My pulse thumps so loud I can taste it. “Why don’t you just sever it? Leave. Walk away with your brothers. Forget I exist.” The thought is a plea and a test at once.
The room hushes. Bastion and Cassiel both watch as if the answer matters more than the tide. Deimos studies me, thumbbrushing my skin. For a beat his face is softer. Then he asks, quietly, “Is that what you want?”
The truth is small. “No,” I whisper, and the word surprises me with its honesty.
Deimos’s mouth twists into a cruel smile. His thumb drags across my cheek and then he leans in, kissing me with the kind of hunger that feels like ownership. His mouth brands mine. When he pulls away I am breathless, lips swollen, dizzy with something that is equal parts safety and captivity.
He turns to Bastion with a plan. “It’ll be a while before Zepharion sends more guards,” he says. “Take her back to her dorm. Pack only what you need.” His tone is practical in a way that implies leave nothing to chance.
“What about my parents?” My voice cracks. “What about school?”
Bastion shifts closer. There is an unsettling warmth in his manner as he speaks low and steady. “A Warden of Hell hunting you is a little more important than classes, Hellcat.” He pauses and his words sharpen. “And those people you call parents? They’re not actually your parents.”
The sentence lands and I feel my world lurch. “They’re the only parents I’ve ever known.” My voice is small.
“We’ll worry about them later,” Deimos says, and there is a promise in that, or a threat. “Cassiel and I will search the records. We’ll find out who your real parents are.”
Cassiel says nothing. His silence is a cold thing. I wipe my eyes on the back of my hand and try to stand tall when Bastion offers his hand. “I don’t need a bodyguard,” I say because it is bravado that keeps me from falling apart.
“You have one anyway,” Bastion says with a grin. He takes my hand and it is warm and steady and real.
Deimos watches us. Cassiel stares at the floor. I do not know who I am. I do not know what is coming. One thing stands outwith a terrible clarity: I cannot do this alone. Maybe I don’t have to.
THIRTY
Ican feel his disapproval.
It hangs in the air, thick and choking. Deimos watches me from where he stands, arms folded, eyes burning into my back as I scrub at the blood on the floor. I already feel hollowed out. I do not need him making it worse.
I scrub harder than the stain deserves, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache. Why did I say it? The words bounce around my skull and refuse to quiet. We could have handed her over. I meant to stop the bloodshed, to end the fight before it started.
In that light my offer looked like mercy. In Lillien’s eyes it read like betrayal. The look she gave me—hurt and disbelief—settles in my chest like a stone. I betrayed her. As if someone had been waiting to prove I would.
Deimos moves at last, slow as a predator. He stops beside me and watches for a long moment before he speaks with casual cruelty. “After I fucked her, we fell asleep,” he says.
Of course he would say it that way. My stomach twists. I keep scrubbing, working the rag until my fingers numb, but his voice keeps going, calm and precise and pointed.
“I slipped into her dream,” he says, lowering his tone so that the words become knives. “The bond pulls that kind of thing.” Istop mid-scrub. “I expected her to dream of me. Or Bastion. But instead, I found you.”
The room narrows. I do not want to hear where this is heading, but I have always been a coward for truth. I look up and meet his gaze. It is a mistake. His violet eyes glitter with amusement and something else, a wounded possessiveness I do not belong in.
“She had you on your knees,” he says. “Tempting you. Breaking you.” He leans in, voice low, almost a growl. “Even in sleep, she wants to ruin you. Maybe I should let her.”
The image blooms and I want to crawl out of my skin. Her fingers sliding through my hair, the soft command in her mouth, the way I would fold into her and whisper myself away. My cock betrays me with a twitch. If she asked, I would do it. I would kneel. I would burn and thank her for the burn.
The thought is a sickness and an ache.
I slam the bucket down so hard the sound cracks the quiet and I stand too fast. “Enough,” I snap, and the word is sharper than I intend. Deimos tilts his head, and the pleasure he takes in my loss makes bile rise in my throat.
“You know,” I say through clenched teeth, “I already feel guilty enough.” My voice is small next to the weight of what I have done. I do not want his scorn. I do not need him to pry at the wound I made. But his smirk evaporates and something else takes him.
He steps in until his chest presses against mine. His hand grips my shirt like iron. He never loses his temper with us. Not like this. Not often. Now he is furious, and the fury is a physical beast. I could push him away. I could bend him backward and break the hand holding me.
But I don’t. I can’t.
“You think this is about your guilt?” he snarls. “You were willing to hand overmy mateto a Warden of Hell.” Theaccusation hits harder than I expected. His words burn because they are true in the way I tried to make them not be. “She was bonded to me,” he continues, voice low and dangerous, “she wasours. And you didn’t even hesitate.”
Shame rips through me with the force of a gale. I try to shove past him but his grip is a tether. “I wasn’t thinking,” I manage. It is a poor defense. It is the truth and it is nothing.
