Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Anne
I wake alone.
For a moment, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, my body still heavy with exhaustion even though I hardly slept. Morning light filters through the curtains, soft and gray, and the apartment is quiet except for the distant hum of traffic outside.
Last night comes rushing back.
Kain’s voice, weary as he told me everything. The torture. The lies they fed him. The poison slowly killing him. The mate bond that never died for him, not even after ten years.
I close my eyes against the flood of emotion.
Part of me wants to let his suffering erase the hurt he caused. To say he was broken, he was manipulated, it wasn’t really his fault.
But that’s not the whole truth, is it?
They lied to him, yes. Tortured him, conditioned him, made him believe things that weren’t true. But using me? Lying to me about the mate bond being dead? Making me fall in love with him all over again while planning to betray me and capture one of my best friends?
Those were active decisions that he made.
He could have found another way. Could have trusted me with at least part of the truth. Could have chosen differently.
And he didn’t.
I sit up slowly, running my hands through my tangled hair. My eyes feel gritty and swollen from crying. My chest aches like a giant bruise.
I don’t know how to reconcile the Kain who suffered so much with the Kain who hurt me so deeply. They’re the same person, and that’s what makes it so hard.
I swing my legs out of bed and stand up, needing to move, needing to do something besides lie here and think in circles.
That’s when I see the door. Or rather, what’s left of it.
My bedroom door is completely off its hinges, leaning against the frame at an awkward angle. The wood around the lock is splintered, like someone forced it open with desperate strength.
Right. He came to me after my nightmare. That’s why we spoke in the first place. With how high my emotions were, I apparently wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings.
He broke down the door.
I run my fingers over the damaged wood, feeling the rough edges where it split. There’s something almost frantic about the way it’s been torn apart, like he couldn’t tolerate this barrier between us for even the seconds it would have taken to pick the lock properly.
I leave the broken door and walk into the living room. Kain is on the couch.
He’s asleep—or at least, his eyes are closed. He’s curled on his side, one arm tucked under his head, the other hanging off the edge of the cushion. The blanket he must have found on the chair has fallen to the floor, probably kicked off at some point during the night.
I should leave him there. Go make coffee for myself and ignore him.
Instead, I find myself reaching for the blanket on the floor. I hesitate, my hand going still halfway there.
What am I doing? I shouldn’t care about him right now.
Yet I complete the movement, picking up the blanket and carefully draping it over him. It’s not a big deal; I would do the same for any sick person shivering in their sleep.
He doesn’t wake up. Doesn’t even stir. I can see the toll everything has taken—the shadows under his eyes, the too-sharp edges of his cheekbones, the pallor of his skin. Even in his sleep, he tenses up at intervals, a furrow appearing between his brows.
The poison is killing him.
The thought sends a spike of fear through my chest that I try to ignore.
I turn away and head to the kitchen, needing the familiar routine of making breakfast to ground me.
Coffee first. Then eggs and toast. Simple, mindless tasks that don’t require me to think about anything complicated.
But as I’m cracking eggs into a pan, I find myself making extra. Enough for two.
I tell myself it’s just habit. That I always make too much food.
But it’s a lie.
Ten minutes later, I’m sitting at the coffee table with two plates of food and two mugs of coffee. The couch is on the other side of the small table from me, close enough that I could reach out and touch Kain if I wanted to.
I don’t want to.
Do I?
I take a sip of coffee and let my eyes drift over him.
He has rolled onto his stomach. The blanket has slipped down almost to his waist, exposing his back and arms. Even in the soft, morning light, I can see the scars. They’re everywhere—thin white lines from cuts, puckered circles from burns, faint track marks from injections.
Evidence of what they did to him.
My throat tightens. I think about eighteen-year-old Kain, full of life and plans for the future, being taken and then broken, little by little. I think about him believing he’d been sold, abandoned, forgotten. Enduring year after year of torture while holding on to memories of me.
The grief I feel is almost unbearable.
But then I think about sitting at my desk, talking to his photograph every morning. About trying to move on with David because everyone said I needed to let go, even though I knew my heart was still Kain’s.
And I think about him coming back, looking me in the eyes, and lying about the mate bond being dead.
It all happened. It all hurt.
I set my coffee down and bury my face in my hands.
I wish he hadn’t had to go through what he did. I wish I could take away every scar, every nightmare, every moment of pain.
But betraying me was still a choice. Using me was still a choice. Lying to me about something as important as the mate bond was a choice he made actively, repeatedly, for weeks.
And I don’t know how to forgive him for that yet. Maybe I never will.
Or maybe I just need time. Time to work through the pain and the anger and the grief. Time to figure out if the love I still feel for him is enough to rebuild the trust that has been broken.
I don’t know if it is. I simply don’t know.
Movement from the couch breaks my train of thought. Kain is stirring, his eyes blinking open slowly. He sees me immediately, and a vulnerable look crosses his face.
“Anne,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.
“I made breakfast,” I say, gesturing to the plate on the coffee table. “You should eat.”
He sits up slowly, wincing slightly—probably from sleeping on the couch with injuries and poison ravaging his system. His eyes go to the food, then back to me.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
We sit in silence for a moment. Him on the couch, me on the floor, the coffee table between us. A few feet of distance that may as well be a mile.
“I saw the door,” I say eventually.
He glances toward the bedroom, guilt flashing across his face. “I’m sorry. I heard you screaming, and I—”
I cut him off gently. “I know. I’m not angry about it.”
“Okay.” He picks up the fork but doesn’t eat yet. Just holds it, staring at the food like he’s not sure what to do with it.
“I’ve been thinking,” I continue, my voice steady even though nothing inside me feels steady. “About everything you told me. About what they did to you.”
He looks at me, waiting.
“I wish it hadn’t happened.” The words come out softer than I intended. “I wish you hadn’t suffered. I wish they hadn’t lied to you and broken you and turned you into something you never wanted to be.”
“Anne—”
“But,” I interrupt him, and his mouth closes.
“Using me was still a choice you made. Lying to me about the amnesia and the mate bond. Making me fall in love with you again while you were planning to capture Violet. Those were active choices, Kain. Not things they forced you to do. Choices you made.”
His face crumbles slightly, but he doesn’t argue.
“I need you to understand,” I say, my voice quivering now, “that what they did to you doesn’t erase what you did to me. Both things can be true at the same time.”
“I know.” His voice is barely audible. “I know, Anne. And I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m not even asking you to understand. I just—” He stops, swallowing hard. “I just needed you to know the truth. All of it.”
We sit in silence after that. Kain finally eats the breakfast I made, while I sip coffee and try not to cry again.
“What happens now?” he asks after a while.
I look at him—really look at him. At the scars and the exhaustion and the desperate hope in his eyes that he’s trying so hard to hide.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
My heart tightens and my wolf whimpers. I still love him. Even through all of this, I love him so completely, and I probably always will. But he has broken my trust, and I don’t know if love is enough without trust.
“I don’t know what this is yet,” I deflect vaguely.
“That’s fair.” He sets down his fork, the plate still half full. “More than fair.”
“Darius said you’re staying here while they work on taking down the organization.”
“If that’s okay with you. If it’s not, I can—”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “The couch is yours for as long as you need it.”
His shoulders sag with relief. “Thank you,” he says again.
I nod and stand, leaving my empty coffee mug and plate on the table. “I’m going to shower. You should get some more rest. You look terrible.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “I feel terrible.”
I turn toward the bathroom, then pause. Without looking back at him, I say, just loud enough for him to hear, “I’m glad you’re alive, Kain. Even with everything that has happened, I’m glad you’re here.”
I don’t wait for his response. Just head to the bathroom and close the door.
Once I’m alone, I let myself cry.