He looked at her when she said his name, and before she even had a mind to do it, she was reaching for him, finally giving in to her desire to touch him.
Over the span of an hour, she had relived every wonderful and terrible moment they shared together. When he had asked for permission weeks ago when she walked into his restaurant, kissing her in a way that reminded her that her heart was not her own, her guard had still been firmly locked in place.
Now, she felt naked. Exposed. Bare for him.
The anger was gone, she realized. Her annoyance with him had ceased the somewhere along the way and now she just hurt.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, taking her hand in his and turning it over, running the pad of his thumb over the sensitive skin at her wrist.
“I want you to fix it,” she answered, giving him the very thing he had asked of her before she had walked away.
“I will,” he said. A promise. “But I can’t promise in my quest to do it, you won’t get hurt again.”
“What?”
He held fast when she tried to pull away, his strength irresistible. “You have a job to do,” he said, “and I have my own.”
“But why does that matter now?”
That was the point of this therapy session, she thought. It was to resolve this.
“Uilleam has set things into motion that can’t be stopped—deals have been made. This, whatever this is with Carmen, needs to be seen through. And right now, we have to play the game the way it was set up.”
“But why?”
Kit’s lips quirked at the corner, almost a smile. “There are more players on the field.”
Luna sighed, collapsing back against her chair. “I’m so fucking tired of the games.”
“It’ll end soon enough.”
But not before she, or he, or they both got hurt by the end of it.
With all games, there was always a loser in the end.
CODA
In the cold hours of the night, I think of you when sleep evades me. I'd once believed there was no cure for my insomnia until you came into my life.
I didn't want to believe, not at first, but during those many nights I spent with you, my mind was quiet, my thoughts clear.
Do you remember the nights we spent on Efate Islands—you asked me for a truth I had never told another person? I told you about my desire to sleep as I had when I was a boy.
Now, my answer would be different.
I wish I could sleep as I did when I was with you. Is it selfish of me to say I wish you were here—that you were the only thing keeping me sane?
You were a great many things to me—a lover, a consort, and often a confidante, but I miss you because out of everyone in my life, you were my friend, and I have very few of those.
Yours,
Uilleam
The minute he’d finished the note with a scrawl of his name along the bottom, Uilleam tossed the pen on the desk, watching some of the ink splatter along the dark wood. He sat back with a sigh as he scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling a bit restless as he tried to focus.
The ease in which he worked was lacking as of late, the pressure he was under making him feel as though he were drowning beneath the weight of it. It was in these moments that he drew out the small square of black paper and penned another note to a woman that would never read them.
Once the ink was dry, he tucked the page away within a small box in his desk, locking it back when he finished.
It was unhealthy, he knew, this obsession he had with penning his fleeting thoughts, but the need to keep her alive, if only in his own mind was too great to ignore. And it almost, almost, made him feel like the black thing in his chest could beat once more.
So for now, he entertained the foolish notion that this act was helping him—that it allowed him a brief reprieve from the grueling tasks he had ahead of him.
Even in death, she was like a balm on his soul.
“Sir?”
Shifting only his eyes to Dominic, the lone man willing to engage him when he was in one of his moods, Uilleam nodded for him to continue.
“Someone is requesting to speak with you.”
In his current state, he would have much rather played another game of chess alone, matching wits with himself than to entertain another sniveling man complaining about his lack of power.
They never understood the sacrifices once they had the very power they craved.
Uilleam waved his fingers, a silent command to reject the call—or just hang up as he was prone to do when he wasn’t in the mood.
Dominic didn’t heed it. “The caller says his name is Elias, sir.”
Finally.
Finally.
The moment he’d been waiting for.
This time when he lifted his hand, he was eager for the feel of the mobile phone hitting his palm. It was only a matter of seconds ago that he had contemplated venturing somewhere to ease the rage he was feeling, but now delighted anticipation thrummed inside of him.