Chapter 15 - Dani #2
“I can do this now,” she said softly, “no candles. No matches. No focal point but me.”
His breath caught.
For a heartbeat, she thought, hoped, that he might step closer. That he might smile the way Edith had, that rare, fierce pride. That he might reach out and let the fire brush his skin, feel the warmth, and see that it didn’t have to be a weapon.
Instead, the wolf in him surged.
Not forward. Back.
She felt it through the bond, that instinctive snap of recoil. His muscles locked. His eyes went very, very still.
She might have missed it if she didn’t know the way his body sat over his bones. If she hadn’t spent years memorizing every tension in him.
The flames wobbled.
Something in her went cold.
“There,” she said quietly. Her voice didn’t sound like hers, “That’s the truth.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened. “Dani—”
“I didn’t throw it at you,” she said, “I didn’t set the curtains on fire. I lit a handful of sparks in our hallway. And your first instinct was to pull away.”
“I didn’t—” he started.
“You did,” she said, “it’s all right. You can say it. You’re afraid.”
His mouth flattened, “I was surprised.”
“You weren’t surprised,” she said, “you were frightened.”
The flames sputtered. She clenched her fist.
They winked out.
Smoke curled briefly in the air, then vanished.
Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve had Leonid’s wolf in my teeth all afternoon,” he said, low, “Casimir and some of the other vampires making a ruckus. Dominic telling me I’ve betrayed him. I’m not exactly at my best. You can’t—”
“It’s fine,” she said quickly, cradling her fist to her chest, “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you.”
She spun on her heel, making to walk away, when he reached out to grab her elbow, “Wait, Dani, shit, can we just talk about this?”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said, voice frosty. Perhaps she was being childish. But she couldn’t help it. She had hoped, pathetically hoped, that this was something she could share with him. That he’d be excited with her.
Obviously, she was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not letting go of her arm, “I didn’t mean to pull away. It’s just… fire, you know? Not exactly stable.”
Her eyes stung, and she swallowed a painful lump in her throat.
“I know,” she said bitterly, “fire is dangerous. Witches are dangerous. I’ll keep my magic to myself.”
Yanking her arm out of his grip, she stalked down the corridor. For a beat, he stood motionless behind her, before the creak of floorboards signaled his advance. “That’s not what I want!”
She stopped abruptly, magic roiling in her stomach, brows drawing together.
“And you think it’s what I want?” Spinning around, she closed the distance between them.
He stood, arms open, face contorted in frustration and longing, like all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and make it all better.
She was tempted. Tempted to fall into his arms, to drop her grievance, to acknowledge it for the childishness it was.
But it wasn’t. It went deeper than the sting of his fear. It was older, a wound that had never healed.
She was done ignoring it.
“You know,” she said, stopping just short of his embrace, voice wobbling, “the first time you flinched from me was when we were eleven years old. It was a pack barbecue, remember? The first one, my parents had let me attend. I saw you with all the other kids, and I ran up to say hello. After all, why shouldn’t I?
We’d been friends for years, sneaking out into the woods, building forts, going swimming.
I was so excited to see you. But you… when you saw me… You flinched.”
His hands had closed into fists, his face growing stony.
She pressed on, dashing away her tears of frustration, “It was because of the others. The other little alphas-to-be. My family was hardly in good standing. I learned then that you would never stand by my side, not in front of everyone.”
“It was more complicated than that-”
“And then we grew up,” she interrupted. She’d started now. She was speaking the words. Her deepest hurt. And she wouldn’t be able to stop. Not until every last drop of poison had finally been drawn from the wound. “You shifted. I didn’t and things got worse.”
“I know they did,” he said, “I know. And as I’ve said, I’m sorry-”
“I can’t do this,” she said, “I just can’t. I fit into the mold you wanted me to fit into when we were younger, when I was a pack outcast. I made that mistake once and I won’t do it again.”
“Dani,” he said, teeth grinding together, “this doesn’t need to be some big thing. I flinched because you lit a bunch of flames in my face. That doesn’t mean I want you to not be who you are!’
“So what? You’ll accept my magic so long as I keep it to cutesy little spells? Brightening the flowers, cleaning the dishes, making butterflies appear. I’m a fire witch. I received that gift when I mated you. How do I know that you won’t spend your whole life fearing it?”
“Maybe if you’d give me a chance—”
“You want me to live my life just hoping you’ll accept me?”
“I do accept you!”
“Do you?”
“Yes! You’re my mate, of course I do!” His words came out nearly as a yell, his muscles shaking, blue eyes narrowed and piercing. She knew she was pushing him.
She didn’t care.
“And yet, deep down, if you were being truly honest with yourself, you’d admit that you wish I weren't a witch.”
He bared his teeth, “I’ve never said that.”
“But you think it,” she hissed, “how could you not?”
“Dani,” he said, voice full of warning.
“No, it’s fine,” she said, “I get it. Growing up, I was always exactly what you wanted me to be. And I don’t fit into that box anymore. I’ve come back as exactly what you hate.”
He snarled.
“Just another dangerous witch with dangerous magic that threatens everything you hold dear!”
“Dani-”
“Come on, out with it!”
“Dani!”
“How can I believe you accept me when you react to my magic like it’s a gun pointed at your head?”
He flared, “It feels like one.”
Silence hit, sharp and sudden.
He seemed to hear himself at the same time she did. Guilt flickered across his face, quick as lightning.
“I didn’t mean—” he began.
“Yes,” she said. “You did. That’s the point.”
Her eyes burned. She refused to blink.
“Edith warned me,” she said, more to herself than him, “she said one pretty speech doesn’t undo a lifetime of what you’d been taught . That you could want me and still hate the fire. I knew she was right. I did. I just…” she swallowed, “I wanted her to be wrong.”
His shoulders hunched, his big body suddenly looking awkward in the narrow hallway. “I don’t hate you.”
“I know,” she said, “that’s the problem. It would be easier if you did. Then at least it all lines up.”
He stared at her, as if trying to fit those words into a world where nothing made sense.
“Dani,” he said. It came out rough, “I’m trying.”
“I saw that last night,” she said. Memories flashed, his weight over her, the stars above them, his voice shaking when he’d told her he was sorry, that he’d been a coward.
The way he’d wrapped the blanket round her shoulders like she was the most precious thing on earth.
“I believed you. I believed that you wanted all of this. Me. Auri. Even my magic.” She lifted her hand, looked at it, at the faint shimmer still under the skin.
“Of course, it’s never that simple, is it? ”
“You know what I was raised on,” he said, “you’ve heard the stories. I know what happens when witches lose control.”
“You also know what happens when wolves lose control,” she snapped, “ask any witch who lost family in your wars. That fear runs both ways, Arthur.”
“I know that,” he said, fierce, “I’m not pretending we’re blameless. I’m not—”
“But you still look at my fire and see just another potential threat to manage.”
“Because it is a threat,” he said, the word ripping out of him, “everything in this valley is a threat right now. Hybrids, vampires, Volnoye, all of it. I’m standing in the middle trying to keep everybody breathing.
If I put a witch with more power than she can handle into that calculation and pretend it doesn’t scare me, I’m a liar and a bad alpha. ”
It landed like a slap.
“A witch,” she repeated, “not your mate. Not the mother of your child. Just one more variable to juggle.”
His expression twisted. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you said,” she said.
He dragged in a breath, chest rising and falling.
“You’re twisting this,” he said, “you’re tired. I’m tired. I flinched. Reflex. That’s all.”
“I wanted your reflex to be anything other than fear.”
He stared at her as if she’d driven a knife between his ribs.
“What do you want me to say?” he asked, voice cracking. “Tell me. Spell it out. I’ll say it. I’ll-”
“I don’t want words,” she said, “you’re very good at words when you’re cornered. You’ve had ten years to practice apologizing to the ghost of me you thought you’d never see again.”
His hands clenched into fists. “This is unfair.”
“And whose fault is that?”
They stared at each other across the narrow strip of floor.
From the kitchen, water ran. Aurelia laughed at something, high and bright. The normalcy of it made everything in here feel more surreal.
Dani swallowed.
“Edith said,” she went on, quieter now, “that a man who built his whole identity on hating something doesn’t just wake up one morning and decide everything is roses. She said if I went into this thinking love would fix the way you’ve been taught to see us, I’d end up hurt. Again.”
His face shuttered.
“You think I haven’t changed at all?” he asked. “You really think I’m still that boy too afraid of showing weakness to fight for what he wants?”
“You mated me,” she said, “you brought me into your house. You’re trying.
I see that. I feel it. But when it counts—” She lifted her hand again, palm up.
No flame this time, just the faint shimmer under her skin.
“When it’s me and the magic in the same room, you still can’t separate them.
You still hear your father louder than you hear yourself. ”
His throat worked.
“He told me wolves first,” Arthur said, raw. “Always. That’s what an alpha is. That’s what I’ve been doing for ten years. The one who puts the pack above everything, every time.”
“Even me,” she said softly, “even her.”
Pain slashed across his features. “Don’t—”
“If it came down to it,” she said, too deep now to let go, “if you had to choose between your pack’s fear and my life. Between keeping them comfortable and letting me and my…our daughter live as ourselves. What would you do?”
He stared at her.
Images hit him; she felt them through the bond, jagged and hot. Hybrids at the gate. Witches on the wall. Nordan wolves behind him, looking to him for orders with panic in their eyes.
His father’s voice, deep and inexorable. Wolves first, everything else is temptation.
He swallowed, “I can’t answer that the way you want,” he said, voice hoarse, “you know I can’t. I’m Alpha. My first duty—”
“There it is,” she whispered.
The last thread of hope inside her gave a small, almost inaudible snap.
For a moment, she simply stood there, breathing too fast, listening to the blood rush in her ears.
Then she stepped back.
“I need air,” she said. Her voice came out too calm, given the earthquake under her ribs. “Before I say something I can’t unsay.”
“It’s not safe,” he snapped, reaching for the familiar ground, the one that always made sense to him, “Volnoye are still on the ridge. As alpha, it’s my duty to—”
She spun. “Do not,” she said, “pull rank on me because you don’t like that I’m walking away from an argument.”
He froze, hand half-raised.
With hands that only shook a little, she reached for her coat from the peg by the door and shrugged it on.
He watched her like a man watching someone walk away from the edge of a cliff, he’d pushed them off himself.
“Dani,” he said again, and this time it was nothing but a plea. “Please.”
She paused with her hand on the handle, hearth clenching.
“You said last night you were done being that man,” she said softly, “The one who lets fear make his choices for him. Prove it. Not to me. To yourself.”
Then she opened the door and stepped out into the cold.
The slam shook the frame.
For a moment, she just stood on the porch, breath clouding in the air, heart pounding as if she’d run all the way up from town.
Inside, through the bond, she felt Arthur standing in the hallway, torn between following and staying, between alpha and mate.
She set her shoulders.
Then she walked down into the night, not running, not yet, but carrying the knowledge that for all his trying, for all her wanting, some part of him still looked at her fire and saw the thing that would burn his world down.