Chapter 19 - Thalia
A week after my wedding, and I still can't say the word mate without feeling like I might be sick.
The bond pulses between us, a constant reminder of what I've lost. What was taken from me.
Sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night when sleep won't come, I catch echoes of Rafael's emotions through it—guilt, frustration, anger, desire. He doesn’t have the right to feel any of it. I try to block it out, building walls in my mind like the concrete ones I became an adult within back in Rockford. But some things leak through anyway.
Like how much he still wants me. Like how my presence affects him, even now.
The silence from the Smoke is deafening. Every hour that passes without word from Yannick feels like another weight on my chest, crushing the air from my lungs. Is Maia alive? Did they believe my desperate voicemail? Or is she already—
No. I can't think about that. Can't let myself imagine what they might do to her if they suspect I arranged this marriage. Even though I didn't. Even though Rafael forced this on me for reasons I still don't understand.
The safehouse kitchen has become neutral territory, a place where Rafael and I pass each other like ghosts, careful never to occupy the same space at the same time.
Tonight, I linger at the counter, staring into a cup of tea gone cold, trying to remember how to be a person instead of a hollow thing full of fear and rage. The same counter where we… I shove it from my mind.
That's when I hear his voice from the living room.
"—had to be done, Cam."
Rafael's tone is low, tired. He sounds exhausted. Through the bond, I feel the weight of fatigue pressing on him.
"It was the only way to protect her. I didn’t think twice. I just knew I had to do it."
The mug slips from my suddenly numb fingers, shattering on the tile floor. Dark tea spreads like old blood across the white ceramic.
Protect me?
Footsteps approach—Rafael, drawn by the noise. I stay frozen, staring at the broken pieces of my mug as his words echo in my head.
The only way to protect her.
How the hell can he possibly believe that?
"Thalia?" Rafael appears in the doorway, phone still in hand. "Are you okay?"
I can't look him in the eye. Can't bear to see whatever expression he's wearing—pity? Concern? The careful mask of indifference he's maintained since our disastrous mission to Weber?
"Don't," I say when he takes a step toward me. "Just... don't."
"You're shaking." Another step closer. "Let me help—"
"Like you helped by forcing me to mate with you?" The words burst out before I can stop them, sharp as the broken ceramic at my feet. "Was that part of your grand plan to protect me?"
Rafael goes very still. "Thalia." He says my name like it’ll change my mind somehow.
"Enough." I finally look at him, and god, it hurts. He's beautiful in the dim kitchen light, all sharp edges and shadowed eyes. Even now, even hating him, I want him so badly it feels like drowning. "Who gave you the right to make that choice for me? How can you believe it was good for me? You selfish, controlling, arrogant— "
"Thalia—" He runs a hand through his long hair, frustration rolling off him in waves. "I'm trying to apologize. For Weber, for losing my temper. For all of it."
"I don't want your apologies." My voice shakes. "I want answers. I want a way out of this, but clearly, I’ll never get that.”
"It's not that simple.”
"Nothing ever is with you, is it?" I laugh, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "You treat me like you care for me, then force me into this bond. You claim to want to protect me, but you control me, and you hide, and you lie. How am I supposed to trust anything you say? You talked a big game about loyalty and betrayal, Rafael, but you’re no better than Stella. Maybe you learned it from her.”
Rafael’s face flickers. For a moment, there is a threat of raw agony across his features. Instinctively, I feel horrible for saying it. But now I can't take it back.
He moves closer, and this time, I don't back away. Can't back away. His scent surrounds me. He’s reaching his hands toward me—my waist, perhaps, or to embrace me. But they hover in the air between us.
"I care about you," Rafael says softly, after a moment has passed. His hand lifts, hovers near my face without touching. "More than I can explain. I did what I had to do."
"Don't." But the word comes out breathless, weak. "Please don't lie to me. Not about this. You wanted—you wanted to punish me. Or to have me for yourself. I don’t know what your motivations were, but you did this to hurt me—you knew it would hurt me. That isn’t love."
"I'm not lying." Rafael’s hand moves. His fingers brush my cheek, feather-light, and electricity shoots through me at the contact. "Thalia, I’d do anything to change it, but I—”
I kiss him.
I don't mean to. But suddenly, my hands are in his hair and his mouth is on mine, hot and desperate, and nothing else matters. The bond explodes with sensation as he pulls me closer, one hand at my waist, the other cupping my face like I'm something precious. Something worth keeping.
Perhaps it was a desire for comfort. Possibly my body registered before my mind did, and I simply had nothing else to lose.
For a moment, I let myself believe it. I let the instincts of this new bond take over. Let myself melt into him, into the heat of his body and, the familiar taste of his mouth and the way he says my name against my lips like a prayer.
But then reality crashes back.
I wrench away, stumbling backward until I hit the counter. My lips burn. My whole body burns. I feel humiliated. As if I’ve lost the war.
"Thalia," Rafael starts, reaching for me.
"No." I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold my broken pieces together. "This doesn't change anything. I—Rafael, I can't do this. I won't."
Pain flashes across his face, echoing through the bond like a physical blow. “I’m sorry.”
"If you’re sorry, then tell me the truth." I hate how my voice breaks. Hate how much I still want him. Hate how the bond makes me feel every nuance of his own want, his own pain. "Tell me why you did this to us. I could have… I could have loved you. I think for a while, I did.”
I think a part of me still does.
For a moment, I think he might. Something raw and desperate crosses his face, and through the bond, I feel him wrestling with himself, with words he wants to say but can't.
Then, the mask slams back into place.
"Get some sleep," he says quietly. "It's late."
I watch him walk away, taking the warmth with him. Tea soaks into my socks, cold as the void growing in my chest. Outside, snow falls endlessly, erasing the world beyond our windows, beyond this cage we've built around ourselves.
The broken mug lies in pieces at my feet.