[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]
“Whoa, whoa.” Thom pressed his cheek against my hair. “Hey, slow down. What the hell do you have to be sorry for? How is that your fault?”
“Because she’s looking for me, I said, sucking in a breath and trying to calm down. “She’s looking for me, Thom. I’m the one that’s going to end up drawing her here.”
“She’s looking for Brighíd’s soul,” he said, his voice half muffled in my hair. “It’s not your fault that soul’s in you. Her coming here isn’t going to be your fault, either. I promise.”
“II should have told you.” My arms tightened around him slightly.
“Told me what?”
“That she attacked me once already. That I knew she was coming. I should have told you all of it.”
“In your defense, I wasn’t in much of a state for you to tell me anything.” Thom pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “It’s okay. We’ll make it. We always do and we always will.”
He was right, at least about the firsts part. The rest, I wasn’t sure of, but he certainly sounded like he was. I sighed and nestled closer. His fingers tightened slightly in my hair.
“I love you,” he murmured softly. “And I trust you. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I love you, too.” I trusted him, too, but he didn’t need me to tell him that, not right now. It would have felt empty, hollow, saying the words. He didn’t need the reassurance. I did. I sucked in another breath, trying to steady myself again. “What have you been seeing? The dreams?”
He sighed, fingers loosening for a moment. He was warm with fever. I’d have to talk to Jac or J.T. about something for it once he was asleep again, once I’d managed to center myself again. “The weeks and days leading to her coming,” he said after a long silence. “The anticipation, the worry, the moments of knowing coupled with the relief of one threat passing and another coming. Do you remember?”
I bit my lip but nodded slightly. It was fragmented, but the pieces were there. “A little. It was after Cíar came home.” If I were honest, most of the memories about that time were focused on Brighíd and her twin, on her joy and pain at his return and all that he’d suffered and her inability to do anything about it. I wasn’t sure if that said more about her or if it said something about me, the memories that floated to the surface, what they focused on. Maybe it was a little bit of both. “It’s not much.”
Thom nodded slightly. “Maybe Phelan remembers.”
“Maybe,” I said quietly, feeling sick. “Maybe.”