had. If I could survive the next few hours, I'd be back in very familiar territory, alone and nursing a wounded heart.
"And this will be an end to it?" he asked, punctuating my thoughts to perfection.
Damn it, I wasn't used to having my mind read anymore. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you asking if I'll keep in touch?"
He grunted. "Would you?"
"No. If I wanted to be pen pals, I'd have given you my address when I moved in here."
He fell silent for a moment, then slid across the cushions, closing the distance between us. "I...I want you to know that I'm sorry, Jandra." He laid a hand on top of mine.
"For what?"
"For the way things have been between us. For all the pain I've caused you."
He meant it, too. My eyes went wide, but I fought to keep any other signs of reaction off my face. "Why are you telling me this?" I asked.
"Because you don't want to hear what I truly want to tell you."
Yeah, if it was any more of that I-love-you crap, he had that right on the money. But this...this was almost worse. God, I had to say something before he kept talking. "You don't even know what remorse is, so save it, okay?"
His eyes narrowed. I'd begun to squirm under the weight of his gaze by the time he spoke again, his tone soft and resigned. "If that's what you believe, Jandra."
"You gonna argue with me?" I shot back. My own voice came out soft and breathy, robbing my words of their potency.
"No. I'm not." His fingers squeezed mine briefly before he released them and stood. He faced the front door, though his gaze had gone distant and unfocused. "Only consider this, if you would. Consider how much I have to regret in the days of my life I can remember. Consider how many other regrets have surely been lost to the winds of time."
"Yeah? So?"
His eyes flashed back to my face, bright enough to make me blink. "So, even if I have only recently become acquainted with remorse, do you truly believe I don't understand it?"
My mouth hung open, but I couldn't seem to remember what I'd intended to say. I closed it again.
"What do you suppose I've been thinking about in the quiet of night, while you sleep?" Zeph asked. His eyes had gone dark again, but he wasn't seeing me any more than he'd been looking at the door.
I wanted to snap at him, say something--anything--to make him change the subject. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. What a wonderful moment for my bitterness to fail me. Finally, I whispered, "What, Zeph?"
"Would you believe me if I told you that I, like the twins, have been wondering why I was made?"
"What do you mean?"
He sighed again, sharply this time. His hands twitched at his sides in a restless gesture, as if he would've liked to throw them up in the air. "What have I to show for centuries of existence?" he asked. "A patchwork of things half remembered, many of them horrible, none of them redeeming. I cannot find purpose in it, no matter how hard I try."
"Really? You, who just gave that moving speech about faith?"
"That's just it. Once I found my solace in the times between, when I was capable of feeling nothing. Now...I don't know." His shoulders slumped. "Perhaps I'm growing weary of this world. Or perhaps I'm finally going mad."
My breath hitched in my throat. "Don't say that." The Society didn't look kindly on insane dark angels.
"You don't believe it?" he muttered.
"No." Whatever the reason behind it, I couldn't accept that his growing emotional range signified any kind of loss. This was progress, not degeneration. I struggled to find to a way to express this to him when he turned again, seeming not to have heard my blurted denial.
"I'll dress for dinner now."
"You've got hours yet," I said, moving my legs out of his way as he headed for the stairs.
"Inconsequential."
"Zeph...." I bit my lip on my next words. I'd been about to call him back, to try and make him feel better about himself. Not exactly the way to make a clean break. I chalked it up to misplaced guilt, which would surely fade once he
"And this will be an end to it?" he asked, punctuating my thoughts to perfection.
Damn it, I wasn't used to having my mind read anymore. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you asking if I'll keep in touch?"
He grunted. "Would you?"
"No. If I wanted to be pen pals, I'd have given you my address when I moved in here."
He fell silent for a moment, then slid across the cushions, closing the distance between us. "I...I want you to know that I'm sorry, Jandra." He laid a hand on top of mine.
"For what?"
"For the way things have been between us. For all the pain I've caused you."
He meant it, too. My eyes went wide, but I fought to keep any other signs of reaction off my face. "Why are you telling me this?" I asked.
"Because you don't want to hear what I truly want to tell you."
Yeah, if it was any more of that I-love-you crap, he had that right on the money. But this...this was almost worse. God, I had to say something before he kept talking. "You don't even know what remorse is, so save it, okay?"
His eyes narrowed. I'd begun to squirm under the weight of his gaze by the time he spoke again, his tone soft and resigned. "If that's what you believe, Jandra."
"You gonna argue with me?" I shot back. My own voice came out soft and breathy, robbing my words of their potency.
"No. I'm not." His fingers squeezed mine briefly before he released them and stood. He faced the front door, though his gaze had gone distant and unfocused. "Only consider this, if you would. Consider how much I have to regret in the days of my life I can remember. Consider how many other regrets have surely been lost to the winds of time."
"Yeah? So?"
His eyes flashed back to my face, bright enough to make me blink. "So, even if I have only recently become acquainted with remorse, do you truly believe I don't understand it?"
My mouth hung open, but I couldn't seem to remember what I'd intended to say. I closed it again.
"What do you suppose I've been thinking about in the quiet of night, while you sleep?" Zeph asked. His eyes had gone dark again, but he wasn't seeing me any more than he'd been looking at the door.
I wanted to snap at him, say something--anything--to make him change the subject. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. What a wonderful moment for my bitterness to fail me. Finally, I whispered, "What, Zeph?"
"Would you believe me if I told you that I, like the twins, have been wondering why I was made?"
"What do you mean?"
He sighed again, sharply this time. His hands twitched at his sides in a restless gesture, as if he would've liked to throw them up in the air. "What have I to show for centuries of existence?" he asked. "A patchwork of things half remembered, many of them horrible, none of them redeeming. I cannot find purpose in it, no matter how hard I try."
"Really? You, who just gave that moving speech about faith?"
"That's just it. Once I found my solace in the times between, when I was capable of feeling nothing. Now...I don't know." His shoulders slumped. "Perhaps I'm growing weary of this world. Or perhaps I'm finally going mad."
My breath hitched in my throat. "Don't say that." The Society didn't look kindly on insane dark angels.
"You don't believe it?" he muttered.
"No." Whatever the reason behind it, I couldn't accept that his growing emotional range signified any kind of loss. This was progress, not degeneration. I struggled to find to a way to express this to him when he turned again, seeming not to have heard my blurted denial.
"I'll dress for dinner now."
"You've got hours yet," I said, moving my legs out of his way as he headed for the stairs.
"Inconsequential."
"Zeph...." I bit my lip on my next words. I'd been about to call him back, to try and make him feel better about himself. Not exactly the way to make a clean break. I chalked it up to misplaced guilt, which would surely fade once he
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