Till the Sun Dies

Copyright © 2023 H.M. Darling All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. CONTENTS Also by H.M. Darling Content Warning: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Acknowledgments About the Author ALSO BY H.M. DARLING Heir of Ashes Duology Heir of Ashes (#1) Master of Flames (#2) Coven (#0.5) CONTENT WARNING: Till the Sun Dies is a new adult novel and contains materials that may be triggering to some readers, including depression, off-page domestic violence and emotional abuse, suicide, and explicit sex scenes (all consensual). Please do not read if any of this is triggering to you. For the girls who dream with their eyes open And for a boy made of sunshine There were two round-trip tickets, but only one seat was occupied. I stared at the back of the seat in front of me and tried to pinpoint exactly where everything had gone wrong. My chest ached and dried tears stained my cheeks as I mentally combed through mornings that began with screaming and midnights that ended tangled in bed together. A lump formed in my throat as I remembered long locks of blonde hair tickling my face while she kissed me, soft pink lips delicate against mine one moment and spewing rage the next. If there was a time before the venom, I didn’t remember it. I knew she planned to leave. I prepared for it, even, because I was just as much to blame for this as she was. When she was angry, I was absent. She screamed, and I stayed silent. She begged… and I ran. She raged… and I built walls. I proposed because she asked me to. I thought it would fix things. Even on one knee, I felt nothing at all. Our wedding came closer and closer, and I let myself hope. I convinced myself things would get better after we were married. There would be nowhere for me to run. Perhaps she would be kinder to her wife than she ever was to her girlfriend or fiancé. My gown was extravagant, flowing and full of lace, with pink butterflies sewn into the train. I stood in front of our families, and our friends, and I waited. I waited until the crowd stared at me with pity and my mother cried. She never came down the aisle. Five years of my life washed away in the rain. Everything after that was a haze. I ran to the bridal suite, calling her name. Screaming it, even. No one stopped me. They all just watched as tsunami waves of grief dragged me down. My sister cut me out of my damned dress so I could breathe again. I couldn’t go home… home was her apartment, with her things and her friends and her dog. Instead, I wallowed on my sister’s couch. When I was awake, I stared out the window at the desolate summer sun. At some point, I stopped feeling anything at all. I slept for long hours when I couldn’t stand to exist anymore. We were supposed to have a honeymoon. We saved for months to afford the hotel and plane tickets for five days in a city that was supposed to fix us. Somewhere in the fog of my broken mind, I remembered what day it was. I drank too much red wine, trying to forget about it. One moment, I scrolled through unread emails on my phone, pausing on the one that mentioned checking in for our flight. In a drunken stupor, I packed a single carry-on suitcase full of shit I hated, and took an Uber to Sky Harbor. I stepped onto a plane by myself. I ran from every problem I ever had in life, and this was no different. Only this time, I was running further than ever before and I refused to look back. Truthfully, I wasn’t leaving much behind. The apartment had been in her name and all my things were stuffed in boxes and abandoned in my parents’ garage. My corporate job was nothing to brag about; my boss would log on Monday morning to find my resignation letter in his email. The summer heat in Phoenix was unbearable, I would not miss it. I wondered how long it would take for my family to realize I was gone. When I left, my sister was in the middle of a twelve-hour nursing shift. She would come home and fall into bed without remembering to check on me. I hadn’t spoken to my parents since the wedding; I only expected them to call after my sister realized I wasn’t drowning on her couch anymore. When I was young, before I had any concept of bills, rent, or expenses, I believed I would move across the world one day. I bragged about how I would be the first family member to escape the dreary, hot Phoenix summers and start a wonderful life somewhere else. Instead, I went to college. I fell in love. I got a job and an apartment. I proposed to the woman I loved. Everything I was supposed to do, I did. My dream of