Chapter Four Amethyst
He carries me like I weigh nothing. Arms under my knees and back.
Cradling me against his chest. The same hands that slammed me into a tree.
That wrapped around my throat. That bit hard enough to leave teeth marks on my thigh.
Now they’re gentle. Careful. Like I might break.
I don’t say anything. Neither does he. Just the sound of his boots on dirt.
Then gravel. Then wood as we reach the porch.
My body aches. Good ache. Deep ache. The kind that reminds you you’re alive.
I can feel every mark. Every bruise blooming under my skin.
The bite on my shoulder throbs. The one on my thigh pulses.
My throat feels tender where his hand squeezed.
Not too tight. Never too tight. Just enough.
I’m sore between my legs. Used. Claimed.
Exactly what I wanted. What I begged for.
The door opens. He navigates through the dark house without turning on lights.
Knows the layout by now. Six days of pacing these rooms. Memorizing every corner.
Every shadow. Bathroom. He sets me on the counter.
Cold granite against my bare ass. I hiss slightly.
He flinches. Pulls his hands back like I burned him.
Then he turns. Away from me. Toward the shower.
Reaches in. Turns the water on. Hot. I can tell by how quickly steam starts rising.
Filling the small space. Fogging the mirror.
He just stands there. Staring at the water.
Hand still on the shower wall. His back to me.
Shoulders tight. The predator is gone. Completely.
This is just Kade. And I can see it happening. The shift. The crash. Not guilt. Recognition. The kind that settles in after the high wears off. When the adrenaline fades. When there’s nothing left to hide behind. Just the truth.
His other hand comes up runs through his hair. Grips. Pulls. Fuck. I know this pattern. The high of the hunt. The release of violence. Then the aftermath. When he remembers what he did. What he wanted. What he enjoyed. And what that says about him.
Steam billows around him. Thick now. Hot.
He still hasn’t looked at me. Can’t look at me.
I watch his shoulders rise and fall. Breathing too controlled.
Forcing it. Counting it. Trying to stay calm.
Trying not to break. My thighs ache when I shift on the counter.
Inner thigh especially. Where his teeth sank in.
I look down. Can see the mark even in the dim light.
Perfect impression. Deep red. Purple already forming around the edges.
It’ll bruise dark. Stay for days. Maybe weeks.
Good. I want to remember this. Want to see it every time I look down.
Proof. Evidence. That I let him. That I wanted him.
All of him. The man and the monster. No separation.
No holding back. He shifts his weight. Hand sliding down the shower wall.
Head dropping forward. I can see it building. The self-loathing. The fear.
The certainty settling in. Not that he went too far. Not that he hurt me.
Worse.
That he liked it.
Every second.
Every mark.
Every sound.
Every time I said yes.
And now he has to face the fact that part of him isn’t sorry at all.
That he’s exactly what he’s always been afraid of. A monster who can’t control himself. Who destroys everything he touches. I need to stop this. Before it takes root. Before he disappears into his head and doesn’t come back out. But then he speaks. Quiet. Barely audible over the water.
“I’m sorry."
The words are rough. Forced. Like he’s trying to choke them out before they poison him. But something about them feels wrong.
Incomplete.
Like he’s apologizing for something I haven’t figured out yet.
No. Fuck no.
“Don’t."
The word comes out sharp. Harder than I intended. But I need him to hear it. He flinches. Still won’t look at me. Just stares at that fucking water like it holds answers. His hand grips the shower wall tighter. Knuckles white.
“Don’t apologize," I say again. Firmer this time. He shakes his head. Slight movement.
“I liked it." His voice barely above a whisper. “That’s the problem.”
Silence. The words hang between us.
Heavy.
Ugly.
Honest.
His jaw clenches. “I liked all of it.”
My pulse jumps.
“Kade—”
“The hunt.”
His eyes drop.
“The chase.”
Lower.
“The marks on you.”
His voice turns rough. Raw.
“Looking at you and knowing they came from me.”
“I know."
He laughs once.
Bitter.
“That’s not the problem.”
“I wanted you to."
His eyes squeeze shut. Like that somehow makes it worse.
His jaw clenches. I can see it even from behind.
The muscle jumping. The tension radiating through his entire body.
He’s spiraling. Right in front of me. Taking something good.
Something we both needed. And turning it into proof of his monstrosity.
Fuck that. I slide off the counter. My legs protest. Sore.
Used. Exactly how I wanted to feel. I walk to him.
Bare feet on cold tile. Steam swirling around us both now.
Hot. Thick. He still won’t turn. Won’t look.
“Look at me," I command.
He doesn’t. I grab his jaw. “I wanted it," I say. Each word deliberate. Clear. “Every fucking second of it. Those marks aren’t proof you lost control." Finally his eyes lift and look at me.
“They’re proof you were already mine long before either of us admitted it.”
“Amethyst—"
“No. Listen to me."
My grip tightens on his chin. “I begged you. Do you remember? I begged you to stop holding back. To give me the predator. To fuck me like the monster you are."
He swallows hard.
“I asked for rough. For hard. For all of it."
“You could have—"
“But I didn’t." I cut him off. “You know why? Because when I said your name—when I needed you to stop—you did."
His eyes flicker. Recognition.
“You had your hand around my throat," I continue. “Squeezing. And I said your name. Once. That’s all it took."
“That was different—"
“It wasn’t."
My other hand comes up. Grabs his face with both hands now. “You have more control than you think. You stopped when I needed you to. You gave me exactly what I asked for. Nothing more. Nothing less."
“I marked you—"
“Yes. And I’d let you do it again.”
I release his face. Grab his hand. Press it against the bite on my shoulder. He tries to pull away. I don’t let him.
“Feel that?" I ask. “That’s not damage, Kade. That’s not something to apologize for. That’s proof I wanted you. All of you."
His hand trembles under mine. I move it lower. To my thigh. To the teeth marks there. “This too," I say.
His eyes lock on the bruises.
Hunger flashes there.
Gone almost immediately.
Buried beneath guilt.
But I saw it.
“Stop looking at them like they’re something to regret.”
His jaw tightens, “Amethyst—”
“You don’t get to look at them and regret them. Like they shouldn’t be there.”
“You’re hurt—"
“I’m sore." I correct him. “There’s a difference. I’m sore because I asked you to fuck me hard. I’m marked because I wanted to be. I’m bruised because that’s what happens when you get exactly what you need."
He’s breathing harder now. Not panic. Something else. Trying to believe me. Wanting to. But the guilt is still there. Clinging.
“Stop treating me like something fragile.”
His face hardens.
“Amethyst—”
“No.” I grab his hands, “You carried me through those woods and all you’ve done since is look at me like you’re waiting to find the damage.”
His eyes drop to the bruises. The bite marks. Every place he touched.
“I hurt you.”
“You marked me.”
His entire body goes still.
“There’s a difference.”
His eyes search mine. Then he nods. Barely. But it’s there.
“So don’t apologize," I say. “Don’t turn something good into something ugly because you’re afraid of what you are."
I release his hand. Step back. “Now get in the fucking shower with me."
It’s not a request. He hesitates. Just for a second.
Then he moves. Strips off what’s left of his clothes.
I’m already naked. Have been since the woods.
I step into the shower first. Hot water hits my skin.
Stings the bite marks. The scratches. Good pain.
Grounding pain. He follows. Closes the glass door behind him.
The space is small. We’re close. Unavoidable.
Steam surrounds us. I grab the soap. Lather my hands.
Then reach for him. He tenses when I touch his chest. But doesn’t pull away.
I wash him. Slowly. Carefully. My hands move over his skin.
Tracing the scratches I left. The marks down his back.
His sides. Evidence of my own violence. My own need.
He watches me. Silent. His hands hover. Uncertain.
“Touch me," I say softly.
Permission. His hands move. Gentle now. So different from before.
He takes the soap from me. Lathers his own hands.
Then touches my shoulders. Careful around the bite mark.
Like he’s afraid it’ll hurt. It does. A little.
But I don’t flinch. Don’t pull away. His hands move lower.
Washing my arms. My sides. Avoiding the marks at first. Then finally touching them.
Fingertips ghosting over bruises. Over bites.
Over scratches. Cataloging the damage. The evidence.
I watch his face. See the shift happening. Slow. Gradual. The guilt is still there.
But it’s quieter now.
Fading.
Being replaced by something else.
Understanding.
Acceptance.
Want.
He washes my hair. Fingers gentle in the strands.
Massaging my scalp. I close my eyes. Let him.
The water rinses away soap. Blood. Sweat.
Everything from the woods. Leaving just us.
Clean. Marked. But clean. When we’re done, he turns off the water.
Reaches for towels. Hands me one. I wrap it around myself.
Watch him do the same. He’s different now.
Calmer. The frantic energy from before is gone.
The predator is quiet. Not gone. Just satisfied.