Chapter 20
The door swung shut behind Thallos with a sound like a gunshot.
Marigold sat frozen at the table, her heart hammering against her ribs. The restaurant had gone eerily silent—dozens of eyes fixed on her, on her mother, on the empty chair where Thallos had been sitting moments before.
*He defended me.*
The thought circled through her mind, unable to find purchase. She kept replaying his words, the fierce certainty in his voice. *She rises.* He'd said that about her. In front of everyone. In front of her mother.
"Well." Daisy's voice cut through the silence, brittle with forced lightness. "That was dramatic."
Marigold turned to look at her. Her mother's face had gone pale beneath her expertly applied makeup, but she still managed to look like the victim.
"Really, Mari, I don't know what you've told that man, but he clearly has some very strange ideas about—"
"He's right."
The words came out before she could stop them. Quiet but clear. Her own voice sounded strange to her ears—steadier than she felt.
Daisy's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"He's right." Marigold pushed back from the table, her legs trembling as she stood. "About all of it. About you. About me."
"Sweetheart, you're being ridiculous. I was only trying to—"
"Humiliate me?" The word tasted strange on her tongue.
She'd never said it out loud before. Never named what her mother did, not even in her own head.
It had always been easier to call it concern or honesty or just the way Mom is.
"Have you forgotten your own part in these little stories you like to tell?
Simon didn't steal my credit card. He stole yours.
And I was the one who had to work out a deal with the creditors.
That high school boyfriend of mine? He also told the whole school that you seduced him. My fiance said the same thing?"
"I would never do such a thing! They completely misinterpreted my intentions. Really darling, do you have to bring this up now in front of all these people?"
Daisy looked around at the silent restaurant and gave her another wounded look. Marigold would have laughed if she wasn't so completely, utterly done.
"You know I never realized I could just… walk away before. Which is precisely what I'm going to do."
"Walk away? How can you, Marigold—"
"Why can't I?" She turned back, meeting her mother's gaze directly.
Something was unfurling in her chest—something that felt terrifyingly like freedom.
"Because you'll be disappointed in me? You already are.
You always have been. Nothing I do is ever good enough, and I'm done killing myself trying. "
Daisy's mouth opened, but for once, she had nothing to say.
Marigold walked out. The evening air hit her face like a blessing—cool and sweet, carrying the scent of jasmine from the planters that lined Main Street. Her legs were shaking so badly she had to stop on the sidewalk, one hand pressed against the brick wall of the restaurant, just to breathe.
*I did that. I actually did that.*
The enormity of it threatened to overwhelm her. Twenty-six years of swallowing her mother's criticisms, of making herself small, of accepting that she would never be enough—and she'd just walked away. In public. In front of witnesses.
Her phone buzzed in her purse. She ignored it.
Thallos. She needed to find Thallos.
The vineyard was a twenty-minute walk from Main Street, but she barely felt the distance.
She moved through the familiar streets on autopilot, her mind churning with everything that had happened.
The things her mother had said. The way Thallos had looked when he'd defended her—fierce and certain, like her worth was obvious, like anyone who couldn't see it was simply wrong.
No one had ever looked at her like that.
No one had ever chosen her like that.
The Bloom & Vine sign came into view, its elegant script illuminated by the last light of sunset. But the shop was dark, closed for the evening. Of course it was—Thallos had been at dinner with her. He wouldn't have come back here.
*The cabin.*
The thought crystallized with sudden certainty.
After what happened, he'd want privacy. Space.
He'd be at the cabin. She hurried down the street and through the vineyard.
The rows of grapevines stretched out on either side of her, their leaves rustling softly in the evening breeze.
The sunset painted everything in shades of gold and amber, and for a moment, the beauty of it caught her off guard.
The cabin emerged from the trees like something out of a fairy tale. Warm light spilled from the windows, and smoke curled from the chimney even though the evening was mild. The front door stood slightly ajar, as if he'd been too distracted to close it properly.
She climbed the porch steps, her heart pounding.
She found him standing by the fireplace, one arm braced against the mantel, his head bowed. The firelight caught the curve of his horns, the tension in his shoulders, the way his free hand was clenched into a fist at his side.
He looked like he was at war with himself.
"Thallos."
His head came up sharply. For a moment, his expression was raw and uncertain, almost vulnerable. Then something flickered across his face that looked almost like fear.
"Marigold," he said roughly. "I made a scene. In front of the whole town. Your mother—"
"My mother can wait."
She stepped into the cabin, letting the door fall closed behind her. The warmth of the fire wrapped around her, chasing away the evening chill. Three steps brought her close enough to touch him, though she didn't. Not yet.
"You defended me," she said softly.
"Of course I did." He turned to face her fully, and she could see the remnants of anger still burning in his golden eyes.
"She was tearing you apart. All those stories about your past, for gods' sake—as if any of that matters.
As if you're still that scared fifteen-year-old who made spreadsheets for her birthday parties. "
"You remembered that?"
"I remember everything you tell me." The words came out raw, unguarded.
"I remember the way you looked when I first saw you at that chamber meeting—like you were trying to disappear into the wallpaper.
I remember the first time you laughed with me.
I remember the way you taste." His voice dropped lower.
"I remember every single time I've touched you. "
Her breath caught.
"No one's ever chosen me before," she whispered. "Not like that. Not… publicly."
"Then everyone else is blind." He took a step toward her, close enough now that she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
"You're the most remarkable woman I've ever met, Marigold Bloom.
And if I have to spend the rest of my life proving that to you, I will.
" He hesitated. "Unless you don't want me to. "
"I want you." The words came out without hesitation. "I want everything you're offering."
His eyes closed briefly, as if in relief. When he opened them again, the vulnerability was gone, replaced by something deeper and hotter.
"Show me," he said, voice rough. "Show me what you want."
She reached for him, her hands trembling as she unbuttoned his shirt.
He let her, his eyes never leaving her face, watching her like she was doing something miraculous instead of just undressing him.
She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, let it fall to the floor, and ran her hands over the hard muscles of his chest.
He caught her hands, brought them to his mouth, pressed a kiss to her palms.
"Your turn," he murmured, and then his fingers were on the buttons of her blouse, working them free one by one. The air was warm against her skin as he exposed it inch by inch, his gaze following his hands, burning everywhere he looked.
When her blouse joined his shirt on the floor, he paused, his eyes traveling over her with such intensity she felt naked in more ways than one.
"You're beautiful," he said simply.
She didn't argue. For the first time, she let herself believe it.
His hands went to her waist, unfastening her skirt, sliding it down her hips. She stepped out of it, then reached behind herself to unhook her bra. It fell away, and his breath caught.
"Marigold—"
"I know," she whispered. "I feel it too."
She reached for him again, tracing the line of his fur where it began at his waist. He shuddered under her touch, his cock already emerging from its sheath.
She explored him with newfound confidence, learning his body the way he'd learned hers—what made him groan and what made his hands tighten on her hips.
"I want you," she said, and the simplicity of the statement was freeing. "I want you inside me."
"Then that's where I'll be."
He lifted her, carried her to the bed, laid her down against the pillows. The firelight played over her skin, over his body as he joined her, his weight a welcome pressure, his cock hot and hard against her thigh.
But when he would have entered her, she stopped him with a hand on his chest.
"Wait." She shifted beneath him, guiding him to lie on his back, then straddled his waist. The position felt strange at first—exposed, dominant—and she hesitated.
His hands came to rest on her hips, not guiding, just holding. "Whatever you want, little flower. Take what you need."
She looked down at him—his eyes dark with desire, his face open and waiting. No demands. No expectations. Just invitation.
She rose up on her knees, positioned him at her entrance, and sank down slowly. The sensation was more intense than she'd anticipated, and she had to pause, breathing through the fullness, adjusting to the size of him.
"You feel incredible," he whispered, his hands flexing slightly on her hips. "Perfect. So perfect."
She began to move, finding a rhythm that was hers, not his. The control was intoxicating, the ability to set the pace, to take what she needed. His hands stayed on her hips, guiding but not directing, and when her pace faltered, he moved with her, meeting her thrust for thrust.
"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice strained. "Riding me like this. Taking what you want. So brave and strong and—gods, Marigold—"
She leaned forward, bracing herself on his chest, and the change in angle sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her. His hands slid up her back, one tangling in her hair to bring her mouth down to his. The kiss was messy and desperate, all tongues and teeth and need.
His other hand slid between them to find her clit, circling with just the right pressure, and suddenly the pleasure was cresting, overwhelming, crashing over her in waves that left her trembling and crying out his name.
He followed her moments later with a rough shout, his body tensing beneath her as he filled her completely.
Afterwards, she collapsed against his chest, their bodies still joined, both of them breathing hard. His arms came around her, holding her close, one hand stroking up and down her spine in long, soothing passes.
"That was—" she started.
"Amazing. Incredible. Life-changing."
She laughed weakly against his shoulder. "I was going to say 'intense,' but I like your words better."
"I mean every one of them." He kissed the top of her head. "Did you know you could do that? Take control like that?"
"No." She shook her head. "I've never…" She trailed off, not wanting to think about past experiences, not now.
"They were fools." His voice was certain. "Anyone who wouldn't give you this, wouldn't let you explore and discover and take what you need, doesn't deserve you."
"Then I'm glad I found you."
"Even if it means dealing with your mother?"
She winced. "She's going to be furious. And she's going to cry."
"Let her. It's about time you set some boundaries. Give her some time to cool off."
He pulled her down next to him and tucked her against his chest. His hand traced lazy patterns on her bare back, and she felt boneless and content and utterly at peace.
"Stay," he murmured into her hair. "Tonight. Please."
"Yes."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then another to her temple. Then the corner of her mouth.
"Thank you," he said softly.
"For what?"
"For choosing me too."
She smiled against his skin. Outside, the night deepened around the cabin, but inside, in the circle of his arms, she felt nothing but warm.