ً

“Please don’t leave me, Emma,” Julian said. His voice broke. “Please don’t leave me in this world without you.”

“I killed my own father,” he said. “You think I won’t kill your son?”

“As long as you exist and I exist, I will love you.”

“What if we ran away?” he said. “Ran away?” she echoed. “And went where?” “Somewhere they wouldn’t find us. I could do it. I could find a place.”

“Are you joking? Is this a joke to you, Emma? Don’t you understand?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t live if you die!”

“I thought you loved me,” he said, almost in a whisper. “I don’t know how I got that so wrong.”

“These pictures are my heart. And if my heart was a canvas, every square inch of it would be painted over with you.”

Julian was the kind of person who could descend into Hell and come out with the devil himself owing him a favor.

She couldn’t speak. Instead, she traced her fingers clumsily across his back, writing out what she couldn’t say aloud, as they had for so long. A-T L-A-S-T, she wrote. A-T L-A-S-T.

“These pictures are my heart. And if my heart was a canvas, every square inch of it would be painted over with you.”

“Entreat me not to leave thee,” he whispered, “or to return from following after thee.” He flicked open the top button of her shirt, baring a small patch of skin.

In the dark and the shadows where secrets lived, that was where Julian survived.

“Your heart’s beating so fast.” “It always does,” he said, “when it’s you. Only you. No one but you.”

“But you never paint me,” she whispered. He didn’t answer. He looked agonized.

There was a wild feeling in Emma’s blood, the desire to seize Julian, to do something, crush his hands in hers, put her arms around him, cause them both pain, make them both taste the same seeking desperation. She couldn’t understand it, and it terrified her.

I A-M R-U-I-N-E-D.

“Believe me, there is nothing hotter than you in one of my shirts,” he said. “I’ve always wanted you. Even when I didn’t know it.” “Even during our parabatai ceremony?” “Especially then.”

“Jules,” she whispered. “My Julian.” “Always,” he whispered, returning to her mouth, “always,”

“Break my heart,” he said. “Break it in pieces. I give you permission.”

He breathed out. “Emma.” Raw pain.