Chapter 16
Annalise
Five minutes. That's all I'd give him to explain four months of hell.
We stood outside Rita's Diner on the small patch of grass that passed for a front yard, close enough to the building that I could feel the protective presence of my chosen family through the windows.
The late afternoon sun beat down on us, making the air shimmer with heat, but I felt cold to my bones.
Marshall looked different in the harsh light—older, more worn, with lines around his amber eyes that hadn't been there when I'd known him.
Dark circles shadowed his face, and his clothes hung loose on his frame, as if he'd lost weight.
Good. Let him look as tired as I'd felt those first terrible weeks after he'd thrown me away.
My hands trembled as I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to create a barrier between us. The movement pushed my belly out more prominently, and I watched his eyes track the motion with something that looked like wonder mixed with devastating pain.
"Five minutes," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Tick tock."
"You look beautiful," he said softly, his voice rough with emotion.
My breath caught, and I felt my face flush with anger. Behind me, I could hear the soft murmur of voices from the diner, the clink of dishes, the normal sounds of my life. My real life.
"Don't." The word came out sharper than I'd intended, and I saw him flinch. "Don't you dare try to charm me. You wanted to explain? Then explain. But don't insult me by pretending this is about how I look."
He stepped back as if I'd physically pushed him, his face crumpling. I felt a savage satisfaction at his reaction, then immediately hated myself for it. This wasn't who I wanted to be—bitter, vindictive, cruel. But months of pain had to go somewhere.
"I remember now," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of seagulls crying overhead. "That night. The winter solstice festival. I remember everything."
My knees went weak, and I had to lock them to keep from swaying. The baby kicked frantically, as if sensing my distress, and I pressed my hand to my side where his little foot was jabbing.
"What do you remember?" I asked, proud that my voice didn't shake even though my entire body was trembling.
"I remember coming to your room." His voice grew softer, more intimate, and I had to fight the urge to step away.
"I remember you in those cotton pajamas with the little flowers on them.
I remember the way you looked at me when I told you I couldn't wait anymore.
Like I was everything you'd ever wanted. "
The memory slammed into me with devastating clarity. The feel of his hands on my skin, the way he'd whispered my name, the overwhelming joy of finally, finally being seen and wanted. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, feeling like I might shatter into a million pieces.
Stop, Sapphire said urgently in my mind. Don't let him do this. Don't let him make it romantic.
"I remember the way you felt in my arms," Marshall continued, taking a step closer. I could smell his familiar scent, and it made my chest tighten with longing and rage. "The way you whispered my name when I—"
"Stop." I held up a shaking hand, and he fell silent. The word came out as a sob, and I hated showing that weakness. "Just stop. You don't get to do that. You don't get to make it beautiful when you turned it into something ugly."
"It was beautiful," he said desperately, and I could hear the tears in his voice. "It was the most beautiful night of my life. I told you I loved you, Annalise. I meant it."
The words I'd dreamed of hearing again for so long now felt like poison. I could feel tears starting to fall, hot and bitter on my cheeks. My hands were shaking so badly I had to clench them into fists to hide it.
"You meant it when you were drunk," I said, my voice cracking. "But what about the next morning? What about when you woke up and couldn't remember any of it?"
His face crumpled, and I saw him age ten years in an instant.
"I was scared. I woke up feeling like something fundamental had changed, but I couldn't remember what.
I'd been managing my... my needs with the other she-wolves while I waited for you to be ready.
It was supposed to be temporary, just until your eighteenth birthday.
So I convinced myself it was just another night with—"
"With one of your many women," I finished, my voice deadly calm despite the storm raging inside me. "You convinced yourself you'd been with Scarlett instead of me. Because that made more sense to you. Because I was just a child, not worth remembering."
"No," he said urgently, reaching toward me. I stepped back instinctively, and he froze, his hand hanging in the air between us. "That's not—"
"Yes, it is." I took another step back, putting more distance between us. The baby kicked again, harder this time, and I rubbed the spot absently. "Do you know what it was like? Waking up alone after the most important night of my life?"
The memory crashed over me like a wave. The cold sheets, the empty room, the devastating realization that he was gone. I'd lain there for ages, replaying every moment, every word, every touch, trying to understand what had happened.
"Coming downstairs to find you with her," I continued, my voice growing stronger with each word. "Letting her sit on your lap and feed you breakfast like I didn't exist. Like the night before never happened."
Marshall's face went white. I could see his hands shaking now, could see the way his whole body seemed to be vibrating with tension. "I didn't know—"
"You didn't want to know," I corrected, stepping forward now, my anger giving me strength.
"Because it was easier to pretend it never happened than to deal with the reality of what you'd done.
It was easier to ignore me than to face the fact that you'd finally acted on feelings you weren't ready to have. "
The sun was starting to sink lower, casting long shadows across the grass. I could hear the distant sound of boats in the harbor, the normal sounds of Crescent Bay preparing for the evening. My world. My life. Everything I'd built without him.
"I was nineteen years old when I first scented you," Marshall said, his voice breaking.
"Nineteen, and suddenly my mate was a thirteen-year-old child.
I'd been... I'd already been with women for a few years, and then suddenly I had to figure out how to deal with having a mate who wouldn't be ready for me for five years.
I didn't know how to process that. Was I supposed to ignore my needs until you were eighteen?
I thought I was being smart, practical—managing my needs while protecting your innocence until you were ready. I thought I was doing the right thing."
The words hung there, a pathetic defense for years of neglect. My anger, which had been a hot, roaring fire, cooled into something sharper. Ice.
“The right thing?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “At what point, in all of your practical planning, did you think calling me a whore and threatening to have me killed was the right thing?”
“I didn’t,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I didn’t understand any of it until it was too late.
About an hour after you left the dining hall, Jackson turned up.
He told me I was a fool, and that’s when it came back.
Not slowly, Annalise. It hit me like a physical blow all at once.
I remembered everything about that night.
But it was Mom who made it make sense.” He took a shaky breath.
“She told me she already knew you were pregnant with my pup.”
My jaw dropped. I stared at him, my mind reeling. “Luna Etta… knew?”
“She knew,” he confirmed, his eyes filled with a deep, shared regret. “She said it wasn’t her news to tell. She thought… she thought we were keeping our relationship a secret. Because of tradition.”
“Tradition?” I scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet afternoon. “What tradition? Shifters my age have sex all the time, Marshall. It’s not a scandal.”
“Sex, yes,” he agreed, and for the first time, he looked deeply ashamed.
“But you are the future Luna. The pack, the elders… they expected you to be pure for our mating ceremony. It was a double standard. A horrible one. But she thought we were hiding it to protect your reputation until you were eighteen.”
My reputation. The irony was so bitter it almost made me laugh.
“After I remembered,” he continued, his voice dropping, “Ranger and I… we talked. Really talked. He confirmed everything. He was the one who left your room that morning, worried that if someone found me there, it would ruin you. He told Jackson it was the best night of my life, and he was right, then stumbled back to my room and collapsed. By the time he woke up, I was already downstairs with Scarlett, rewriting the memory to fit the narrative I was comfortable with.”
He looked me straight in the eye. “He tried to tell me, Annalise. After that day, he tried to tell me about you, about us, a hundred times. But I was so sick of the conflict, so sick of him going on and on and on about you and Sapphire, that I blocked him out. Every single time.”
The world seemed to stop. “He did that?” I whispered. “He kept trying to talk about me?”
“Endlessly,” Marshall confirmed, his voice thick with self-loathing.
In the quiet corners of my mind, Sapphire gave a small, excited yip. He’s telling the truth, sister. Ranger never gave up on us.
For a single, fragile second, a warmth bloomed in my chest. A validation.
It wasn't all in my head. The connection was real, so real his wolf had fought for it.
But the memory of the morning after, of Scarlett on his lap and the cold disinterest in his eyes, was a tidal wave of ice that extinguished the tiny flame.
He had a choice, and he had made it, over and over again.