Chapter 19 Honest Tides #2
I reach out before conscious thought can intervene, my hand finding her chin with grip that forces her face upward.
My eyes lock onto hers with intensity that probably broadcasts exactly how frustrated I am, exactly how much this conversation is costing me, exactly how thoroughly she's dismantled the defenses I've spent centuries constructing.
"Yes," I huff, the admission escaping like pressure finally finding release. "I'm mad at you."
Her pink eyes hold mine without flinching.
Good.
She wanted this.
She can deal with what comes with it.
"I'm mad because I want the best for you," I continue, words tumbling out now that the dam has broken. "And I hate how selfless you are when we're in a world of wicked selfishness. It's annoying."
The description feels inadequate but I can't find better words for the particular frustration of watching someone you love sacrifice themselves repeatedly for people who might not deserve it.
"Putting yourself at risk, balancing this madness—" I gesture vaguely at the chaos surrounding us, the volcanic eruptions and the hellhound and the entire fucking situation that we're somehow supposed to survive. "When all I want to do is shield you from all this fucking danger."
My voice cracks slightly on the next words—vulnerability that I would usually hide but apparently we're doing honest now.
"Love you right. Protect you from the world."
I meet her gaze with the particular desperation of someone who has finally admitted things they've been holding back for far too long.
"That's fucking it."
Silence.
She holds my gaze for a moment that stretches toward eternity, her transformed features processing whatever she sees in my expression.
Then she huffs.
"I'd say that's romantic," she observes, tone carrying something that might be appreciation but is definitely wrapped in stubbornness. "But even in this form, I cringe at the idea of a man protecting me from danger."
Of course she does.
Of course the most romantic thing I've ever said to anyone gets dismissed as cringe-worthy.
"Gwenievere," I groan, her name escaping as both plea and frustration.
She takes a deep breath.
Lets it out slowly.
Then her hands rise to cup my face—golden-shimmed skin against the shadows that always seem to cling to my features. The touch forces my attention entirely onto her, makes it impossible to look anywhere else, demands that I actually see what she's about to say rather than simply hearing it.
"I know," she says, voice softer now, carrying understanding that contradicts her earlier stubbornness. "I get it."
Her thumbs brush against my cheekbones with gentleness that makes something in my chest ache.
"I sense your emotions," she continues. "I feel it when we're together, getting lost in lust. I know you want to take me from this unbalanced, chaotic life of trials and mayhem."
She knows.
She's always known.
"But this is the path I'm destined to take," she says, pink eyes holding mine with conviction that refuses to be argued with. "And thankfully, I have you and the others to help me accomplish this."
The acknowledgment of our support should help. It doesn't.
"I don't want to be doing this forever."
The admission surprises me with its vulnerability—glimpse behind the confidence she usually projects, evidence that she's as exhausted by this existence as the rest of us.
"Fuck..." She pauses, collecting herself. "I'd actually want to enjoy a peaceful academic life for one fucking year. Not trials and surviving every single moment like it's our last."
Peaceful.
She wants peace.
Something I can't give her no matter how much I want to.
"I want to love all of you slowly," she continues, the words landing with weight that makes my heart stutter. "I want crazy days learning magic and studying the arts. I want to weed out the wickedness so we can finally learn how to fucking coexist!"
Her frustration is obvious—palpable in the air between us, visible in the tension of her shoulders, audible in the crack of her voice.
My eyes soften despite my best efforts to maintain composure.
She's struggling too.
More than she ever shows.
Carrying weight that would crush most beings.
"You think I enjoy seeing you have to decide whether protecting me is worth potentially risking the others who don't have the same level of leadership as you?"
The question lands with accuracy that makes me flinch.
No.
I never considered that perspective.
"Do I like seeing Nikolai fight against his emotions?
" she continues, building momentum now, words pouring out like they've been building pressure for too long.
"Despite him being sad about Nikki leaving him?
While accepting the truth that his father—who's ruling a whole fucking kingdom—is a rapist bastard? "
Nikolai.
His grief.
His complicated family history that I've never asked about, never tried to understand.
"Am I amused that Atticus has to stay by my side?" Her voice cracks with emotion that's clearly been suppressed. "Despite surely having strong purpose and craving to unlock his Pureblood potential?"
Atticus.
His ambitions.
What he's sacrificed to be here, to be part of this.
"Do I enjoy that Zeke has all that knowledge and capability, but he has to be trapped in aiding us instead of exploring the world where he can expand, apply, and teach that knowledge to those who are hungry for it?"
Zeke.
His intelligence.
The potential he's never been able to fully realize because of our circumstances.
"Do I enjoy Mortimer simply being the professor scholar of our group instead of getting the chance to explore his true yearning and feelings?" Her hands tighten slightly against my face. "Without thinking his age is holding him back from even being close to me?"
Mortimer.
His insecurities about the years between them.
Feelings he probably thinks he should suppress.
"Do I truly like that I now have to claim ownership of Damien to make him fucking sane?" The anger in her voice carries pain that I never fully appreciated. "Because that bitch of a sister cursed him with such a demonic beast?"
Damien.
The curse that made him what he is.
Elena's cruelty manifesting in ways that continue to haunt all of us.
"I don't like any of this!"
The declaration erupts from her with force that makes the air between us tremble—or maybe that's my imagination, my perception colored by the intensity of what she's expressing.
"I don't like that I can't just stop and mourn the idea that Gabriel is somewhere far fucking away, going through whatever trials are awaiting him, knowing he's going to crave the same yearning of balance that we do!"
Gabriel.
Her brother.
The twin she lost, who exists somewhere else now, facing challenges she can't help with.
"I hate it!" Her voice rises with emotion that's clearly been building for longer than this conversation. "I despise it!"
Tears build in her transformed eyes—moisture that speaks to grief she hasn't had time to process, pain she hasn't had space to acknowledge.
"And maybe this is what my parents were fighting to avoid!" The observation carries sudden clarity, realization crystallizing into words. "They wanted us to all coexist in a place that challenged us instead of threatening our fucking existence!"
Her parents.
The Academy's founders.
A vision corrupted by Elena's intervention.
"Because guess what?" She's breathless now, emotion overwhelming whatever composure she was trying to maintain. "The WORLD is filled with wickedness! It doesn't matter who we are. What beings we are. Human. Shifter. Outcast or Hybrid."
Her pink eyes burn into mine with intensity that makes my chest ache.
"Wickedness is woven into our fate," she declares. "And it takes US and our determination to not allow it to paint our destiny for the worse instead of better."
She releases my face.
Steps back slightly—not retreat, but repositioning. Creating space that allows her to stand taller, to project the confidence that she somehow maintains despite everything she's just admitted to feeling.
She shows me her hands.
Golden-shimmed skin catching whatever light filters through the chaos around us, fingers spread as if offering something invisible for my examination.
"I want to discover who I am," she says, voice steadier now, determination replacing the desperation that characterized her earlier words.
"I want to appreciate and unravel how my parents met.
How they were able to coexist and mingle.
How they fell in love and started to build something with so much potential. "
Her heritage.
The mystery of her parents' relationship.
Questions she's never had the opportunity to answer.
"I want to appreciate this side of me," she continues, gesturing at her transformed appearance—the golden hair, the pink eyes, the shimmer that broadcasts her awakened Fae nature. "Instead of feeling like my femininity is an attribute I can't love and enjoy."
She struggles with that too.
The femininity she tries to suppress.
Survival teaching her that softness is weakness.
"Just as I want to embrace my vampire side and the capabilities it gives me."
Both halves.
Both heritages.
Learning to love the complete self rather than favoring one aspect over another.
"I want to love me," she declares, the words carrying weight that speaks to struggles I never fully understood. "And those who dare risk their lives for me. But I also want us to learn more about ourselves."
Her eyes meet mine with intensity that demands acknowledgment.
"There's so much that I crave, Cassius," she says, my name on her lips carrying intimacy that makes something in my chest tighten. "Including being with you in the high tides and the low tides."
High tides and low tides.
Good times and bad.
Everything, together.