Shadowdance(111)

“They rubbed ash and iron dust into them.” Jack’s voice was dispassionate, dull now. “Makes it permanent.”

Mary’s throat closed. Bastards. Jack did not move as she reached out to touch one, but she stilled at the last moment. “But the marks are different.”

“What?” It was a shocked whisper.

She met his eyes. “I remember them. Each one.” She would never forget. And the symbols were not the same.

A smothered sound left him. “Found a demon scribe. He changed the symbols. Carved new ones from the old.” His jaw clenched. “I’ll not be bound by those bastards.”

“No.” She touched him then, resting her hand against his chest where his heart thudded beneath. His skin was warm and smooth, the scars not raised but more like a tattoo.

A small furrow worked between his brows as he searched her face. She remained silent, not knowing what to say, or what he needed. When he spoke, his deep voice ended their stalemate. “I don’t like to see them.”

Mary’s chest squeezed. He thought she needed an explanation for why he hid them. She pressed her hand more securely to his firm chest. But Jack didn’t appear to notice. His scowl grew. “I don’t want to remember.” He looked at her as though he believed she’d find him lacking for such a confession.

“Does it tax you to hide them?” she asked softly.

“It’s as easy as breathing.”

“Then don’t stop. Hide them now if it eases you.” She couldn’t see him hurting.

He blinked, and beneath her hand, his chest rose on a slow breath. “No. I want you to see me.” A small shiver ran over his skin. He leaned toward her, the bedclothes rustling as he moved. “I want you to know all of me.”

And because she understood him with perfect clarity in that moment, she let her gaze move over him, learning every imperfection. His face was slightly different too. A bump along the bridge of his nose, a thick scar bisecting his left brow and another faint one on his stubborn chin. He noticed her inspection of him. “Poker to the head, age eleven. Blow to the jaw, age twelve. A few beatings in between.” His lashes swept down. “I did not heal as well when I was younger.”

She cupped his face. Immediately he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, his whole body relaxing on a sigh. It spoke of trust. And she realized that he’d already given his to her. She had yet to do the same. Her fingers pressed into his skin. “Jack, I have something to tell you.” Because he should know all of her too.

His eyes opened, brilliant green and beautiful. “You can tell me anything, Merrily. You ought to know that by now.”

She was here. Jack could hardly believe it, but he wasn’t letting go. Fuck pride. Fuck staying away. He wasn’t going to leave her anymore. He’d stay by her side, or die trying.

“Talk to me, love.”

She licked her lips, a quick dart of her pink tongue. “You did not end my mortal life.”

He frowned. “As much as I hate to belabor the point, I’m afraid I did.”

“No. I…” Her hand slid from his cheek. “I ran in front of the wagon. I wanted to die.”

The very thought of her trying to kill herself—He cupped the back of her neck with both hands, holding her steady, holding himself steady. “What?”

“I ought to have told you. Only I was ashamed. I am ashamed. Do you understand? Adam doesn’t grant life to those who toss theirs away.” She paled. “But he didn’t know. I never offered the truth. I took that secret and burrowed it deep into the darkest pit of my soul. Until your confession.”

“Mary—”

“If a GIM were to find out what I’d done, I’d be banished. I wanted to tell you, but after the way you treated me, I was afraid to trust.” She searched his face. “The worst of it is that, had you known, all these years of miscommunication, of you feeling soulless, might never have been.”

Her eyes glowed like polished topaz and filled with tears. His hand shook so violently that when he wiped at the tear trickling down her cheek, he only succeeded in smearing it about with his thumb.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. Anything but that. “Not over my feelings. I’m not worth it.”

She caught him by the wrist, staying his clumsy efforts. The simple feel of her fingers on his skin gave him the strength to move. Jack pressed his forehead against hers and just breathed, taking in the scent of her, that warm, sweet fragrance that felt of home and hope.

“I don’t want to live without you,” he said, cracking, pleading. He did not care. “That is my truth.”