Free The Select's Bodyguard (Children of the Wells - Bron & Calea Book 1) by Nick Hayden Page B

should I go?”
    “Bron.” She says it three times before I stop. “Bron, it’s no use.”
    “There might be some.”
    “We both know this ends here. You’ve done enough.”
    The words shake me. “Not yet. The steps. They were there for a reason.”
    “It had nothing to do with us. Nothing. Set me down.”
    I set her on the ground. The stone is as smooth as glass. I sit beside her.
    Her breath is ragged. I am empty, unable to feel anything except a deep weight that can’t quite express itself. She tries to speak: “Bron, I...I forgive you.”
    The words pierce through the fog of my emotions. She doesn’t understand. She never has, and I have always kept it from her. I mean to keep it from her now, though it pains me. She has done a noble thing in forgiving me, but it is false. She has offered words to me that she would never say in lesser circumstances. I remain silent, wrestling with myself. Should I tell her? I must. I hate the lie, and I do not want her to die with it still left hidden.
    “I must tell you something,” I say. I do not know if she is listening. “When I told you that the gate’s failure was my fault, I lied. I was a maintenance man, but the Observation Deck was not assigned to me. I do not do my job out of guilt. I told you that to spare you. I understand now what hurts you most. I did not grasp it at first. It took me a long time to realize how much I hurt you that first night, at the party, when I tried to deflect their insults. But what hurts you is what drives me.
    “I might call it pity, but you would misunderstand me. I know you abhor pity more than anything else. But I do not look down on you. I do not consider myself superior. But I do see your weakness, and I want to cover over it. In children’s stories, a dragon can only be injured in the chink in his armor. Pity is that chink, and you hate it. You rage and yell. You make yourself hard and cold. But I want to do what I can to protect you. I need to.
    “It’s not about saving you from a knife or a blast of magic. It’s about giving you security, a sense of trust, a person on which to release all your blows. There is no secret motivation. I have no deep psychological guilt. If anything, I have a fault. I want to protect those who most need it. It is an instinct, a belief. Maybe a religion. Who would protect you if not me? Everyone needs someone, Calea. Everyone. I have chosen to be that person, whether you want me or not. Because...I can’t leave you to yourself. Hate me for it if you need to. I will be everything no one else is for you. I wouldn’t change it. I can’t.”
    I am exhausted. I have rarely spoken so many words to anyone. I fear I have failed to explain, or perhaps enraged her. She will not allow me to call her weak. She doesn’t understand. Everyone is weak. Everyone.
    She says nothing. I hope she has not heard. I have said what I needed to say. If she did not hear, all the better. Her breath is soft, but she lives. For a while, she lives. And I have shown her, the best way I know, what she is worth.
    I wait for morning.
    I wake suddenly. It is still dark. A hand is around my arm, squeezing gently. The hand contracts again. It is desperate, but it is weak. “Bron?”
    I am fully roused.
    “Stay with me.” Her voice is a fierce whisper, begging. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to.”
    “I’m here.”
    She swallows, a drawn-out act. “Look at them. The stars. They’re beautiful. I don’t want to go into darkness.”
    I look up. In the depth of the Well, there is no light, and the sky is brilliant with jewels. I have never seen so many. It is almost like looking upon a city from a distance, a city larger than Thyrion, larger than any even in stories.
    “What are we?” Calea manages. “So little, so useless.”
    I grasp her hand. She needs strength, not words. She will argue words.
    She lapses back into silence.
    I am out of actions, out of steps, out of time. If I could will her to live, if I