The Rise of Deragon (The Deragon Duology #2)

31

Pandora

J ournal in hand, I race back to Marzipan’s hostel and knock on the door until she grants me refuge. She passes out cold minutes after letting me through the door, but in the undisturbed hours glancing out at the stars, my mind runs wild.

By the time Marzipan wakes up and brews a pot of herbal tea, I’ve filled thirty pages, front and back, with my crazed handwriting and one-sided desires to see Madman again.

“Bloody Saints, Pan,” she barks, nearly choking on her drink. “Did you even sleep?”

“Not a wink.”

Marzipan shakes her head in disbelief and takes another long sip before catching sight of the Temple of the Shrine branding on the inside of my right wrist. Her grin of recognition pins me to the spot, evidence of yesterday’s wanderings and the foolproof prevention from visiting until the same time this evening. “It was the phantom fornication that sold you, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t say things like that,” I gag, shutting my eyes as if I just tasted something sour.

Marzipan glides across the room, fetches a long-sleeved wrap, and tosses it to me. “You’re going to need to hide that mark from Kit. Otherwise, he’ll blow a gasket.”

“Right,” I say, fumbling my arms through the inserts. “Thanks.”

“What are friends for?” She sighs, then returns her gaze upon my discarded journal. “Which reminds me, it may take me a while for me to translate . . . well, everything —”

“Only translate what you think holds significance,” I say, throwing Marzipan the book, and thank Saints I do, because she’s right next to her bookshelf, giving her the perfect cover to stash it away just as Kit erupts through her front door.

Marzipan screeches in surprise, and the gasp that leaves my body nearly sends me into a choking fit. I’m half inclined to believe Kit brought out some sort of battering ram to break in with, but sure enough, he’s empty-handed, as indicated by the balled-up fists at his side. His skin burns red with indignation.

“We need to talk,” he bristles.

“And that’s my cue,” I say feebly to Marzipan. “Thanks again for letting me crash.”

“Anytime,” she replies. But the word makes Kit tense up even further, as if worried there might be a next time that he’ll make me uncomfortable enough to run right back to her. Without having to touch me, his glowering demeanor yanks me out into the mid-morning air, and I close us off from Marzipan’s view.

I wait for Kit’s verbal barrage, but nothing comes. No, he waits for me to start blurting out something. An apology? An icebreaker? I don’t know.

“What do you want to talk about?” I ask, putting the ball back in his court.

“The fact that you look like death,” he huffs, and I outright scoff at the remark. The sound does little to deter him. “Were you too busy telling Marzipan how unfeeling of a bastard I am to get even an hour of sleep?”

“Is that what you think of me? That I spend my free time spewing filth about someone who, despite our complications, has been nothing but kind to me? Wow, Kit, you really do see me as a Deragon and nothing more, don’t you?”

My temper seems to throttle him. “Princess, please. It’s not like—”

I point at him, my finger jabbing the center of his sternum. “Have you learned nothing ? My name is Pandora Violet —”

I want to burst into spontaneous flame, to scorch him with my momentary wrath.

But the fact of the matter is, no matter how desperately I search for separation, Deragon is part of my identity.

For the sake of gathering my bearings and appeasing the crotchety neighbor between our floor and Marzipan’s, I take a steadying, cleansing breath. “You know what? Let’s not do this. I don’t want to fight with you. I just . . . gods, I just want to get past this.”

Kit blanches, and only then do I hear my words back.

Gods.

Not Saints.

“I’ve been reading about them in Marzipan’s books,” I lie, pulling the sleeves of my wrap up towards my fingertips on instinct.

“I’ve been thinking things over all night,” he says calmly. We descend the steps and pause before the threshold of our hostel, unsure if we should turn in until lunch or meander through the city streets. “And your hesitations are merited. I feel my actions speak louder than words, but maybe you need those words . . . and maybe, I need a sign.”

“A sign?” I squeak.

“I have a hard time trusting others . . . and myself,” Kit explains. “In the ways that matter most, I need all of someone’s cards on the table before I’ll even show parts of my hand. I will not, no, I cannot give someone the full picture of myself until I know they are a sure thing. And for you and I . . . I think there’s only one way to find out the truth.”

The gulp in my throat is painfully audible.

“I have to go to Venus’s temple,” he declares. “It’s the only way to know for certain—”

My heart hammers nervously in my body, my neurons spiraling and my pulse skyrocketing.

Kit can’t go there—not when I just resurfaced from there and saw . . . well, not him.

Worse, he could visit her temple and see just that: me and Madman reuniting in the other realm. If he did, he’d be mad enough to—

I try not to let the grave realization show on my face.

He’d kill me.

He’d actually kill me once he realized the pursuit of me to begin with was a hopeless one, merely a survival act on my end.

He’d drag me to the tribunal, off me in my sleep—impale me with a knife he could smuggle from one of the food banks. I don’t know how, but I know he would. It’s inevitable, especially when Kit was already on the brink of doing so when I first met him, when my track record was spotless.

I crawl out of my panicked headspace in time to hear him say, “I want you to be there.” He leans towards me, the positioning strategic and romantic were it not for the apprehension I’m battling within myself. “I want you waiting for me when I come out on the other side. That’s all I ask.”

I offer him a weak nod and pretend all is well in the world. “Anything, Kit.”

He dares to press a tender kiss to my temple, and at the contact, I send up a silent prayer to both the Saints and the long-gone gods and goddesses, if they’re even listening, that Madman gets here before Kit reduces me to a corpse.