Chapter LVIII
LVIII.
brYNN
Brynn's breath caught as he loomed over her, his dark eyes burning with anger. She could feel the tension radiating off his body, could practically taste his rage in the air between them.
This was the first time she'd seen him truly angry. Not cold, not controlled, not wearing that mask of deadly calm he usually maintained.
This was pure fury.
It should have terrified her.
Instead, it sent heat racing through her veins like wildfire.
"Don't you dare try to intimidate me after what you just—"
"Intimidate you?" He let out a harsh laugh, but there was no humor in it. His face was inches from hers now, close enough that she could see the silver flecks in his dark eyes. "Thief, if I wanted to intimidate you, you'd know it."
The endearment-that-wasn't sent a shiver down her spine. He hadn't called her that in days—not since their fight, not since she'd walked out. Hearing it now, rough with emotion and possession, made her chest tighten.
Don't react. Don't give him the satisfaction.
Her jaw set defiantly even as her heart was hammering against her ribs.
"Then what DO you want, Reaper?"
She spat his title at him, the same way he'd used "thief”. A reminder of what they were supposed to be to each other. Lord and tribute. Death Lord and mortal. Nothing more.
His gaze dropped to her lips for just a heartbeat before snapping back to her eyes. Hunger flashed in their depths.
"What do I want?" he repeated, his voice rough. "I want to know why you let them touch you."
"Touch me?" She blinked, then laughed—a sharp, cutting sound. "They were dancing with me. It's what people do at gatherings. Perhaps you've forgotten, given how long you've spent brooding in corners."
His jaw tightened. "That warrior had his hands on your bare skin."
"On my waist. During a waltz." She tilted her chin up, meeting his glare with one of her own. "Should I have made him hover away like your terrified courtiers do with you?"
He went very still. "Caelum was calling you 'my dear.'"
"Caelum was being polite. A concept you might try sometime."
"And Vex—" His voice dropped to a growl. "You danced with Vex. After what he did."
That landed. She felt her composure slip for just a moment before she caught it.
"I handled Vex just fine. I didn't need you swooping in to—"
"You shouldn't have had to handle him at all!" His palm slammed against the wall beside her head, making her flinch. "He touched you. He cornered you in his own court and put his hands on you, and tonight you let him hold you like nothing happened—"
"Because I refuse to let him think he has any power over me!" Her voice rose to match his. "Because, unlike some people, I don't need to be protected from every perceived threat!"
"This isn't about protection!"
"Then what IS it about, Dante?" She shoved at his chest, but he didn't budge. Solid as stone, caging her against the wall. "Because it looks like you're angry that I dared to have a good time without your permission!"
His shadows surged across the floor, climbing her ankles, her calves. She kicked at them instinctively, but they just wound tighter.
"Tell your shadows to back off."
"No."
"Dante—"
"They go where they want." His shadows curled tighter around her ankles. "And apparently, they want to be wrapped around you. Can't imagine where they got that idea."
Heat flooded her cheeks. From anger, she told herself—only anger.
"You're being ridiculous. I danced with people at a party. That's not a crime."
"You were punishing me." He leaned closer, and she pressed back against the wall, heart pounding. "Every smile you gave them. Every laugh. You were making sure I saw. Making sure I suffered."
"And what if I was?" She met his stare without flinching, even as the shadows crept higher, teasing the hem of her dress. "What if I wanted you to feel even a fraction of what I felt when I found out you'd been lying to me for weeks?"
"I never lied to you."
"Oh, spare me—"
"I never lied." His hands pressed harder against the wall, bracketing her completely. "Every word I've ever spoken to you has been true."
"You kept my own identity from me! You knew what I was, who I was, and you said nothing while I stumbled around in the dark!"
"To protect you—"
"To control me!" She shoved at his chest again, and this time he shifted back half a step. Not much, but enough that she could breathe. "You made decisions about my life without asking. You treated me like I was too fragile to handle the truth. That's not protection, Dante. That's manipulation."
His mask cracked. She saw it, the flash of pain beneath the anger.
"And tonight," she continued, pressing her advantage, "you dragged me out of that gathering like I was property. Made a scene in front of every Death Lord in existence. Do you have any idea what that looked like? How it felt?"
"I don't care how it looked."
"Of course you don't! Because you never think about what I might want. You just decide what's best and expect me to fall in line like everyone else in your court."
His shadows had gone still around her legs. The air between them crackled with tension.
"Is that what you think?" His voice was quiet now. Dangerously quiet. "That I see you like everyone else?"
"I think you see me as something to manage. Something to protect whether I want it or not. Something to keep in the dark because you've decided I can't handle the truth.”
"Brynn—"
"No." She held up a hand, cutting him off. "You don't get to 'Brynn' me right now. Not after weeks of cold shoulders and making decisions behind my back. You wanted to know why I danced with them tonight? Why I smiled and laughed and let them touch me?"
She stepped forward, into his space, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.
"Because they asked. Because they treated me like a person with choices instead of a problem to be solved. Because for one night, I wanted to feel like I mattered to someone who wasn't trying to control me."
She watched each word land. Watched him flinch.
But the satisfaction felt hollow. Bitter on her tongue.
His shadows had retreated, pooling around his feet. His fingers curled at his sides.
When he finally spoke, his voice was raw.
"You're right."
She blinked. Whatever she'd expected him to say, it wasn't that.
"What?"
"You're right." He ran a hand through his hair. "I made choices about your life without asking. I kept things from you that you had every right to know. I told myself it was protection, but it was control. Fear disguised as care."
She couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. Because the Reaper, the terrifying Death Lord who'd made her life hell for weeks, was actually admitting he was wrong.
"I was terrified." His voice cracked on the word. "Terrified of you becoming a target before you were ready. Terrified of every ambitious Death Lord trying to claim you. Terrified of losing you before I even had you."
His eyes met hers, and she saw it, the vulnerability beneath—the loneliness beneath the control, the desperate, aching want that mirrored her own.
"I should have told you. I should have trusted you to handle it instead of deciding for you. I was wrong, and I'm sorry, and I know that doesn't fix anything. But I didn't lie to you—"
"That's semantics," she said, but her voice had lost its edge.
"Maybe." He exhaled slowly. "But a lie would have meant I was trying to deceive you.
What I did was try to protect you from truths I thought would hurt you.
It was wrong. It was arrogant. It was exactly the kind of controlling behavior I despise in others, and I did it to the one person who deserved better from me. "
Damn him. Her eyes were burning. She blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
"You still did it," she whispered. "You still kept me ignorant while everyone else knew."
"I know."
"You still watched me struggle with questions about myself and said nothing."
"I know."
"And tonight—" She had to pause, had to swallow past the lump in her throat. "Tonight you humiliated me in front of everyone."
His expression shifted. The vulnerability didn't disappear, but hunger rose alongside it.
"Tonight," he said slowly, "I watched every male in that room put their hands on you."
His shadows began to move again, sliding across the floor toward her.
"Watched them hold you close. Heard them make you laugh. That bright sound you so rarely give to anyone." His voice dropped lower. "And I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Because I'd destroyed any right to claim you."
The shadows curled around her ankles—cool silk against her heated skin.
"Do you have any idea what that was like?" He stepped closer, and she didn't retreat. Couldn't. "Watching you give them all the warmth you've been denying me?"
"You deserved to suffer," she breathed.
"I did." His agreement was instant. "I deserve every moment of it. But that doesn't mean it didn't tear me apart."
The shadows climbed higher, teasing the hem of her dress, and want curled through her anyway.
"Good." The word came out breathless. "Maybe now you understand how it felt. Being kept outside. Being shut out."
"I understand." His hand lifted, hovering near her face but not quite touching. "I've understood since the moment you walked out. Since I've spent every night alone, knowing you were hurting because of the choices I made."
She was trembling. Hating herself for it. Hating him for making her feel this way when she was still so angry, still so hurt.
"Tell me something." His voice dropped to a low growl. "Did you like it tonight? Having their hands on you?"
"That's not—"
"Did it make you feel the way you're feeling right now?" His eyes were dark with intensity. "Heart pounding? Breath catching?"
She pressed her lips together, refusing to answer. But the trembling gave her away—pulse racing, skin flushed, heat coiling tight in her core.
"No," she finally admitted. The word escaped before she could stop it.
"No." Satisfaction flashed in his gaze. "And why is that?"
The shadows slid higher still, and a sound escaped her that she couldn't suppress.
"Why didn't their touches affect you the way mine does?" he pressed. "Tell me."
She held out for another moment. Another breath.
Then the shadows found a particularly sensitive spot, and the truth spilled out in a gasp.
"Because it wasn't you."