Chapter 11 #2
Tears make the plate blur. I want to stop.
It’s too much. I’m too ashamed, but I need to let it out.
Like my last confession or something. “It turns out she was getting the same treatment at home. When she came to us, she was covered in bruises. So skinny, because she wasn’t allowed to eat more than scraps.
She was already being tortured by her own family, and we made it worse.
I went out of my way to hurt her. I made it my mission.
So yeah,” I conclude with a shrug. “Maybe this is what I deserve, because I’m not a good person.
I don’t deserve happiness or peace. I deserve to pay for what I did to her. I guess that’s what I’m doing now.”
There. That ought to make up his mind for him.
Now he won’t have any choice but to reject me.
Why would he accept me after what he just heard?
I force myself to eat the rest of the pancakes, which are a little cold now.
Almost like I’m defying him to make up his mind.
Pretending it doesn’t matter either way.
“But you didn’t know.” It’s so soft, tender. “How could you have known?”
Nope. I’m not going to let him do that. “But…”
“Just listen to me for a minute. You were so young when you lost your mom and dad. You were carrying all that hurt and confusion and fear. You had no reason not to believe the story you were told about how Nora ended up in the woods that night—I can’t believe an adult would tell a lie like that about his own child, and I’m thirty-eight years old. So what is a kid supposed to think?”
I guess that makes sense. I lift a shoulder, still staring at the plate, drawing shapes that disappear as soon as the syrup spreads and erases them.
“It would’ve been one thing if you knew the truth and still blamed her.
That, I couldn’t excuse. But you were only lashing out at the one target you could find to pin the blame on.
People do it all the time. That doesn’t make it right,” he adds quickly.
“But it’s not a crime. I think you ought to let yourself off the hook, little wolf.
Nora isn’t the only one who has been through more than anybody her age should suffer. ”
Don’t cry, don’t cry. Dammit, I can’t help it. How did he know exactly what I needed to hear? Even I didn’t know. “You really mean that?” I croak. “You really don’t think I’m a terrible person?”
His eyes twinkle a little when I get up the courage to look into them. “You don’t deserve a lifetime of punishment. That much, I can tell you for sure.”
It’s the most amazing thing. Like he just handed me the keys to unlock a jail cell I didn’t even know I had put myself in. I feel lighter. He gave me that gift. “Thank you,” I whisper, knuckling away more tears before releasing a slow breath.
It doesn’t hit me until hours later, when we’re both lost in our heads in front of the TV, that I never gave him an answer.
He never gave me one, either. I can’t get a read on him.
He’s angry, but I don’t think it’s me he’s angry with now.
Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s his clan. Maybe it’s himself, for not being able to cut me loose and turn his back on me like everybody thinks he should.
The clock is ticking, and every hour that passes makes my stomach knot up a little tighter. What’s he going to do? And what will they do when he makes his decision?
I’m about ready to lose my mind when a knock at the door makes me almost scramble off the sofa.
“Easy, easy,” he murmurs, getting up while I clutch a pillow to my chest. “I asked them to come by. You don’t have to talk to them.
” That’s great, but who are they? The question dies in my throat while I watch him cross the room.
When he opens the door, he stands with his body between me and whoever is on the other side, blocking us from seeing each other.
It’s a short conversation, and it ends with him turning toward me, holding a stack of clothes in his arms. Jeans, a hoodie, socks, and even sneakers that look like they might be around my size. “Here you go.”
“What’s this about?” I ask, taking them from him.
“You need to wear something that fits.” He shrugs, then adds, “And I imagine you wouldn’t want to walk through the woods barefooted. I hope they fit.”
I’ve been through a lot over the past couple of days.
Over the past lifetime, really. But this?
This simple, thoughtful gesture might be what finally breaks me.
He thought enough about me to make sure I had shoes to wear tonight.
That gives me hope, too. Maybe he really does plan on letting me go, letting me live.
Otherwise, what would it matter whether or not I’m wearing shoes?
“Thank you.” Now I need to get away from him before I start blubbering all over the place and making him wish he never thought to ask somebody for help.
I can let myself cry a little when I’m in the shower, and I do, while my hands shake hard enough to make shampooing a challenge.
What is he going to do? What will Declan do?
What will I do without Kyran?
My mind is made up by the time I’m finished and dried off, with my hair in a long braid hanging down my back.
He emerges from the bedroom wearing a black T-shirt and jeans to find me sitting on the sofa with my hands folded in my lap.
It’s late, getting later by the second. I have to get this out before we go. He asked for my answer, didn’t he?
“Are you ready?” He’s the one who doesn’t seem ready, sounding hesitant and full of dread. Not exactly enough to inspire confidence.
“Just one thing.” My knees are a little weak, but I manage to stand and brace myself for whatever comes next.
I have to accept it, good or bad. “I need you to know I’ve made up my mind.
If you’ll have me, I’ll stay with you. I want to stay with you.
Because the misery of being without my family would be nothing compared to losing you. My fated mate.”
There. It’s out. I can’t take it back, and I don’t want to. Whatever happens now, at least I told my truth. At least he knows.
Now, if he would only give me a clue how he feels about it.
No such luck, since his face is basically a granite mask and his eyes are flat, expressionless.
He is somebody who has obviously practiced the art of not giving away his thoughts.
Does he have to be so damn good at it, especially right this very second?
“Thank you for telling me that.” His mouth opens, brows furrow like he wants to say something else, but he holds himself back. “We should go. Your brother will expect you on time.”
Of course. Wouldn’t want to give me a hint how he feels, right? I guess in the end, it doesn’t matter. My fate has already been decided.
I just hope I don’t hate the outcome. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned since crossing the border, all you can do is march forward and try to keep your head held high.
No matter how terrified you really are.