Chapter 13 – Silas
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SILAS
Lilith lies in my arms, our naked bodies a tangled web of limbs.
Never in my life—living or undead—did I ever think it could be like that.
I knew, deep in my rotten, dead soul, that she was meant for me.
And if the past eight hours have proved anything, it’s that I was right.
But the sombre thought lingers in my mind as soon as dawn rises: we will go back to reality, back to her hating me.
She won’t be mine. She will never be mine.
“We don’t have long,” she whispers against my chest, her voice tinged with disappointment. I stroke my fingers through her hair.
“No,” I agree, knowing we only have an hour, maybe two at most, before the sun floods the sky.
Her fingers dance across one of the scars on my chest; I no longer tense at her touch.
“Silas, how did you get these?” she asks.
Lifting her head, she looks down at me, her vibrant green eyes almost turning a shade of jade.
My thumb caresses her cheek, my eyes following the movement, committing every freckle that dusts her cheeks to memory.
“I broke the code. It was my punishment,” I tell her truthfully, skirting around what the punishment was for.
Her lips part as horror, sympathy, and anger dance across those emerald eyes. “Why would Lucian—” she begins, but I cut her off.
“Not just Lucian. The club voted for it. It was a punishment I accepted, one I took willingly. Any of my brothers would have done the same,” I state firmly.
Her brows furrow. “What did you do to deserve this kind of punishment?”
“That I can’t tell you. Club business. But what I can tell you is, I would do it again and again,” I admit truthfully.
She shakes her head in disbelief. “But,” she goes to continue, but I press my thumb to her mouth, stopping her. Her eyes flare in annoyance. I can’t hide my amusement at her irritation.
“No more questions. Just lie with me until tomorrow dawns, and you go back to hating me,” I say.
She removes my thumb with her hand. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think I could go back to fully hating you as I did before tonight,” she confesses.
“Good to know,” I smirk.
She flashes me a soft grin before resting her head back on my chest. I close my eyes, relishing her touch and the feel of her body pressed against me.
Behind my closed eyes, I relive everything about tonight: the way her body reacted to the pleasure I gave her, the way her green eyes flared so bright they almost looked jade when she looked at me.
It took everything in me not to mark her, not to make her mine.
It’s not what she wanted; too much has passed between us.
For too long, she’s held on to that hatred for me; her way of coping, her way of surviving that night.
For her, I would take it. For her, I will endure it. Deep down, I don’t deserve her.
Her breathing evens out as she sleeps deeply. Slowly and carefully, I move her, placing my pillow under her arms as she cuddles in, sighing peacefully. I move silently, getting dressed. Spotting her notepad and pen, I grab them, deciding to write her a note.
Firefly,
I left before the silence could force words out of me, before the awkward goodbyes, before I had to watch your eyes harden and that familiar look return, the one that turns warmth into distance, and distance into something colder.
I could feel it coming, like a tide I’ve never learned how to outrun.
So, I chose absence over witnessing it again.
Cowardly, perhaps, but I have never been good at surviving the moment you stop seeing me the same way.
You gave me one night. Just one. And it will never be enough.
Never something I can neatly fold away and accept as “enough.” But it is mine, and I will guard it like something sacred.
I will replay it endlessly, tracing every word, every glance, every fragile second as if memory alone could keep it alive.
When I close my eyes, it is the only place where nothing has been lost yet.
There are a thousand moments I would rewrite if time were merciful.
A thousand choices I would unmake, reshape, or silence altogether.
I wonder, dangerously, uselessly, if you would have seen me differently.
If I could have been someone worthy of staying in your light instead of someone you had to turn away from.
But the past does not bend, no matter how much regret presses against it.
What was done remains, and I carry it with me.
Not reluctantly, not resentfully, I carry it because it is mine to bear.
So, I take the blame. All of it. The weight, the fractures, the quiet ruin of what we were.
If it means you can heal, truly heal, then let me be the place where your anger settles.
Let me hold every shard of your hatred if it keeps it from cutting into you any longer.
I would rather be the thing that breaks than watch you remain broken.
You asked me why I have always called you “Firefly.”
It’s because, whether now or twenty-seven years ago, you have always been the one constant in my darkness.
Not a blazing sun that overwhelms, not something distant and untouchable, but a quiet, persistent light.
The kind that survives the night. The kind that doesn’t ask permission to shine, even when surrounded by shadow.
You were that light when you were still living, breathing warmth into the world, and you are still that light now, even in what you’ve become. Perhaps especially now.
You are my light in places I thought were beyond saving. My firefly.
And maybe that is why I have to let you go, because even the smallest light deserves the chance to exist without being swallowed by the dark that follows me.
Yours, even in the dark. X
I leave without a word. Riding on my bike, the sun rising behind me like it’s chasing me, hunting me down to remind me that last night was unique, never to happen again.
I speed, pushing my bike to its limits, not wanting to deal with the blistering sun on my skin. As I approach the compound, I skid to a stop, dust and gravel kicking up to form a cloud around me. I move quickly, storming inside and heading straight for my room.
“Why are you back?” Lucian’s voice echoes behind me. I turn, my hand still on the door handle.
“You’ll need to find someone else to watch over her,” I state. “Now.”
“You smell of her,” he points out. I don’t need to elaborate on what happened; it’s one of the many curses of being a vampire. Impossible to keep relationships secret.
“It was only last night. Nothing more,” I said, exhaling a long breath.
“You tell her everything?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t that kind of night. It was purely physical.”
“For her,” Lucian counters, his words slicing through me.
“Goodnight, Prez,” I murmur before walking inside my room and closing the door behind me.
I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, her scent surrounding me, consuming me so much I never want to wash; never wanting to wash her, or the memory of last night, away.