Chapter 31
ARMEN
Vi remains rigid in the chair, her shoulders pulled back, chin lifted in defiance.
She doesn’t look away from Sting. Not when Rogue leans farther into her space like he doesn’t want to miss what comes next.
Not when someone slows as they pass, curiosity flickering across their face before we give them dirty looks and they take off.
“So, you asked what you are,” he says evenly.
Vi lifts her chin higher. “Yeah.”
His gaze flicks to me. “You can’t keep her neutral. We both know that.”
I don’t step aside. “This is where you step back, Sting.”
“No,” he says simply.
Rogue lets out a low sound of amusement. “Guess that’s settled.”
Sting turns back to Vi. “You’re not going to sit in corners forever,” he says. “You’re not going to wait and see what happens to you. You’re not going to be pulled out when someone needs something and shoved away when you’re not useful.”
“Well, what do you want with me?” Vi snaps.
“So many questions, pretty lady. You’re being claimed.” The word hangs heavy in the air.
Rogue exhales softly.
Vi’s hands tighten behind her back, the rope creaking as her shoulders tense. “You say that like I’m supposed to be okay with it.”
“You don’t have to be okay with it,” Sting replies with a shrug. “You just have to understand it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then this place will eat you.”
Her chest rises sharply. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough,” he says. “You don’t freeze. You don’t fold. You don’t stop pushing even when it hurts.”
I step forward before I can stop myself. “Sting.” Just his name. Not a command. A question I can’t ask out loud: Are we doing this now?
He doesn’t look at me. “Someone has to.” The words land like an accusation. Because he’s right. I’ve been stalling. And stalling down here gets people hurt.
Vi turns her head toward me. “Armen.” Her eyes search mine, sharp and questioning.
“Nothing changes unless we make it change,” I say.
Sting inclines his head once. “Exactly.”
Rogue chuckles under his breath. “You two sound like you’re signing her up for something.”
Vi looks back at Sting. “What happens now?”
His presence fills her space completely. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches down and closes his hand around her wrist. Firm. Certain. His fingers wrap around it like there’s no doubt in his mind, no second thought.
“Stand,” he says.
“I can’t,” she replies automatically.
“You can.”
“I need help—”
“Stand.” The word comes lower this time. Stronger.
Vi leans forward as far as the rope allows, her body pitching toward him. The instant she puts weight on her bad leg, pain flashes across her face. Her lips press together as she fights the instinct to cry out.
Sting doesn’t wait. He pulls.
The chair scrapes loudly against the concrete, legs screeching as she’s hauled upward. Her body stumbles forward, momentum carrying her straight into him before she can catch herself.
His free hand comes up fast. It grips her waist hard enough that his fingers dig into her hips through the fabric of her clothes.
She gasps. Her chest presses into his, breath hot and uneven against his throat. For a heartbeat, they’re flush together, no space between them at all. He’s not letting her fall. Not letting her go.
Then she stiffens and forces herself upright, pushing just enough to stand on her own. But Sting’s hand doesn’t leave her waist. It stays there, firm and controlling, fingers spread wide like he’s anchoring her in place.
And it bugs the shit out of me.
“My knee,” she snaps.
“You can walk,” he says.
“I can limp.”
“Then limp.”
Rogue laughs. “Bold strategy.”
Vi shoots him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Shut up.”
The defiance is intact.
Sting’s grip tightens at her waist, sliding just a fraction lower, settling where he can guide her body exactly where he wants it.
“Where are you taking me?” she demands.
“Somewhere you’re not on display,” he replies.
“And after that?”
“That depends how well you listen, Vi.”
Her shoulders draw back. “I don’t take orders.”
He leans closer, his mouth near her ear. “Actually, you do,” he murmurs. “Or you’ll keep bleeding for this place.”
A shiver runs through her despite herself.
I step into their path. “She doesn’t go with you.”
Sting stops.
Vi is caught between us, Sting’s hand still gripping her wrist, the other firm at her lower back. The passage suddenly feels too narrow, the air thick with tension.
“You can’t keep her neutral,” he says calmly. “You already know that.”
“That doesn’t make her yours.”
“She’s already been chosen. We’re just making it official.”
Vi’s breathing is fast now, chest rising and falling against Sting’s arm where he holds her. “Armen,” she says. “I need to know. What’s going to happen to me?”
I hesitate. Just long enough.
Sting feels it. That hesitation is all he needs, and he jumps into the void. He shifts sideways, guiding Vi around me without force, his grip never loosening. His other hand stays firm at her back as he steers her into the corridor.
I could stop him. I don’t. Not because I can’t. Because he’s doing what I should have done ten minutes ago. And now, it’s too late to take it back.
Vi stumbles when her bad knee catches, and Sting pulls her closer to his body to keep her upright, her hip brushing his thigh with every uneven step.
“Slow down,” she snaps.
“Keep up,” he murmurs near her ear.
The closeness makes her inhale sharply again.
Rogue calls after them, amused. “Don’t lose her in the dark, Sting.”
Sting doesn’t answer.
They move farther down the corridor, his hold guiding her, her limp forcing them closer together with every step.
Vi glances back at me once. Her eyes are bright. Burning. Alive.
Then they turn the corner. The corridor swallows them. The noise of the Hunt closes in again like nothing happened.
But everything has.
Vi isn’t being contained anymore. She isn’t waiting. She isn’t hidden.
She’s been claimed. Not by Sting. By us.
I tell myself that was always the plan. That this was strategic. That forcing Sting’s hand now, in front of witnesses, would fracture our united front.
I let her go with him because I have to. Not because I want to.