Free Dissonance: An Echo Trilogy Novella (Echo Trilogy, #2.5) by Lindsey Fairleigh Page B

his lips, his jaw as he opened the
box and picked up the pocket watch, looking for some hint of his anger level.
He turned the watch over several times, then he set it back in the depression
that had been made for it, shut the lid, and placed the box on the stair above
us.
    “Are you finished?” he asked quietly and, with a slow blink,
raised his gaze to meet mine.
    Shit. His pupils were so dilated that only the
thinnest rim of gold was visible around the black. And I knew from experience
that only two emotions caused such a physiological reaction in him—extreme
desire and absolute fury.
    In a lithe movement, he stood and strode away from me. He took
smooth, purposeful steps into the nearby sitting room and, true to form,
planted himself before a window, his back to me.
    “ Marcus .  . .” Using the
staircase railing, I pulled myself up to my feet but couldn’t work up the nerve
to follow him into the sitting room. “I’m alright. Nothing happened.”
    Silence. No words. No movement. Just stillness. Just him, staring
out the window.
    “And before you start ordering me around, I’m putting my own damn
self on house arrest, so you can save your breath.” Not that I was really
worried about him saying anything at all right now. God, when he got like this,
it was like talking to a statue.
    The house’s main floor had high ceilings, but all the space in the
world wouldn’t have been enough to alleviate the stifling tension mounting all
around him.
    “Marcus,” I said, my voice hardening. I took a single step toward
him, then promptly developed a severe case of lead feet. I repeated his name,
irritation lacing my voice.
    Still no response.
    “Damn it, Marcus.” My hands balled into fists, my nails digging
into my palms despite their short length. “I’m fine, I’ve already agreed to
stay put, so I’ll be perfectly safe while you and your people hunt down these
Kin assholes.” I paused, hoping for some sort of a response. A simple sidelong
glance would’ve been better than the cold shoulder he was giving me. “What else
do you want me to say?”
    “Nothing.” The single word ratcheted the tension up to suffocating
levels.
    Mounting frustration got the better of me, and I practically
shouted, “Is it that I didn’t tell you right away? Is that why you’re mad at
me?”
    “I’m not,” he responded, his voice quieter than mine, but his
words just as sharp. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath. “I’m
not mad at you, Lex.” His enunciation was precise, impeccable, and each
syllable set my nerves more on edge. “I want to tear apart those responsible
for the incident today .  . . I want to feel
their bones snapping in my grip while my hands are coated in their blood.” He
bowed his head, and his voice grew quieter. “But I’m not angry; I’m terrified.
I want, more than anything, to lock you away in a cage of At keyed only to me so I know that nobody will ever be able to get to you. Nobody
will ever be able to even attempt to hurt you again.”
    I held my breath for a few seconds, waiting to see if he would say
more, then exhaled and crossed into the sitting room to stand behind him. I
slipped my hand into his and leaned against his back, pressing my forehead
against his shoulder. “That would be no way to live.”
    He was quiet for a long time. Seconds passed, maybe minutes, and
we stood there, apart and together. We were always apart and together, it
seemed.
    Finally, he swallowed audibly and said, “But at least you would be
alive.” At last, he turned his head to the side and stared down at me. “At
least you would exist.”
    Lifting my head from his shoulder, I searched his darkened eyes.
There was a hint more gold now, but his pupils were still unusually large, not
to mention uncommonly glassy. I’d never seen Marcus cry—hell, I wasn’t sure the
ancient former god I’d bound myself to for the rest of eternity could cry
anymore—but I wouldn’t have been