Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Why?" The word came out broken, barely audible.
Darcy remained deaf to her broken question.
Instead, Darcy's fingers moved with singular focus, rubbing his spend into her skin, her entrance, compulsive in his attention.
His breathing came harsh and uneven. Frantic, almost. As though he couldn't stop marking her—his scent, his seed, claiming what he wouldn't take.
Elizabeth lay stunned beneath his touch, watching through glazed eyes as he worked his release into her flesh over and over.
Her body responded as it had before: the burning retreated where he touched, bringing blessed relief, the same relief as those other nights—but the hollow ache remained in her core.
Still wanting. Still empty. Beneath that cooling lay an ache nothing could reach—a need that went beyond flesh.
She'd been so close to having him completely.
Now that lost possibility carved through her, and the nearness of what they'd almost shared dragged her deeper into a grief that consumed her from within.
Empty, unknotted, unclaimed.
Worse, she'd begged. Not just for his touch, but for his teeth. For his mark. For forever. She'd thrown herself at him with complete abandon, demanded he bind them together permanently. Bite me, claim me, please. Each one a nail in the coffin of her dignity.
Darcy still knelt between her thighs, his fingers working his cooling seed into her skin.
His jaw locked so tight she could see the muscle jumping beneath the skin.
The wild darkness had left his eyes, replaced by something harder.
Angrier. His hands shook—actually shook—as they moved over her flesh, and his breathing came too harsh, too controlled.
"I'm sorry," Elizabeth whispered, her voice cracking. Tears welled, spilling hot down her temples. "I'm so sorry. It is unforgivable of me— "
"Stop." Darcy's voice cut through her apology, curt and harsh. He finally stilled his hands but didn't pull away. "Omegas crave the bite during heat. It's biology. I understand that."
His words came clipped, almost cold, each one dropped like ice into the space between them.
But his hands—his hands couldn't seem to stop touching her.
Fingers traced the curve of her hip, smoothed over her belly, tangled in her hair.
The contradiction twisted something in Elizabeth's chest. He sounded angry, distant, yet touched her like she might shatter, like she was something precious he couldn't bear to release.
“You need to leave Netherfield as soon as you can.”
The dismissal crashed into her. Elizabeth forgot how to breathe, hurt slicing through her chest keener than her body's worst agonies. He wanted her gone. Of course he did. She'd thrown herself at him, begged for things no proper woman would voice, forced him to—
"I cannot—should you ask again, should you need me again, I will lose what little control remains.
" His fingers sought the curve of her collarbone, sketching along bone and skin with excruciating care.
How could his touch be so reverent when every word wounded her?
How could he caress what he claimed to refuse?
"As I almost lost myself tonight. This failing lies within me. My alpha nature."
A weakness. That's what she was to him—a flaw in his perfect control, something to be managed and then removed. Elizabeth turned her face away but his hand followed, thumb brushing the tears from her cheek even as he continued his terrible confession.
"I cannot even apologize for ruining you as I know I should." His voice roughened, scraped raw. "Because I am not sorry. I should be, but I am not. That is the depth of my weakness."
Fresh tears spilled over, hot against her temples. The cruelty of it—to admit he'd taken everything from her without regret, yet still demand she leave. To touch her with such care while speaking words that flayed her open.
"I forgive you." The words came out broken, barely audible. "You weren't in your right mind. My actions—what I begged for—I compelled you. It's my fault, not yours."
His hand stilled against her face. For a moment, neither breathed.
Then his fingers curved around her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.
The anger she'd heard in his voice wasn't there—or rather, it was, but directed inward.
His eyes held self-loathing so profound it stole what little breath remained in her lungs.
"The blame is mine alone, Elizabeth. I gave you no other options. "
"I'll leave," Elizabeth sobbed. She couldn't bear this conversation any longer. She wanted it done, wanted this murder of his character, this murder of her soul over. "Tomorrow. I'll convince Papa somehow. I'll leave and you'll never have to see me again, never have to—"
Her pride wouldn't let her say the rest. Wouldn't let her admit that she would beg him to marry her if she had any scrap of dignity left at all.
But there was none left, was there? She'd thrown it all away these past nights, scattered it like seeds on barren ground.
The tears came harder now, her whole body shaking with the force of them.
Darcy made a low sound—pain or protest, she couldn't tell—and suddenly his arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest. He curled his larger frame around hers, sheltering her with his body as though he could protect her from the very hurt he'd caused.
A rumble started deep in his chest. Not a growl—something else.
Deep, rhythmic, almost musical. The sound bypassed her conscious mind entirely, speaking directly to something primal within her.
The alpha purr.
The sound was foreign to her ears—that private language of mated couples—but her omega instincts claimed it immediately.
Her treacherous body obeyed: tension draining from her limbs, lungs finding their rhythm though tears still streaked hot down her temples.
Like something she could touch, the purr folded around her, warm and complete.
The sobbing quieted. Hiccups. Then only the occasional broken breath.
The purr continued, steady as a heartbeat.
Darcy's hand found her hair, stroking from crown to shoulder in long, soothing passes.
Each touch spread warmth through her overwrought nerves.
Elizabeth wanted to resist—wanted to hold onto her anger, her hurt, her humiliation.
But the purr pulled at her, insistent and gentle, coaxing her toward rest.
Her eyelids grew heavy. She fought it—she should leave now, shouldn't accept this false comfort—but her exhausted body betrayed her.
The purr rumbled through his chest where she pressed against him, through her bones, through the very air between them.
Her last conscious thought was that this tenderness was its own kind of cruelty.
Then darkness claimed her.
Elizabeth surfaced from sleep into a room gone dim. Embers glowed where flames had been, throwing weak light that turned everything to bronze and charcoal. The absence of warmth registered first—Darcy no longer surrounded her. Confusion gave way to alertness when the bed shifted.
He knelt there beside her, stroking himself with rough, urgent movements.
She watched through the screen of her lashes as firelight played across him—every muscle rigid, jaw set hard, eyes sealed against whatever drove him to this.
He'd assumed her unconscious. The understanding locked her in place, each breath deliberately steady.
When he spent himself with a fractured groan, his seed struck hot against her thighs. She fought not to jerk away, but she lay still as he crumpled beside her, lungs working like bellows.
His arm covered his face as though he could hide from himself.
"Heaven forgive me—I am not strong enough for this."
But then—drawn by some force beyond his control—he shifted toward her.
His fingertips discovered the cooling evidence on her skin and began massaging it in with careful, worshipful strokes.
The purr resumed, involuntary now, reflexive.
He followed the line of her thigh, the hollow where leg joined hip, marking her with his scent through deliberate, thorough movements.
Elizabeth maintained steady breaths, counterfeiting slumber while something inside her splintered apart.
She'd reduced him to this. Made him care for her like some obligation he couldn't abandon, driven by instinct to soothe her distress while she wrecked his composure.
And yet—yet—his heart stayed barred against her.
Naturally it did. These past nights' torment would turn any gentleman's affection to ash.
She'd used him quite abominably.