Chapter 80 – Quinton
QUINTON
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Had I pushed too far? Had I wrecked everything?
I should have held back. Should have eased into this, but no—I’d thrown everything at her, every rage-fueled thought, every wound, every godsdamn thing I felt for her, and now she was breaking right in front of me.
And I couldn’t take it back. I wouldn’t take it back. Her body trembled under my touch, her shoulders shaking.
Fuck.
I’d traumatized her all over again, hadn’t I?
I opened my mouth to apologize, to pull back, to?—
“I want you to stay.”
The words were barely a whisper, but they slammed into my chest like a physical force.
Everything stopped.
The world, the noise, the roaring inside my skull—everything went silent.
“What?” I croaked, because I needed to make sure I’d actually heard that.
Her hands clutched my wrists like she was afraid I might pull away—like she was anchoring herself to me. She lifted her face, eyes shining, lips trembling, and whispered it again.
“I want you to stay.”
My knees went weak. My lungs collapsed. My hands tightened on her like a lifeline.
For weeks, I’d stood in silence while she walked past me like a ghost. For weeks, I’d convinced myself that she was gone, that I’d lost her, that I’d made the wrong choice.
But she was still here. She wanted me here. And I—I didn’t have words.
I only had her.
“When I noticed you weren’t at the camp, I didn’t think—I went looking for you.”
Her voice was shaky, barely holding together.
“With every step, I knew something was wrong, so I tracked your footprints, followed them through the dirt, the broken twigs, until I saw them standing over you. Weakened. With blood on your face.” She shuddered, her entire body trembling, and it was killing me.
“I saw red, Quin. So much rage filled my lungs, my blood, my entire being—“ her breath caught, her hands clenching at her sides as if she was still fighting them off, still stuck in that moment—“I didn’t think. I slammed that force into them so they couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t let them hurt you. I couldn’t let them take you from me.”
I could feel it. The way the anger was still simmering under her skin, the way her voice vibrated with it.
“They hurt what was mine.”
Her eyes met mine, wild, as if she was only realizing what she was saying now, but it was too late—the words were already out in the open.
“Mine.”
Fuck. It crashed over me, tearing apart everything inside me.
She was shaking now, her fists clenched so tightly I could see the strain in her knuckles.
“And I couldn’t see anymore, Quin. There was only blind anger, and I attacked, and I—I couldn’t stop.”
She gasped for breath, as if she was drowning in the memory. And I couldn’t breathe. Not at what she was saying, but at the raw, unfiltered truth spilling out of her.
“I was scared, Quin.” Her voice broke, and my chest tightened; my stomach twisted.
“That after all these weeks of shutting you out—“ she shook her head, swallowing hard, trying to steady herself, to hold it together, but failing—“I thought that thing, that precious thing that happened to me, would shatter in front of me.”
She looked up at me, and fuck?—
I saw it. The regret. The fear. The aching realization of what she’d almost lost.
“And I was the one who pushed that happiness away.” She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to keep going, like she had to say it before she lost her nerve. “I couldn’t let that happen.” Her breath was ragged now, uneven. “I couldn’t let you die, Quin.”
I couldn’t take this. I felt everything at once.
The guilt—because she was right. I’d let her push me away.
I’d let her slip further into that cold, isolated place she’d spent years surviving in.
I’d known she was shutting down, and I hadn’t fought for her.
I’d told myself I was giving her space. But the truth?
I’d let her convince herself that she was better off without me.
And fuck, that cut deeper than any blade.
The rage—because how dare she?
How dare she think she could throw me aside, lock me out, and still care this much? How dare she shut me out and then nearly burn the world down when she thought she might lose me? How dare she tell me she couldn’t let me die when she’d spent weeks pretending I was already gone?
My blood boiled, but not at her. Never at her.
At everything that had made her believe she had to suffer alone.
And the relief—because she was here. She was standing in front of me, telling me—no, showing me—that despite everything, despite the distance, despite her shutting me out, she still cared. She still wanted me here.
My hands gripped her arms. I didn’t even know how I’d gotten this close—when had I grabbed her? When had I stepped into her space?
It didn’t matter. Because fuck, she was shaking, and I was barely keeping it together myself.
I wanted to kiss her.
I wanted to hold her.
I wanted to tell her she was mine too.
I wanted her to never push me away again.
I lifted my hand, wiped her tears away, and let my thumb brush along her cheek.
She closed her eyes and leaned into my palm like she was starving for it.
Something in my chest cracked open. Not rage.
Not grief. Something quieter, deeper—the part of me I’d kept locked down for weeks because feeling it without her would have killed me.
“No more tears,” I murmured.
I pressed a kiss to her brow, lingering, breathing her in. “No more walls.”
I kissed the corner of her mouth and felt her exhale shudder against my lips. “No more silence.”
She looked me dead in the eye, and I saw it—the moment she let go of everything that had been keeping us apart. For a long moment, we stood there with her breath mixing with mine, not kissing, not talking.
Together.
Finally.
I pulled her into my arms, crushing her against my chest, and felt her shake with silent sobs. My own eyes burned. I buried my face in her hair, breathed her in, held her like I’d been drowning and she was air.
“I’m here, Sweetheart,” I whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”
She choked out a laugh, breaking into a sob, and threw her arms around my neck, burying herself in me, melting against me. I drank her in—her scent, her warmth, the way her arms tightened like she’d never let go again.
I’d been starved for this. For her.
For weeks I’d had nothing but her silence, nothing but the ghost of her touch haunting me. And now?—
Now she was here, in my arms, and I couldn’t get enough. My hands slid down her back, and I felt her shiver as her body leaned into mine like it belonged there. Maybe it always had.
All the rage, the anguish, the resentment I’d carried—it faded, swallowed by the feeling of her fingers threading through my hair, the shaky breath she exhaled against my throat. I pressed my lips to the side of her head, letting them linger. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me, Azaria.”
She pulled back enough to meet my eyes, searching. “Then show me,” she whispered.
I didn’t move. Not yet. Because if I kissed her now, I wouldn’t stop. And after everything—after weeks of silence, weeks of walls, weeks of her flinching when I came too close—I needed this to be right.
Her eyes held mine. Waiting, not demanding. Just offering. My thumb traced her jaw slowly. Her pulse fluttered under my touch.
“You sure?” I asked. Not about the sex, but about all of it.
“Yes.”
One word, quiet and certain.
I cupped her face in both hands and tilted it up.
Her breath caught. I could feel the heat of her skin, the slight tremor in her jaw.
I kissed her, soft and slow. My lips barely pressed to hers, giving her every chance to pull back.
She didn’t. Her fingers curled into the front of my shirt, and she kissed me back—tentative at first, then deeper, her mouth opening under mine like something unlocking.
I kept it slow. Poured weeks of silence into it. Weeks of watching her walk past me, weeks of reaching for something that wasn’t there. My hand slid to the back of her neck, and I kissed her like I had all the time in the world.
She made a sound—small, aching, caught between a sigh and a sob—and it nearly broke me. I pulled back an inch. Her eyes were glassy, lips parted, breath shallow.
“Hi,” I whispered.
A wet laugh escaped her. “Hi.”
I kissed her again. Deeper this time. Her hands found my hair, pulling gently, and the taste of her—wine and salt and something that was only Azaria—flooded through me.
My body hummed with it. I wanted to devour her.
Instead, I kept my hands steady, my mouth unhurried, letting the heat build between us like a slow-burning fire.
Her back met the arm of the sofa. She didn’t flinch—she leaned into it, pulling me with her, her thighs parting to let me closer. I braced one hand behind her, the other still cradling her face, and kissed the corner of her jaw, the soft skin beneath her ear, the curve of her neck.
“Quin,” she breathed, not as a question or a plea, but like she was reminding herself I was real.
I pressed my mouth to her pulse point and felt it hammering. “I’m here.”
Her fingers traced down my arms, found my hands, and guided one to her wrist. To the bracelet. My breath stopped. She held my gaze, then she unclasped it herself and set it on the cushion beside her.
The silence shattered.
My magic roared back to life, and everything she’d been hiding hit me at once. A flood of want so fierce it buckled my knees. Weeks of loneliness. Weeks of missing me. Underneath it, warm and aching and terrified?—
Need. Raw, trembling need.
“Fuck,” I breathed, forehead dropping to hers. My hands shook. “Az, I can feel?—“
“I know.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I know you can.”
She kissed me, and this time there was nothing tentative about it. The closed circuit roared open. Her desire poured into me, mine into her, doubling and feeding back until I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began. My hands found her waist and gripped hard, and she gasped against my mouth.