“His spirit,” she said. “Or soul?”
“Love is an emotion, yes, but it’s also a power. So I took from his spirit. I took out a piece of mine, as well, so that some part of us would always be together. That removal killed this part of me—” he tapped the spot “—because I did not replace it.”
A dread-filled moment passed as she absorbed his words. “Why is it spreading? And don’t try to redirect me, or shut me down or tell me not to worry like you did last time. I will play a card you don’t want me to play, because yes, I can be devious like that, and then we’ll both feel bad.”
He would not have her feeling bad. “The growth was slow but steady until my Deity punished me with the snow for daring to ignore his orders. Afterward, the growth was fast and steady.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why the growth?”
“It is…death.”
Her jaw dropped, but she snapped it shut. “Put back the piece you removed. Right now! That should stop the spread of death.”
“I cannot. What’s in the urn is a combination of Hadrenial and me. I cannot separate the two. They have already bonded.” Like the demon had bonded to her, he thought, his hands curling into fists.
Her chin went into the air, and he knew her stubborn side was kicking in. “Well, think of it this way. I’m not asking you to separate the two. I’m telling you to use the combination.”
Oh, yes. Stubborn. “I failed to save his life. I even rendered the deathblow. I do not deserve to live off him.”
“You gave him what he wanted. You ended his torment. You deserve—”
“Annabelle—”
“Zacharel. You are far better than you give yourself credit for. How many times have you saved me? What would I have done without you? What will happen to me if you…if you… I can’t even say the word! Do this. Please.”
How could he deny her anything? “I…will think about it,” he said, and he would, but deep down he knew that he would not change his mind. If he did as she wanted, he would forever carry a piece of his brother. Him, a man utterly unworthy of such a blessing.
“Thank you.”
Guilt rose, but he shoved it aside. “Now, will you show me why you have the pen?” he asked, changing the subject.
“My pleasure,” she said with a smile only half the wattage of the others. “Have you ever played tic-tac-toe?”
“I’ve never played anything.”
“Well, then, prepare to be dominated. I’m a master. I win against myself every time we play.”
He snorted.
Hand steady, she began to write on him, treating his chest as if it was a sheet of paper and drawing what seemed to be hundreds of tic-tac-toe boards. He was X’s, she was O’s, and they tied every game.
Well, they tied until she used his nipple as the center O, lancing sensation to a groin he’d expected to be dead for days. He moaned, and that caused her to laugh, and of course, that laughter distracted him. She finally won.
By the time they finished, he was marked up from neck to toe, and so was she. Although he hadn’t drawn boards on her—he’d written his name. And suddenly he understood the appeal of tattoos. He liked his name inked into her flesh and suspected he would like having hers inked into his.
Annabelle formed a circle with her fingers, looking at him through the center as though she was a scientist and her hands a lens. “I want to take a picture of you just…like…this. You’re—” Her eyes darkened to a haunted navy blue, and her hands fell heavily to her sides.
Each of his muscles petrified, but he fought through and cupped the side of her cheek. “What’s wrong?”