44. Chapter 44
44
Chapter 44
Bronwen
The sun hung low, casting long shadows behind the buildings, its golden light waning and signaling that nightfall was imminent. Jonah had spelled my cloak to render me invisible, as long as I kept the hood up. The spell hummed faintly against my skin, a constant reminder of the lengths we had to go to for safety.
Once I slipped into the alleyway, I pulled the hood down and let the cloak fall to the ground, the soft fabric pooling around my feet.
I ascended the narrow wooden steps, my feet making no sound against the weathered planks. Silence was a habit I couldn’t break, even though I knew he could already sense me. He would smell me coming, just like always.
The door flew open before I reached the top step, slamming against the wall with a loud crack. August stood there, gripping the sides of the doorframe as he looked down at me, a mixture of relief and anguish etched across his face. His hands trembled slightly as they clutched the wood, and his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. His lips parted as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words, his breath shallow and uneven.
The tension in his posture hinted at the storm of emotions he was barely holding back. His eyes, once full of mischief and fire, were now dark hollows, rimmed with exhaustion and grief. His skin, paler than I remembered, seemed almost translucent, stretched thin over his shirtless form. He looked like he hadn’t fed in days.
I stared at him for a moment, taking in the way his breath came fast and uneven, the way his fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach for me but didn’t dare. This wasn’t the August I had prepared myself to fight. But the memory of my parents’ lifeless faces burned in my mind, and the hesitation melted away.
“You lied to me,” I said, shoving him hard in the chest and stepping past him. My voice trembled, a crack betraying the fury bubbling inside me, but I pushed through it. Each step forward was an assertion of my anger, my grief, my need to make him feel even a fraction of the pain clawing at me. Heat flushed my skin as my breath quickened, my body vibrating with a mix of rage and betrayal. He staggered back, his expression crumpling with guilt.
“I did,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You tricked me!” I shoved him again, harder this time, and he stumbled back, barely catching himself against the edge of the table. He exhaled sharply but didn’t push me away.
“I didn’t—”
“It was a game to you. Just like you said.” My voice broke, but I pushed through it, the anger surging to keep the tears at bay. “A game to see how far you could push me.”
Before he could respond, I drew my dagger in a smooth motion and swung at him. He leapt back, but not fast enough. The blade grazed his chest, slicing through his skin and leaving a shallow, bloody line. He winced, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t move to defend himself.
“No, Winnie, I—”
“You don’t get to call me that!” I hurled the dagger at him. He dodged at the last second, the blade embedding itself into the wall just inches from his head.
His chest rose and fell too fast, his breath uneven, his hands twitching as if fighting the instinct to react. “I had nothing to do with it!” His voice cracked as he raised his hands, palms out, his body tense as if bracing for another attack. “I would never let something like that happen to you.”
“You had everything to do with it!” I lunged at him, fists flying.
This time, I felt him flinch under my touch. My blows landed—one to his ribs, another to his jaw—his head snapping to the side from the impact. But he stood there and took it, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as though holding himself back.
“Fight back!” I screamed, slamming my fists into his chest. His breath left him in a sharp exhale, his body staggering slightly under the force of my strike, but he didn’t retaliate.
Tears streaked down my face, hot and unrelenting, blurring my vision as I lashed out again—as though striking him could erase the horrors I couldn’t stop reliving. He sucked in a sharp breath, his body jerking with the force of my rage, but he never lifted a hand to stop me.
My chest heaved, my knuckles burned, my body trembled from the sheer force of it all. The weight of everything—the lies, the loss, the betrayal—pressed down on me, fueling every strike. “They are dead because of you!”
His knees almost buckled beneath him, his body folding inward as if I had struck something deeper than flesh.
“They are,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to the floor. “He couldn’t torture me anymore—not until he found you. And now he’s hurt me more than he ever has before. Because he hurt you.”
I had come to kill him before nightfall. I’d planned every step, every word. But now, standing here, seeing the wreck of him, I couldn’t do it. I had expected to find him reveling in victory. Him taunting me with his words with a smirk plastered on his face or finally trying to drain me dry.
But not this.
He stepped forward, then stopped. His hands twitched at his sides, his fingers curling into fists, as if he wasn’t sure he had the right. For a moment, he just stood there, his breathing ragged, his gaze flickering over my face like he was searching for something—permission, forgiveness, maybe even absolution. Then, as though something in him finally broke, he reached out and wrapped his arms around me. I stiffened, my breath catching, but he didn’t let go. His grip was firm yet trembling, like he was afraid I might slip away if he loosened his hold even a fraction.
“Winnie,” he said, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know.”
I let him hold me, if only for a moment. The anger that had burned so brightly in me just minutes ago seemed to fade, leaving a hollow ache in its place. His arms around me felt both foreign and familiar, a fragile connection in the midst of so much chaos. His body trembled against mine, and I could feel his grief as keenly as my own.
No one had ever made me feel the way August did. Even with the lies, the pain, and the chaos, there was a gravity to him I couldn’t escape. It was the way his presence filled the room, steady and unyielding, no matter how shattered he seemed. The way his voice softened when he said my name, like he was speaking to every broken part of me. I remembered the rare moments of honesty between us, the glimpses of vulnerability he let slip when he thought I wasn’t looking. Despite everything, there was a part of me that felt seen by him, in a way no one else ever had. And in this moment, I wanted to hold onto that feeling, no matter how fleeting it might be.
I stepped back, my fingers trembling slightly as they gripped the fabric of my dress. I knew what I was about to do. And I knew, after this, he might never touch me again. But for this moment, I needed to feel him. To remind myself that I was alive, that I could still reach for something that wasn’t pain or loss. This wasn’t just about him—it was about me. Reclaiming something in a world that felt like it was spinning out of control. Pulling the dress over my head felt like shedding the weight of the past few days—the grief, the betrayal, the helplessness. It was claiming something for myself, even if it was fleeting. Even if I had to pretend, just for tonight, that everything didn’t fall apart. I needed to feel grounded, to hold onto something familiar amidst the chaos.
“Winnie, I don’t think . . .” he started, his words faltering as I undid the strap holding the stake to my thigh. It clattered to the ground between us.
His eyes roamed my body, his breath hitching as I stripped away the last barriers between us .
“I don’t think . . .” He ran a hand through his hair, his voice breaking. “You . . . fuck, Winnie.”
“Can you just stop talking for once?” I asked, my voice low but steady.
He hesitated, his hands clenching at his sides. “I just . . . I don’t think this is what you really want right now. You’ve been through too much.”
I stepped to him, hesitating just long enough to meet his eyes, to make sure he understood. My fingers trembled as they reached for his face, the warmth of his skin grounding me in this moment. I knew what I was about to do. I knew what it meant. And yet, I still whispered, “This is what I need right now.”
I kissed him. For a moment, he remained tense, like he was still fighting himself. But then I felt it—the moment he gave in, the quiet surrender as he exhaled against my lips, his body melting into mine. His hands slid down my thighs, gripping tightly as he lifted me effortlessly. I wrapped my legs around him, my hands tangled in his hair, refusing to let there be space between us. He carried me to his bed with a quiet desperation, as if he needed this just as much as I did.
August laid me down gently, hovering over me as if uncertain, before pushing his pants down and climbing on top of me. He kissed the side of my chin, slow and careful. I grabbed his face, pulling his lips back onto mine, refusing to waste this moment on anything other than feeling every part of him.
His touch was softer than ever before, his hands tracing down my sides in gentle motions, like he was trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. I arched into him as I felt his tip near my entrance, a hesitation in his breath before he pressed his forehead against mine. Then, finally, he pushed inside me.
He moved inside me with slow, deliberate strokes, his body pressing against mine as if he were trying to memorize every inch of me. His lips found mine again and again, his kisses deep and unrelenting, as though he was afraid to stop. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his back, holding on to this fleeting moment where nothing else existed—no grief, no lies, no war—only us. But this wasn’t like we had done it before.
This was so much more.
The pressure built inside me, a slow, winding coil that tightened with each thrust, each ragged breath we shared. I tried to hold on, to drag this out for as long as I could, but the pleasure coursed through me like a storm I couldn’t contain. A cry tore from my lips as my release crashed over me, shattering through every thought, every restraint. My body trembled beneath him, my heart hammering as he groaned against my neck, his movements growing erratic before he followed, his own release wracking through him in shuddering waves.
I gasped for breath, my body still trembling, as he pressed his forehead against mine, his chest rising and falling in time with my own. For a moment, there was only silence, the weight of what we had done settling between us. Then, with slow, trembling hands, I reached up, tangled my fingers in his hair, and pulled his magic.
A sharp breath escaped his lips, his body jerking slightly as he raised his head. His dark eyes searched mine, like he knew this wasn’t just about us.
“Winnie,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.
I didn’t release my grip. Instead, I pulled harder, my nails pressing into his scalp, anchoring myself to the feeling of him. Tears blurred my vision as his breaths stilled, his skin paling to an unnatural gray as every bit of magic I could take was stripped from him.