Indigo pressed her hands—my hands—against my ribs from the inside, testing, looking for frayed seams that we needed to mend with acceptance for what happened, not banished memories.
“They would chain us and call it love,”she rasped, voice old and flinty but mine.“They would bind you and say it is for your good. They do not get to choose.”
“I know,” I whispered. Or thought I did. The room listened.
Rebecca stepped back slowly, palms open. “Cora,” she said in that careful voice she kept for men with guns and friends with flames. “Breathe.”
I am breathing, you idiot. You all made sure of it.
Aunt Sophia set the tray down. “Elizabeth, the candle.”
A white pillar candle appeared in Aunt Liz’s hand. Flame bloomed in the air, gentle and blue. She set it on the desk before me and let it burn. The scent of rosemary, lemon, and a thread of something clean edged around my panic like a fence.
Dayna murmured in the old language, words that spoke of remembering the shape of yourself. Indigo bared our teeth. The lights above us flickered. The flamingo pool bobbed. Pete did a startled hop onto an unsuspecting Barbie and stilled, one golden eye fixed on me with amphibian judgment.
“I am fine,” I snarled as I rose, which was the official Roberts motto for this dam will hold because I said so.
“Step back,” Sophia said to everyone, voice calm. “Give her space.”
They did, including Rebecca. Indigo prowled.“They think we are porcelain,”she snarled.“They forget we are obsidian.”
My fingers trembled, and I curled them into fists. “Out,” I said, and my voice was not entirely mine. “Everyone out.”
No argument. One by one, they eased toward the door with the care of handlers leaving a big cat alone with a bone. Sophia paused at the threshold. “I love you,” she said. She had never been fooled by my sharpness. I nodded, because some ships can only be anchored by truths.
The door clicked, and silence poured in behind it. The candle flickered. The wards hummed. Indigo breathed once, twice, like bellows.
“Mine,”she growled, and for a wild second, I didn’t know if she meantmy life, my choice, or my mate.When the boundary wards went off, they didn’t chime so much as shudder. A series of heavy footfalls pounded down the stairs. The door slammed open, bouncing against the wall, and Hudson barreled in like a storm. Breathless. Shirt askew. Gold burning in his eyes. He took in the room in a single sweep. Me, candle, frog, cat, abandoned tray of cabbage rolls, no aunts, no vampire. He moved toward me before stopping a pace away, palms out, the way a man approaches a skittish horse or an edged weapon he loves.
“Cora, I’m here,” he said, voice rough as gravel.
It was ridiculous how hard those two words hit. Indigo faltered.“Mate,”she said, grudging but true.
“You weren’t,” I replied, and the petty, human, small part of me savored the accusation.
His throat worked. “I had to put a man in his place for threatening one of our packs,” he said. “He’s not a problem anymore.”
“You’re very good at solving problems. Shame you enjoy creating them.” I was being unfair, but he took it anyway.
“I deserve that.”
The candle flame wavered. He glanced at it, then back at me. “Do you want me close, or would you prefer space?” he asked softly. “I can sit on the floor like a supplicant saint until you’re bored with looking at me.”
“Saint is ambitious.” The corner of my mouth twitched.
He dropped to a knee and bowed his head. “I will take ambitious over absent.”
Indigo prowled to the cage of my ribs and pressed her nose to the bars.“He offers his throat,”she observed, interested in the way predators are in prey that refuse to run. I let the image sink in for a heartbeat.
No, this is not how my mate behaves. “Get up,” I snapped. He rose slowly, carefully, like the ground beneath us might crack.
“Can I touch you?”
“Yes,” I said, far too quickly. He closed his eyes for a breath before stepping in front of me and putting his hands on either side of my neck, warm and steady, thumbs brushing my jaw. He didn’t pull. He didn’t demand. He just… held me.
The noise behind my breastbone dialed down a notch, and the room came back into focus. The scuffed skirting board, the tiny chip in the desk where Bella had pushed a paperweight once out of spite, the ridiculous flamingo with its ridiculous beak.
“I am sorry,” he said, and the words were so clean I tasted salt. “For leaving without saying I was leaving. For not answering. For making you carry something heavy and then acting surprised that you were tired. I’m sorry for taking your choices and your memories. But most of all, I’m sorry for not believing in this incredible strength you’ve shown us again and again.”
