Chapter 29 Esmerelda
ESMERELDA
Nothing feels steady as I stare at the blade of grass between my fingers. My breath comes out shaky. We were too late. Too damn late.
A storm of what-ifs crashes through me. What if they had come for us sooner instead of leaving us in that room for hours?
What if we had just moved a little faster?
What if they had believed instead of argued?
Would it have changed anything? The questions circle in my mind, but the answers don’t matter.
None of it matters. The what-ifs don’t change the truth.
It’s done. They’re gone. The carnage. Gods, the carnage.
Screams echo in my mind, and I’m sure it will be the background noise of my nightmares for years to come.
Like a curse, everything circles back to my loss.
My family. No matter how many battles I fight, how many nights I survive, the memory stalks me.
Watching Alaric press that final kiss to his daughter’s forehead didn’t just break me—it ripped open a wound that had yet heal.
In an instant, I was back there, in that cursed dining room, helpless as my father’s face twisted in shock, as his skin hardened and gray crept over him, solidifying him before I could even scream.
That same suffocating loneliness clamps down now, heavy as chains, wrapping itself around my ribs until I can’t breathe.
It clings to my skin like a second cloak—cold, smothering, impossible to shake.
The laughter of others feels miles away.
The sunlight feels cruel in its warmth, mocking me with a comfort I can’t claim.
I would give anything to feel their arms around me again, to hear their voices fill a room, instead of being left with nothing but echoes and silence.
The sun hangs in the sky, golden and merciless and taunting, having risen faster than I ever imagined.
To me, sunlight has always been a gift, a treasure I took for granted.
I never thought of it as a weapon. Yet today, as I saw Alaric face it for the first time in six centuries, his skin blistering like it was being bathed in acid, I realized how easily I forget my blessings.
He looked up with wonder, even as agony claimed him, and for a moment, the beauty of it stole his pain.
That look will stay with me forever. Will haunt me forever.
I let the rays fall across my own skin now, knowing I should savor their warmth.
But all I feel is the heavy knot of grief lodged in my stomach.
The wind stirs, carrying loose bits of leaves and grass.
The lake ripples and dances where the light kisses the water.
I realize I’ve shredded the grass between my hands to pieces. My fingers won’t stop trembling.
A brush of movement behind me tenses my spine. I draw in a breath, ready for more sorrow. Then I hear myself whisper, “It’s okay, Minerva. Sometimes it’s okay to just be alone.”
But it isn’t Minerva. The breeze shifts, and the scent that hits me makes my chest tighten. Marcus. He lowers himself beside me, sunlight catching on the stubble of his jaw.
“If you’d rather I left—” he begins.
“No,” I say quickly, surprising myself. “Sit. Please.”
He plucks at a blade of grass, his fingers restless, destroying it like I did. The sadness radiates off him, but beneath it lies something sharper. Frustration. Anger. A storm I recognize too well.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
How am I supposed to answer that? I shake my head. “How could I possibly be?”
His gaze flicks to me. “I know how you feel.”
The words take me off guard. I never imagined Marcus admitting something so vulnerable. We sit in silence, the air between us thick with everything unsaid, until he turns to face me fully.
“I don’t think I ever thought I’d have to witness something like that,” he murmurs. “Not once in my life. Never mind twice.”
He doesn’t have to explain. I know he’s talking about the dining room. About our families. The ghosts that drove us here.
He exhales hard, his jaw flexing. “You know, people think being a shifter is all power and freedom. And sometimes it is. But today… today I wondered if we’re the unlucky ones. Maybe the humans with their offices and school runs are freer than we’ll ever be. Maybe we’re the cursed ones.”
His words are too profound to answer with platitudes. I simply slip my hand into his, letting silence carry the weight.
Finally, I say, “A week ago, I would’ve argued with you, just for the sake of arguing.” A huff of humor slips out. “That’s half the fun of this marriage, isn’t it?”
His mouth twitches.
I sigh. “You’re right. I used to look at humans and secretly gloat, thinking their lives were dull compared to mine. Right now, I’d give up everything to have a mundane day.”
The shame of it burns me. To reduce everything Alaric gave up—his final sacrifice—to a handful of words feels like betrayal. My throat tightens. “Can you imagine what he had to do for his daughter?”
“Yes,” Marcus says simply, fiercely. “And I would do the same. In a heartbeat.”
The conviction in his voice hits me like a physical blow. He means it. I believe him. And the truth is, I would too. I’d trade myself for the lives lost that day. Because bearing the burden of staying behind feels heavier than any sacrifice ever could.
Marcus studies me, his voice rough. “Maybe that’s why the council wanted us together. To unite our families, to build peace. And yet the very thing they forced on us is the reason we’re the only ones left.”
The words aren’t new, but the way he says them drives straight through me. I have no reply, so I simply sit with it, my chest aching.
“She’s going to wake,” Marcus says softly, more to himself than to me. “Victoria. And nothing will ever be the same for her again.”
We’ve said more in the last hour than we ever have before. It’s freeing, hearing it, seeing this side of him. And yet, the one truth pressing against my ribs, begging to be spoken, is the one I can’t voice: I want you.
I stare at the grass in my hands and realize I’ve stopped shaking. That steadiness doesn’t come from me, but from him—his presence, his solidity, the quiet strength I crave.
And suddenly, I can’t hold back anymore. I turn toward him. He meets my gaze, and something shifts. I need this—need him—more than anything.
I lean in and kiss him.
It starts tentatively, like neither of us is sure we’re allowed this.
But the moment our lips touch, it deepens—slow, searching, aching.
Grief and want spill between us, not in frenzy but in a quiet kind of desperation.
My hands slide into his hair, holding him close, and he pulls me tighter against him, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
The world tilts as we sink back into the grass, the earth cool against my spine while the sun warms my skin.
He hovers over me, his breath uneven, eyes searching mine as though asking if I truly mean this.
My answer is a kiss, gentler this time, trembling with everything I can’t put into words.
That’s all it takes. The wall between us crumbles.
His touch is reverent. Each button he undoes, each piece of fabric he slides away, feels like a vow, like he’s unwrapping not just my body but the parts of me I’ve kept hidden.
His own clothing follows, then his lips trail across my throat, over my collarbone, pausing to linger where my heart hammers against his mouth.
When he closes his lips around my nipple, it’s not wild, not rushed—it’s tender, coaxing pleasure that mingles with the ache of sorrow still lodged in my chest. I gasp, arching into him, and the sound seems to anchor him, to assure him I’m here. I’m his.
Heat floods me. My thighs part as he kisses lower, slow enough to torment.
I moan, fisting the grass.
When his mouth finally finds me, it isn’t a storm.
It’s worship. Soft, patient, devastating.
His tongue moves with care, his hands holding me steady, giving me no choice but to surrender.
Tears prick my eyes as pleasure swells, fragile and overwhelming.
When release takes me, it breaks down the walls I so meticulously built.
I’m still trembling when he presses kisses against my thighs, easing me down, refusing to rush me. His name slips from my lips in a whisper.
He groans into me, the vibration making me shudder. “So sweet. So perfect for me.” His voice is muffled, hungry. He grips my hips when I writhe, holding me exactly where he wants me. “Don’t run, Esme. Take it. Take everything I give you.”
A cry rips out of me. He plunges into me, relentless but patient, wringing every sound from me until I’m sobbing his name.
My climax crashes hard, but he doesn’t stop—he keeps going, coaxing me through it.
“Marcus… I want…”
“What do you want?”
“I want you.” The words pour out of me and break down my last remaining brick.
His lips crash to mine. Mouth slick, eyes molten. He cries out my name, and it feels more than physical. Like he, too, is letting go of his barriers. “You were made for me.”
“Yes,” I gasp, wrapping my legs around him to pull him deeper.
We move together, his hands gripping my face so I can’t look anywhere but at him. Not that I want to. I see everything I feel in his expression. Everything I’ve been too afraid to feel until this moment. His thrusts come faster, rougher, dragging another moan out of my throat.
He leans back, dragging me with him until I’m straddling him. His arms wrap around me, cocooning me. Wordlessly, his actions tell me I’m home. One hand grips my hip, the other slides between my thighs, stroking until I’m sobbing again.
“Come for me,” he rasps. “I need to feel you fall apart around me again.”
And I do—hard, shaking, clenching tight as I scream his name. It drags him with me, his thrusts faltering, a guttural roar tearing from him as he spills inside me, heat flooding me.
We collapse together, tangled, panting, raw. His chest is my pillow, his heartbeat pounding against my palm.
For once, the silence after isn’t loaded with questions. It’s peace. And truth. This isn’t just sex. This is us.
The rustle of footsteps snaps the fragile cocoon we’ve built, shattering it like glass.
My body jolts, panic flooding in where bliss had just been.
We scramble for our clothes, fumbling with buttons and laces, fingers clumsy from the aftershocks still buzzing through me.
My skin is flushed, my lips swollen, my heart still galloping, and now shame prickles hot across it all, colliding with the tenderness that had only just settled in my chest.
Leonard appears, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
His eyes catch every detail—the grass tangled in my hair, the hastiness of Marcus dragging his shirt back on, the tremor I can’t quite hide in my hands.
Heat surges up my throat, my cheeks burning under the weight of his knowing look.
He doesn’t have to say a word; his expression does all the talking.
His face grows serious. “Victoria will be up soon, and she’ll need to feed. That means we’ll have to fuel up.”
I nod, and Marcus reaches for my hand. “All right.”