“Tell me how I can fix it. Let me fix it.”
“You can’t fix this …” I interjected softly. “With this Tribe magic coursing through me, I’m feeling weird. Not myself at all.” I was grasping at straws. “Something’s changing inside me …”
Pain flickered in Bishop’s eyes. “For me? Your feelings for me?”
My head was shaking furiously, my heart throbbing as I continued the lie. How many times could a person’s heart break in one day? “My feelings for you have not changed.” That was the truth. They just weren’t the feelings he thought I should have. And then it hit me. I did have the perfect excuse. The truth. “Any day, any moment, my touch will kill you.” I delivered it with such clarity, with such conviction, without a waver or a stutter, there was no way he could think it was anything but real.
His face twisted. “What? Why?”
“Do you remember the Tribes?”
“Yeah, I remember them,” he said. I struggled to keep the surprise from my face. What exactly did he remember?
It took me a minute to gain my composure. “I’m changing. Morphing. Can’t you sense it?”
His chin furrowed. “Yeah, I can. Sofie said not to worry about it.”
I couldn’t stop my eye roll. “Every day, I’m a little bit more like Walking Death. If this continues, then a day will come—soon—when my touch will kill you. I can’t bear that thought, Bishop. I’ll die.” My voice, cracking with emotion, carried the purity of truth with it. I would die if I killed him, or Amelie, or Caden. Even the thought produced a well of tears. “So we need to keep the physical contact at bay. Please. For me. For my sanity.”
He groaned and flopped back into the bed, his hands flying to his face and sliding through his hair. “You’re killing me here! I’ve been waiting a month for you to come back from the mountains!”
Again, I struggled to keep the shock from my face. If he didn’t remember anything about F—her—during that month, what did he remember? “Yeah … that’s a long time. What were you doing during that time again?” I walked toward my dresser to pull out fresh clothes, trying to appear as casual as possible.
Bishop’s arms folded around his chest, his words dry. “You know exactly what I was doing, Evangeline … I didn’t have a choice! I had to get over my bloodlust after I almost killed you!”
My feet froze mid-step. Bishop almost killed me … not Caden. Bishop. Bishop waited for me while I was in the mountains … not Caden. A theory formed in my mind. A dark, twisted theory that brought my level of disgust for these master puppeteer Fates to a new low. I turned on my heels and headed back over to the bed. I perched myself at the edge of the mattress, forcing a relaxed smile.
“Wasn’t Ratheus simpler? Remember those days, swimming, fishing … and that tunnel in the water we went through?”
A lazy grin stretched onto Bishop’s face as he reminisced with me. “Yeah … I remember that. We could have gone above ground, but it got you close to me.” I held the smile on my face. I held it, even as it brawled with my emotions to slide off and allow shock and horror to take its place. The Fates had plagiarized Caden’s memories and planted them in Bishop’s mind! All of our private moments were now Bishop’s memories. That meant …
The air left my lungs in a rush as Bishop’s eyes trailed the length of my thigh, up my arm, over my body, heat igniting within. Without thinking, I hunched my shoulders inward to protect myself from his appraisal. But … how had they managed to contort his memories and erase Fi—her? I didn’t dare even think her name. There had to be some disconnect, some complete fabrication in Bishop’s poor lobotomized memories.
As curious as I was to find out, I knew that poking around in there was like punting a ticking time bomb. And I wasn’t going to be the one to swing my leg. “We should go downstairs. Find out what’s happening.”
He nodded, reaching out to grasp my hand. I allowed the affection for a few seconds, not wanting to pull away too quickly. But eventually, I stood and shook his hand off. “We can’t risk it, Bishop.”
He nodded, a pout curving his lips downward. My throat closed up.
I walked over to my dresser while silently cursing the Fates for making me hurt him so. Then I remembered the alternative. Suck it up, Evie. You asked for this. You asked Sofie to fix him. Rifling through the top drawer to find a sweater and a pair of jeans, I turned to find Bishop still watching.
“Do you mind?” I asked, dipping my head toward the door.