One after the other, all the other versions of her stepped out from the mirrored barks and walked toward her, accusation in their eyes.
The scared one.
The used one.
The silenced one.
And Daphne’s heart roared with fury. “I lived through you,” she spat. “I survived despite you. I owe you nothing. Nothing.”
The reflections didn’t even flinch while her anger pulsed and her hands curled up in fists. She’d burn it down. Burn it all to hell, and none of these versions of her would ever touch her, ever again.
She only had to find a way to make them go, once and for all, she only–
Daphne felt him, through the bond and in her heart, the moment he was with her, and she closed her eyes. “Hunter.”
He didn’t come to her from the trees, didn’t charge in with the intent of saving her–she needed no such thing. No. He came to her as fog, white and pure as first snow, and wrapped around her legs, curled himself on her hips and back, taking shape behind her.
When she turned, he was there.
The wretched figures surrounding her were still there, accusing and broken. He looked at them. And nodded, as if to salute them all. As if they were not a distorted, useless part of her that she despised. “You see them,” she stated.
“Of course.” His blue eyes locked on hers, and he tilted his head. “You hate them.”
“How can I not?”
His smile was as soft as the touch on where her heart beat fast. “They are you.”
Temper snapped. “No. Never again.”
Disappointment flickered in his eyes for a flash, and it was gone. It made no sense, but she didn’t care enough to delve deeper into it. “Why are you here?” she asked.
“Because you needed me.”
“I need no one.”
It was the truth.
It was a lie.
Pain clutched her throat, but she ground her teeth.
“Maybe,” he conceded, completely unbothered. “You wanted me here, though.”
And that was enough for him, wasn’t it? What she wanted, even what she needed and couldn’t voice. He would be there for it.
Hunter didn’t want to take power, to take control–of her or their relationship. He didn’t want to hurt her, abuse her, make her feel small and useless and weak. He was safe, whole, whileher rage scorched the inside of her chest hollow until there was nothing but ashes. And even keeping her back ramrod straight, she leaned into the feeling of him.
The figures surrounding them disappeared into the same nothing she felt inside.
Tired.
She was tired. So damn tired. Of surviving. Of telling herself she was great. Of holding the line with spite and rage. “I need–” she closed her eye, hating the word. “Iwantto feel something that’s not this.”
He didn’t even stop to think. “I’m here. Just tell me how.”
She drew a long breath, let it go slowly, her eyes still closed.Take control, she whispered through the bond. It was easier to ask if she didn’t have to say it out loud, as if hearing those words of surrender would make it too real for her to deal with.Take me, she added.Make me forget.
He brushed tender fingers on her cheek. “Look at me, sweetheart. I love you,” he said when she complied. They lay on the moss that bloomed beneath them like a cradle, impossibly soft now and glowing faintly with dreamlight. His hand traced her body, a slow caress from her lips down to her breasts, her hips, her thigh. She couldn’t have said what they wore before, but now it was only skin.
