“After you killed him, you looked at me without recognition and said one word: ‘Mine.’ Then you jumped out the window and vanished.”
35
— • —
Damon
The flashback hit with the force of a lightning strike, Rhea’s words unlocking memories my mind had buried beneath layers of protective amnesia. I saw myself in my room that night, pacing like a caged animal. The mate bond had been burning in my chest, new and raw and demanding. Every instinct screamed that my omega was mine, that she needed protection, that threats lurked everywhere.
Then a guard’s casual mention, Laziel heading to the omega quarters. The words had been innocuous to him, routine movement report. But to my wolf, hyper-aware and territorial after claiming our mate, it was a declaration of war. An unmated male approaching what was ours. The rage that erupted wasn’t human, wasn’t rational. It was pure primal fury.
I remembered my feet carrying me without conscious thought, following Laziel’s scent like a bloodhound. The journey through darkened corridors passed in a blur of possessive need. Through Rhea’s window, lit by moonlight, I’d seen him. My brother. Near my mate. Reaching for her with hands that had no right to touch what I’d claimed.
The blood rage had taken over completely then. Humanity stripped away, leaving only the wolf’s imperative: protect mate, eliminate threat. No recognition that this was my brother, the boy I’d grown up with. Just an enemy in proximity to something more precious than my own life.
I watched myself burst through the door, felt the satisfying crunch of wood splintering beneath my strength. Laziel’s face transforming from frustration to shock to terror as I lunged. He had tried to speak, “Brother?” but I had been beyond words, beyond reason, beyond anything but the need to remove the threat.
My claws had extended without conscious thought, finding flesh with devastating precision. The memory was visceral now, the warmth of his blood, the way he’d tried to defend himself, the moment life left his eyes. Through it all, my wolf had felt only satisfaction. Threat eliminated. Mate protected. Mission complete.
“I remember the blood. God, there was so much blood.” The words tore from my throat as I relived every horrific second.
“You were protecting me, in your own twisted way.” Rhea’s voice held no comfort, just stark acknowledgment of truth.
“I tore him apart. My own brother.” My hands shook as I stared at them, seeing phantom blood that had long since been washed away. These hands had ended Laziel’s life without hesitation, without mercy.
“The blood rage... you weren’t yourself.” She offered the explanation like a bitter gift.
“Wasn’t I? Some part of me must have wanted him gone.” The self-loathing threatened to drown me. Because even now, even knowing what I’d done, my wolf felt no remorse. Only satisfaction that the threat to our mate had been eliminated.
The weight of realization crushed me to my knees. I fell before her. Not just Laziel’s death, but everything that followed. I’d condemned her for my own violence, carved her throat for my sin, banished her family for my inability to face the truth.
My hands reached for her before pulling back, recognizing I had no right to touch her after everything I’d done. But the words poured out, a flood of apologies that could never be enough, promises that came far too late, confessions of the investigation that had revealed my monstrosity.
“I’m sorry. God, Rhea, I’m so fucking sorry.” The words felt pathetically inadequate against the scope of what I’d done.
“Sorry doesn’t give me back my life, Damon.” Her voice carried exhaustion beyond her years.
“I know. I know it changes nothing, but I need you to hear it.” I looked up at her from my knees, seeing clearly for the first time the damage I’d wrought. The shadows beneath her eyes, the defensive way she held herself, the scar on her throat that wouldnever fully heal. “You protected me even knowing what it would cost you. Why?”
“Because the truth would have destroyed the pack. And despite everything, I couldn’t do that.” The nobility of her sacrifice humbled me further. She’d given up everything to protect the very people who’d condemned her.
I told her about Carlton’s findings, about the memories slowly returning, about the crushing weight of knowing I’d blamed her for my own crime. With each word, I watched her expression shift minutely - not quite forgiveness, but perhaps the beginning of understanding.
“I destroyed us,” I continued, voice raw. “I let pride and grief override the bond, let them convince me you were capable of something only I could have done. I failed you as a mate, as a man, as everything I should have been.”
“Yes,” she agreed simply. “You did.”
The stark acknowledgment hurt worse than anger would have. But I deserved it, deserved worse. I’d taken her life apart piece by piece, and now knelt in the wreckage asking for what? Forgiveness? Understanding? The right to be near her and our child?
“I know I have no right to ask anything of you,” I said, still on my knees. “But please, let me try to make this right. Not for me, but for our pup. They deserve better than a father who destroyed their mother.”
“Get up,” she said quietly. “Lycan Kings don’t kneel.”
“I’m not kneeling as a king. I’m kneeling as the man who wronged you beyond measure.” But I stood anyway, drawn by the subtle command in her voice.
The emotional dam that had held us at careful distance shattered completely. One moment I stood before her, drowning in guilt and desperate need for connection. The next, I was capturing her face between trembling hands, pouring every ounce of remorse and longing into a kiss that tasted of tears and possibility.
She stiffened for a heartbeat before responding, her hands fisting in my shirt not to push away but to pull closer. We were both crying, salt mixing between our lips as we clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck. This kiss held none of the heat-driven passion of our first night or the angry hunger of the parking lot. This was pure need for connection, for bridging the chasm I’d created with violence and pride.
