Ravage the Dawn: Book 1

Chapter Thirty Three

Though the lights were off, the television was on when he entered the apartment hours later. To his surprise she was still awake, sitting on the sofa with her knees drawn up against her chest. He watched her wearily from the corner of his eye as he tossed his keys down on the counter nearby before making his way towards her. He'd been dreading this moment since Malik told him that they had explained her situation to her in its entirety while he dealt with Callum's killer. As if he hadn't already known.

Despite Malik's assurance that she would be fine once she had time to absorb the information, he knew better. He'd felt every miserable moment of her reaction for himself. In the time since they had begun to divulge the true nature of her gift and the council's involvement she'd been tangled up in her emotions. Shock, fear, anger, pain, desperation, helplessness, and eventually despair.

It was almost a relief to him when the numbness of her exhaustion finally muted the flood of misery she'd inadvertently been drowning him in. It was almost impossible to focus on questioning Laurent with the constant ebb and flow of her emotions breaking over him like waves on a rocky shore.

His respite was short lived. He was more than familiar with how dangerous the sort of hollow desperation she was feeling could be. Concern that she might decide to hurt herself had soon sucked the air from his lungs and made that last forty-five minutes away from her almost unbearable.

Now standing before her he found it no better. He had resigned himself to the hurt and betrayal she would likely feel towards him in the wake of her discovery. Knowing that he had only been doing his job did little to ease his mind. He stood looking down on her in silence as she continued to stare through him, too lost in her thoughts to readily acknowledge him without being prompted. He struggled to think of something to say that wouldn't sound trite, but nothing seemed worthy of the moment.

The dark trails of makeup on her cheeks told him she'd been crying, though the tears themselves had since dried. She was in his clothes, her dress no doubt abandoned elsewhere in his apartment with all the pins from the hair that was now a loose mane of tangled curls. He was honestly surprised she'd managed that much. David had fully expected to find her crumpled just inside the door, having not moved from where Sacha had left her.

The weight of her devastation was oppressive and thick, hanging heavy over them both. He extended a hand, tentative fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. "I'm so sorry Lizzy." He winced, pained that he could find no better words to offer her than those few. He held his breath, bracing for the outburst he thought would come. For a moment she was silent, then finally she drew in a shallow breath and looked up at him.

"You were just doing your job."

The agony he felt at her response was like a knife twisting under his ribs. Her suffering pained him in a way he didn't have words for, and the inherent sweetness of her nature only made it worse. He knelt in front of her, brushing the hair back from her eyes with one hand as he silently begged her to look at him. "I would have told you, if I could." She met his gaze, nodding as she tried to smile.

"I know."

David was at a loss. He had been prepared for anger and hurt, for her to scream and lash out. He hadn't been prepared for this. Not for her understanding, or for her to already seem so resigned. "Do you want to talk?" She shook her head no, and much to her obvious displeasure tears were already filling her eyes again at the mere thought.

He frowned as his hand came to rest against her cheek. "What can I do, darlin'? How can I make it better?" He hated the desperation he heard in his own voice, but it couldn't be helped. If it would have lessened her pain in that moment, he thought he would gladly have let her burn him to ashes. In some darker parts of his mind, the guilt he felt almost made him wish she would.