Chapter 36 Kane
Idon’t remember leaving.
Hands wrenched me back, familiar voices rang in my ears, but I don’t know what they said. I don’t know if I fought them or if I let them drag me away.
But I remember the blood. I remember the screams. I remember what I did.
And now I’m here.
The darkness brought me to her. I didn’t think, didn’t choose. It carried me like a current, an unrelenting tide too strong to resist. Now I stand in the doorway of the room, fingers digging into the frame, shadows curling along the floor beneath me.
She’s sleeping. Peaceful. With my brother beside her—holding her.
The memories were too much for Ezekial. Seeing that place again, remembering—he lost himself the second he saw the girl in that cage.
But now… here he is. Asleep. With her.
And they’re perfect together.
He is everything I am not.
The kind of man who can hold her without staining her with his touch.
I convinced myself it was enough to just be near her. That I could exist on the fringes of her light.
But now?
I need her.
I shouldn’t be here.
I was never supposed to be like this. Like him. Never him.
My father’s voice drips through my skull. Love is a weakness.
I thought my worst fear was becoming him. The rage. The cruelty. This hollow, empty ruin of a man.
But it’s not.
It’s this.
Standing here, drowning in the dark, knowing that she’s safe in someone else’s arms.
Knowing she belongs there.
Knowing it can never be me.
I’ll never be worthy of the way she looks at me, the way she sees me.
My body shakes. My shadows shift and curl, feeding off the rot inside me.
She murmurs something in her sleep, shifting beneath the cover. My chest seizes.
I force myself to step back, but the darkness doesn’t want to leave. It stretches towards her like a starving thing, desperate for warmth, for light—for her.
No.
I shove my shadows back, forcing them into my skin. They resist. They know what I want.
What I need.
I clench my fists. I am filthy. Stained. If she saw me now—
No. She can’t see me like this.
I turn, my breath ragged, but I don’t move.
I should leave.
I don’t.
Because deep in the rotting pit of my soul, I know if she asked me to stay, I would.
Even if it destroyed me.
Even if I destroyed her.
I stare at my clenched fists, covered in blood and darkness, barely any skin remains untouched.
I should leave.
I don’t.
My feet won’t move, no matter how many times I tell myself to walk away, to be better than this.
Instead, I stand there, swallowing against the thick knot in my throat, staring at the only thing in the world that still feels real. That keeps me here, in this realm.
Her.
The darkness clings to me. It’s in my clothes, my skin, my bones. I feel the filth of that place grasping me, soaking into me, becoming me.
And the longer I stand here, the more unbearable it is, this sharp, aching need to be closer.
To be cleaner.
I exhale shakily and force myself to move. Not towards her—I won’t take that from him—but towards the other door across the room.
The shower hisses to life, scalding hot, but it doesn’t burn nearly as much as I want. I stand under the spray, my hands braced against the tiles, water running in thick rivulets over my skin.
It’s not enough.
I scrub harder, dragging my nails over my arms, my chest, but the feeling won’t leave.
I can still smell it. The blood. The rot. The fear.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Breathe. Just breathe.
I don’t know how long I stand there. Long enough that my hands stop shaking. Long enough that my breathing evens. Long enough that I start to feel like I am the one in control again—not the darkness.
Eventually, I shut the water off and dry myself on autopilot, pulling on a pair of Ezekial’s loose pants. My body still feels like it doesn’t belong to me, but at least it’s quieter now. At least I don’t feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.
The room is lit by the sunrise when I step back inside. My brother hasn’t moved. She hasn’t either.
I tell myself I’ll leave.
Once Julien and Sai return.
I’ll leave. Let them be together—without me.
I’ll walk out of this room, away from her, and find somewhere else.
But instead, I sit.
There’s a chair tucked against the far wall. Not too close. Not too far. Just enough.
I sink into it, forearms resting on my knees, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing.
My mind should be screaming. My shadows should be writhing. But all I feel is exhaustion, settling deep into my bones, dragging me under.
I’ll leave soon.
Just… not yet.
I groan under my breath, raking a hand through my damp hair. It’s not enough. Sitting in the dark, waiting—it’s not enough. I need more.
I push to my feet, pick up the chair, and place it closer. My knees almost touch the mattress as I sit back down, resting my arms on my legs.
Close. Too close. But I don’t move away.
I watch the way her fingers twitch against the sheets. She shifts, a small crease forming between her brows, like even in sleep she feels me here.
My throat tightens. I shouldn’t be this close.
And yet, when she stirs, when her eyelashes flutter and she blinks up at me, I don’t move.
For a moment, she just looks at me, her expression hazy with sleep. Then something shifts in her face, softening—not with fear, not with hesitation, but something else entirely. Something I don’t deserve.
She doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t need to.
Instead, she lifts the edge of the cover, wordlessly inviting me in.
I break.
The tension, the fight, the barely restrained control—I let it all go.
I just move.
The mattress dips as I slide in beside her, my body still damp from the shower, my skin burning where it brushes against hers.
I don’t know what to do with my hands, my arms, my shadows.
Then she shifts closer. Presses against me. And everything in me stills.
I exhale a ragged, shuddering sound.
Her eyes are on me. Studying, searching—burning away the dark and cold with those scarlet fires.
I don’t look away. I can’t.
She leans in, so slowly, like she already knows I’ll break for her. Like she’s waiting for it.
Her lashes flutter shut.
Her lips brush mine.
Barely.
Just a whisper of her warmth—of mercy.
I—
I melt into her.
I’m a shattered thing begging to crumble beneath her touch. Tear me apart. Eradicate me.
My hands seek out the warmth of her skin, anchoring myself to the only thing that’s felt real for centuries—her.
I’ve been so cold for so long.
My mouth moulds to hers, answering her kiss with slow, hungry movements. It all burns. Goddesses, it burns so pleasantly.
I tilt my head, deepen the kiss, my shadows curling around her, clinging to her skin, I’m just so desperate for her.
I want more. I’ll always want more.
And when we part, she doesn’t leave. Her lips linger against mine as her darkness unfurls, surrounding me, seeping into my skin, pulling me even closer.
She wants me closer.
And for a second, I forget what I am, with her head against my chest and her heat engulfing me.
When does a monster stop being a monster? Maybe when she touches it like it’s not.
“Stay,” she whispers, aloud, in my mind, in my soul.
I should leave.
I close my eyes.
Soon.
But she asked me to stay.
And her darkness didn’t flinch. It reached for me. It didn’t recoil, it pulled me closer.
And for tonight, that’s enough.
I’ll stay. Because I hate myself less with her.