Chapter 18 #2
The door burst open, and the combined weight of her two dragon shifter mates caught me around the waist and shoulders.
The three of us crashed into the stone wall on the opposite side of the wall, driving the breath out of me before my shadows could react.
I was flung over onto my front, my wrists pinned to my back by powerful hands and the roars that filled the room weren’t mine alone.
The darkness surged inside me, still demanding a release.
The presumption of it—these lesser men thinking they could challenge me—sent my rage to new heights.
My shadows exploded outward with enough force to send both of them flying.
Sirrax hit the wall with a crack that might have been stone or bone, and my brother was flung towards the door knocking back Jalend and Marcus as they entered the room.
They weren't strong enough. None of them were. The realization filled me with dark satisfaction. I had always been the strongest, but now, with the darkness amplifying my abilities, I was something beyond their comprehension.
"You think you can stop me?" I snarled at Sirrax as he struggled to stand. "I could kill all of you without effort."
And I could. The knowledge sat in my mind like a comfortable weight.
Their bones would snap so easily under my shadows.
Their blood would paint these walls in abstract patterns that spoke of true artistry.
The darkness showed me exactly how to do it—where to apply pressure, how to make it last, how to ensure they suffered appropriately for their arrogance.
But then Livia stood up and walked straight toward me, and the sight of her approaching made something flicker in the storm of my rage. She looked so small, so fragile, but there was no fear in her eyes now—only determination.
"Livia, don't—" Jalend started, but she ignored him.
When she reached me, she wrapped her arms around me like I wasn't a monster dripping with the desire to hurt her.
The contact sent shockwaves through my system—not just physical, but something deeper.
Through our bond, I felt her love for me, steady and unwavering despite everything I'd just shown her.
The darkness recoiled from that love like it was acid. For a moment, the whispers quieted, and I could think clearly enough to realize what I'd almost done. What I'd been planning to do. The horror of it crashed over me, but it was too late to stop the momentum.
I grabbed her, my grip brutal enough to leave marks, and dragged her down to the floor.
The darkness was back in control, showing me exactly how to take what I needed, how to claim her body and make the voices stop.
She was mine. My mate. And if she wouldn't give herself willingly, then I would simply take her.
But instead of fighting me, instead of screaming or trying to escape, she cupped my face in her hands and guided my head to her chest. The simple gesture was so unexpected, so gentle, that it cut through my rage like a sword.
"Listen to me," she whispered, her voice steady despite the terror I could feel through our bond. "Listen to my heartbeat, Taveth. Focus on that. Focus on my voice."
Her heart was beating fast but steady against my ear. The sound of it, the rhythm, seemed to create a space in my mind where the whispers couldn't reach. For the first time in weeks, there was silence in my skull.
"You're still here," she continued, her fingers threading through my hair with infinite gentleness. "You are not lost. The darkness doesn't own you. I won't let it take you."
The words hit me like physical blows. I was lost. I had been lost for so long I'd forgotten what it felt like to be found. The darkness did own me, had been consuming me piece by piece until there was barely anything left of the man I used to be.
But her voice, her touch, her absolute refusal to give up on me—it created a crack in the wall of rage and madness. Through that crack, I could see who I used to be, who I was supposed to be. Not a monster. Not a weapon. Just a man who loved this woman more than his own life.
My breathing was ragged, chaotic, but slowly it began to sync with hers. The shadows around us, which had been writhing with violent intent, started to settle. The whispers, while not gone entirely, faded to a manageable whisper.
"That's it," she murmured, and I could hear the relief in her voice. "Just breathe with me. You're safe. You're not alone."
Tarshi crawled to our side, wrapping his arm around Livia’s shoulders and pulling her in close to his side, and placing his hand on my shoulder.
The moment we made contact, I felt something strange—a pull, as if part of the darkness inside me was being drawn toward him.
My twin brother staggered under the impact, his fingers tightening around my shoulder, but he held on.
For just a heartbeat, I felt the crushing weight of the shadows lift slightly, as if someone else was helping me carry the burden.
The effect was immediate and overwhelming. The rage that had been building like a storm suddenly found another outlet, flowing toward Tarshi in a way I didn't understand but desperately needed. The pressure in my skull eased, and I could breathe again.
I collapsed against Livia, my whole body shaking as the darkness finally released its hold. The shadows retreated to their normal places, and suddenly I was just a man again—broken, exhausted, and filled with horror at what I'd almost done.
"Livia," I whispered, my voice cracked and raw. "Livia, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—I would never—"
But I would have. That was the terrifying truth. If she hadn't stopped me, if she hadn't reached the man beneath the monster, I would have taken her by force. I would have hurt the person I loved most in the world, and the darkness would have made me enjoy it.
The tears came then, great silent sobs that shook my entire frame.
I was falling apart in her arms, this woman who had every right to fear me, to leave me, to let the shadows have what remained of my soul.
But she didn't. She held me against her chest and whispered words of comfort while I wept for the man I was losing, piece by piece, to the darkness inside me. Around me, I felt rather than saw each of her men kneel with us, hands reaching out in comfort and recognition, not the anger and wrath I deserved for trying to hurt our mate. I wasn’t alone, and that only made the grief more unbearable.
I didn’t deserve their comfort. I didn’t deserve her. I was too dangerous.