Chapter 12 - Nicholas
Shame remains a heavy companion even in the dawn of a new day, while my friends are outside, having stayed the night to watch over us, even if the darkness had been pulled out of me.
The sound of voices drifts through the crack in the door, low and clipped, each word heavy with the weight of planning and exhaustion.
I can tell who’s speaking without looking; Tyler’s steady tone, Hunter’s gruff practicality, Delilah’s quiet but certain cadence.
They’re talking about Tobias.
“Good thing Sean and Em left last night. He’s found a trace on Tobias,” Tyler says.
“Then that’s where we’re headed,” Hunter affirms with certainty.
“We can’t move until we’re sure Nick’s stable,” Dominic counters.
Delilah’s voice comes next, soft but as sharp as glass. “He bled the darkness out, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone. If Tobias carried a link to the dark lord, that power could still be moving. We need to find him before it finds another host. Before he infects someone else.”
Their words fade into murmurs as Arianna presses a warm cloth to my shoulder, snapping me back to my reality and bringing with it the immense weight of guilt about what happened last night.
Her touch is careful, her presence calm, but I can’t meet her eyes.
Not when I can still feel the blood on my hands, and hers as she cleans the residue off me.
The wound stings, but the shame burns hotter.
Outside, footsteps cross the porch. Cecelia’s voice joins the mix, revealing her arrival this morning, hushed and soothing, followed by Donna’s steady, restrained, too-calm voice.
That’s how I know Donna is still furious. She only becomes that quiet when she’s fighting to keep her emotions contained.
She’s probably furious with me after I attacked her last night. It’s a good thing she’s outside and not in this room with me. I don’t even know how I’m going to face her.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, even though Arianna hasn’t asked. I suppose it’s more for myself.
Her brow lifts skeptically. “You’re not fine, Nick.”
I exhale, rough and humorless. “Of course, I am. I have to be. I’m going with them to Montreal.”
Arianna stills, bandage half-wrapped around my arm. “You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
“Did you forget what happened last night?” she asks, voice low. “You attacked your mate, and she saved you anyway. You think you’re in any state to face Tobias?”
I glance toward the window, where the faint outline of Donna’s shadow moves on the porch. “I owe her. I owe all of you. And I owe him punishment.”
Arianna ties off the bandage, lips pressing into a line as she shakes her head. “You don’t have to be ashamed of what happened. Delilah went through the same thing, and Hunter brought her back. Just like Donna did for you.”
I let out a dry chuckle, one that tastes more bitter than amused. “The difference is, Hunter loves D.”
Arianna’s gaze sharpens with knowing. “You think Donna doesn’t love you?”
“Of course not,” I scoff, shaking my head. “I’ve given her every reason to hate me.”
Arianna sighs, setting aside the bandages. “Maybe she hates you because she still loves you. Hate cannot exist without love.”
“It’s not like that,” I protest, but Arianna sighs.
“I know what happened last summer,” she reveals flatly, and I frown at her.
“That sounds like a movie, Ari,” I say with a nervous chuckle to hide my shame, but Arianna simply rolls her eyes at me.
“I’m a witch, Nick. So is Delilah. We both know.”
Gulping hard, the door to my bedroom creaks, and my heart stutters. Dominic steps in, holding two beers, his usual grin fading when he catches the tension in the air.
“Don’t tell him,” I whisper to Arianna, my throat feeling tight.
She opens her mouth, but before she can say a word, Dominic raises a brow. “Don’t tell me what?”
My pulse spikes, and I scramble for an answer, but Donna beats me to it, appearing from behind her brother.
“Nicholas insists he’s fine to join the Montreal run,” she says smoothly from the doorway, arms crossed.
There’s nothing I can hide from her, I realize.
She’s also a witch.
“Even though he should be resting after everything.”
Dominic’s head swivels toward me, frown deepening. “Yeah…no. That’s not happening. You should be resting, Nick.”
I should be grateful Donna deflected, but I can only stare at her. There’s something unreadable in her expression; not forgiveness, not fondness, just a silent agreement. She doesn’t want Dom to know the truth, either. About us. About what happened last summer.
Maybe she’s protecting both of us.
How did she know that’s what we were speaking about?
Right. She’s a witch.
Dominic claps me on the shoulder, careful of my wound. “We’ll take care of Montreal. You just focus on healing.”
I nod stiffly, watching as he exits the room. Donna follows, pausing only for a second before walking away.
She doesn’t even look back.
Maybe she’s right to keep her distance. That’s what I deserve. But why does it feel like, apart from protecting us, she was protecting me specifically? Why would she ensure that I wouldn’t go to Montreal?
***
The house is quiet again by the time night falls. Too quiet, and it resurfaces my guilt like acrid bile in my throat that needs the stiffest drink to be washed away.
The others left an hour ago, leaving only the sound of the wind whispering through the trees.
Donna’s door hasn’t opened once since dinner.
I should be sleeping, resting to heal from the dark magic that has been removed, but the silence presses on my chest until I can’t stand it anymore. My body feels too restless, my thoughts too loud. So I head downstairs, the echo of my footsteps carrying through the dark hallway.
The kitchen light glows dimly, stopping me in my tracks when I see her there.
Donna, barefoot in one of her oversized T-shirts, stands at the counter with a glass of water in her hand. Her hair is loose, cascading over one shoulder like dark silk. She looks tired, shoulders slouched, but her eyes are alert when she glances up and spots me.
For a moment, neither of us says anything. The tension between us hums like the aftershock of a storm.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask quietly, finally breaking the silence.
She shrugs, setting her glass down. “No. I’m guessing you can’t, either?”
I shake my head. “Guess not.”
An awkward pause stretches between us before I move to the counter, grab a glass, and pour myself something stronger: whiskey, because I need it more than water. The sound of liquid hitting glass fills the silence like a confession.
“Why did you stop me from going to Montreal?” I ask, tipping the glass to my lips. “You could’ve told Dom the truth, but you didn’t.”
Donna doesn’t hesitate. “I didn’t say anything to stop you from going,” she says with a nonchalant shrug.
“Well, you killed two birds with one stone, Donna. And I know you don’t do anything without reason,” I remark pointedly.
She takes a deep breath as she places the glass in the sink before she turns to me and crosses her arms. “Why were you so set on leaving after what happened last night? It’s like you’re running away.”
“I’m not running away,” I scoff as I empty my glass before turning to face her. “I should have been there with the others.”
“You have free will. You should have gone if you were so determined,” she says calmly, but I can read through it.
“I wanted to go to Montreal to give you space. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Her jaw tightens and her eyes narrow. “Is that what you think I want?”
“Isn’t it?” I counter.
The air thickens, her pulse visible at her throat as my eyes flit there, my own heartbeat responding to it. I tip back the glass, finishing the whiskey in one gulp, then move to place my glass in the sink, purposely leaning over Donna and watching her face as I swoop into her personal space.
Donna doesn’t flinch, barely breathes, but she doesn’t move away. If anything, she straightens her spine, meeting my eyes squarely.
I move even closer, close enough that the space between us burns with heat and restraint. My hand finds the cabinet beside her head before I can think better of it. Her scent hits me all at once, lavender and warmth and something that feels like home.
“I thought you wanted space,” I murmur, my voice low, rougher than I intend.
Her breath catches as her eyes twitch. “Maybe it’s what you want.”
“No,” I admit, the word slipping out before I can stop it. “I’m not afraid of you, Donna. And you shouldn’t be afraid of me, either.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Nicholas…” she says my name in a sultry tone that ignites the fire in my bloodstream.
It breaks whatever fragile control is left between us. She tilts her head up, eyes dark and defiant, and I’m lost in those chocolate-brown orbs. My hand slides to her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek, and she grabs a fistful of my T-shirt to pull me in, her lips fierce and electric on mine.
The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s a collision, a clash of everything we’ve both been holding back: guilt, desire, regret. Both her hands fist in my shirt now, mine gripping her waist, pulling her closer until her heartbeat drums against mine.
When she finally pulls back, her breathing is uneven, lips swollen and moist from the most passionate kiss we’ve ever shared. “I thought you wanted to give me space,” she whispers.
“Is that what you want?” I ask again.
Her eyes flicker, brows furrowed slightly to show a war between pride and truth. “No.”
That one word undoes me.
My mouth finds hers again, slower this time, deeper as my tongue dips into the cavity of her mouth, until the world fades around us, until all that’s left is her warmth, her breath, and the ache I’ve carried since the day I pushed her away.
And maybe, for the first time in a long while, I let myself believe that this…whatever it is between us…might still have a pulse.
Hope.
It’s what I’ll cling to as strongly as my hands cling to her waist, as strongly as my lips dance with hers.