when David used to be able to read my mind. Things had become so complicated since I had to explain my thoughts and emotions to him now.

“So, he can’t read your mind anymore—at all?”

I shook my head. “We were working on projecting thoughts, and I could sometimes read his mind—” when we were having sex, “—but I can’t really control it yet.”

“Maybe I can help you.” He rubbed the side of my arm, rolling up a little. “I’m kind of an expert.”

“It’s not really that important.”

“Sounds like it is.”

I shrugged one shoulder, looking around his room; it had so much personality already, like he’d gathered things from his childhood and brought them here. There was a baseball glove and ball on his drawer top, his wallet on his nightstand, a gold-trimmed picture frame with a drawing of what I assumed was Arietta, and a pair of jeans, a shirt and two socks on the floor by the foot of his bed. It seemed like he was kind of untidy, like me. I glanced over at the stack of books on the wooden table by the fireplace, sitting under his Yankees cap, but couldn’t make out the titles on the spine. I wondered if he sat up late reading them, avoiding sleep—avoiding the nightmares. “Hey, Jase?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Anything.”

“What are your nightmares about?”

“Anything but that,” he said dismissively, looking at the bedpost.

“Why?”

“I…” He shut his mouth and sat quiet for a second. “I guess I don’t really want to let you in to that part of myself, Ara.”

“What part? And why?”

“I’m not really sure how to describe it.”

“Well, what, like, the deeper part of you—your emotional soft spot?”

He laughed. “No, you’re already in there.”

“Well, can you try to explain it to me?” I touched his hand. “I actually just want to help.”

“You can’t help.”

“Why?”

“Because unless you can cure guilt, then I just have to let this run its course.”

“Guilt?” I closed my eyes, flashing back to that cell, where he beat me and cut me open and did things I had scars from but no memory. “David said there were things on that list, Jase, that—”

“Ara, please?” He shut his eyes tight.

“No. I want to know.”

“To know what?”

“Did you erase anything—of what you—”

“Ara.” He held his hand up. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Why?”

“Because, if I lie, you’ll know, and if I tell you the truth, you’ll pester me for more information until I give in. And I can’t, sweet girl. I can’t tell you, and I find it really hard to resist you when you bug me.”