Chapter 113
My mother taught me that love is not always kind. She had picked me apart like shards of glass and broken me, showing me what love was all about. I learned from her that love was cruel and that it left scars and blood on her hands.
With him, things felt different, as if I no longer needed to be loved in the same way she had loved me. Nothing felt harsh, soiled, or contaminated—rather, everything felt peaceful.
In a way that made me feel adored, he bled possession and power. When I was in his arms, a voice within my head told me to stay rather than run.
With my head buried in his lap and his fingers caressing the tendons of my throat, the mate-mate bond was like an electric force coursing through my body. A faint groan pushed past my lips as he skimmed over the claim he had made against me not too long ago. My body was responding to his touch as though it had been starving, and all I wanted was for his hands to touch me in every possible place, repeatedly.
When he heard me wake up, his fingers stopped moving, but I was still craving more.
"Don't stop; I don't want this dream to end." I sighed quietly as I scooted closer to him, his fingertips still running down my neck.
After everything that had transpired and all the space I had attempted to maintain between us, I never thought he would embrace me again. It was almost like a delusion, like something I had imagined to console myself for what was about to transpire.
It was too delicious and too unreal, and it had to be a dream.
"This isn't a dream." I opened my eyes to the reality of his rough voice and reveled in its warm timbre.
What was it, if this wasn't a dream?
I followed the strong lines of his abs till my eyes fell on his chest, then I studied his tanned skin, which was in immaculate condition. My attention first landed on his bare stomach. When I touched his flesh, it felt warm to the touch—nearly too much for my sleep-deprived, starving brain to process right now.
There was no doubting the truth of it when I moved my head from the warmth of his body to stare at his face.
I was just aware of him, his body encircling me in a bubble of safety, and his aroma.
"You're real." As I watched the color in his eyes shift, my heart skipped a beat.
Everything that had transpired to bring me back into his arms was genuine; he and his pack had witnessed everything, even the unraveling of my secrets and the exposure of concealed harm.
He took my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each fingertip. "I'm real."
"This is real." He went on, more focused, his fingers stroking over my hair as if I was the only person in the world that mattered to him. "You are real; you are in my arms, and my wolf has finally claimed you as his." I trembled as his fingers glided over his assertion, my body melting against his once more.
I had a flashback of the earlier events, with the truth and the blood, the anguish and the trial, all vividly vivid in my mind.
So much grief, so much blood.
With cautious eyes, he peered down at me as if I were a fragile flower unfolding in his hands, and he felt as though he would crush me.
I extended my hand to retouch him.
He freed me to be who I truly was and to claim everything I had done; now, I belonged to him.
He had finally marked me, and he was genuine; this was all true.
Before I could stop myself, the tears began to pour, streaming down my face as I saw the fear and pain flicker in his eyes. He drew himself away from me, taking up too much room between us and leaving the sofa entirely.
He started pacing the office where we were.
The light in the room was yellowish, and it was dark outside. The area was a mess, with books and papers hastily scattered on the floor and any available surface. Empty glasses and partially consumed food were scattered over the room, and then there was me, snuggled up against him on his sofa and safely hidden away from the mayhem.
"I shouldn't have done this," he growled, struggling with his feelings. "I messed up—I thought I was, I thought—I should have known you would want nothing to do with me once you woke up.
His wolf was rising to the surface as he tugged at his hair.
I felt a sharp pain in my chest that spread throughout my body as I straightened up and used the back of my palm to wipe away the tears that had welled up.
I shook my head, not understanding how he could be thinking what he was.
"You've seen my worst aspects—the whole me. It should be you who doesn't want to be friends with me, not the other way around." With his heart pounding in his chest, he stopped pacing.
It was so easy to tell how he felt now that he had marked me. His rage, his guilt—I felt it as if it were my own.
He gave me a frantic look and pinned me.
"Kylie, trust me when I say that I never take a breath without thinking about how much I want you." Please don't feel sorry for me for the wrongs I have done to you by telling me that I shouldn't want you because you are so utterly incorrect. You are the bravest and strongest person I know—what I saw in your thoughts simply confirms that." His direct remarks tore at my heart, causing my tears to pour more heavily.
His gaze moved me to tears, but his next words held even greater power.
"I'm weeping because I love you." I uttered it with trepidation. I muttered, "I can barely contain how much I love you," as his heartbeat became less irregular and he took a breath.
I had never said such words to him before, and if I hadn't felt like this was a losing battle, I would have said them sooner.
However, I was the one who started everything—the one who made up stories about my background and identity in my mind.
"You are everything I could have ever desired, and I am in tears because I was so close to losing you and I believed you would be better off without me—and perhaps you still are, after all.
"No," he answered curtly, turning back to face me.
With a tilt of my head, he wrapped his thumb and forefinger around my chin and then reached out to touch the mark he had made on my skin. The power of his touch struck me again, and I forced myself to inhale.
"Your pain is my pain, your battles are my battles, and your burdens are ours to share—that's what this mark means." Leaning into his touch, I sighed. "It means I love you and that I am yours—soul-deep and utterly yours." He assured me.
He brushed away the tears in silence as they kept falling. We were picking up the pieces after everything that had transpired had left us both devastated.
The touch and the look in his eyes were incredibly gentle, both of us could feel it.