When they did move, it wasn’t the most pleasant experience. The shower afterwards more than made up for it, however.
As the early dawn approached, they got settled back in bed, Kit resting his head on Quin’s chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart. Quin yawned, loud and long, but kept up his petting of Kit’s hair as they lay in comfortable silence.
Kit opened and closed his mouth several times before he could get out the words that he’d been wanting to say for the past few days. “I should tell you more about Lawrence.”
Quin tensed. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said carefully. “But I’ll listen to anything you say.”
“I think it’s time.”
Quin turned Kit’s face towards him with a gentle hand. “Only you can decide that. Don’t let what’s happened force you into it if you don’t feel ready.”
Kit gave him a tremulous smile. “I’m ready.”
Quin craned his neck to give Kit a soft kiss on the lips, then settled his head on the pillow. Kit moved his face back to Quin’s chest, choosing to stare at the blank wall. He didn’t think he could get through everything if he had to watch Quin’s expressions.
“He took me when I was seventeen.”
Quin sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t interrupt.
Kit continued, hating how his voice already shook. “He compelled me into the car with him and then drove me down south. I barely noticed the drive because he kept layering these commands over me. You know, to obey him and not to fight and to stay quiet. It was… Confusing. Scary. I hated him on sight.”
Quin’s fingers trailed over Kit’s back and shoulders, assuring him he was there and listening without saying a word.
“I won’t go into every detail of what happened that night when we got to the manor house. I’m sure you can imagine.”
Quin made a wounded noise in the back of his throat, a remarkably similar sound to the whine of his wolf.
“Okay, so maybe imagining might be worse in this case.” Kit stalled, digging his fingers into Quin’s arm where he held him. “Um. He fed from me. He broke my finger. And he…”
“You don’t need to say it if it’ll hurt too much,” Quin whispered.
Because Kit could, because nobody was telling him—compellinghim—to keep them open, he closed his eyes. “Lawrence raped me.”
The words seemed inadequate to describe the hurt and pain and degradation of the act, but they still rang in the air as if shouted from a mountaintop.
“I lost count of how many times he did it in the months that I remained human.” He’d attempted to in the beginning, but he was under compulsion so often that it became futile. He’d miss days at a time, and then wake up sore in places that hedidn’t want to think too much about. “The worst part about him recreating me was that I had to remember.”
Quin let out a shuddered gust of breath, and Kit turned to look at him. Unshed tears filled Quin’s eyes.
Kit felt horrible for causing them. “I tried to kill him for it,” he said, hoping it would cheer Quin up. “We did in the end. Apparently not permanently enough, however.”
“How long were you with him?”
“Twenty years.”
“Fuck.”
Kit hummed his acknowledgement. “He grew bored with me towards the end, when I became wise to his games and stopped reacting in a way that pleased him. He wanted someone who would enjoy what he did, to an extent. Lawrence liked the fight—he wouldn’t have chosen me otherwise—but he always desired submission more.”
“You know what? I’m glad he’s back, if it means I get to kill him for everything he did.” Quin’s furious eyes glinted in the low light as he made the vow.
“Killing him was satisfying.”
“We’ll make sure that he never hurts you again.”
The lump in Kit’s throat grew, and he allowed the tears that had been building to fall down his face. Quin pressed kisses into his hair and made soothing sounds. Kit let himself go lax in Quin’s hold, the tension uncoiling from his body, like a cat uncurling from sleep and stretching out into its full length. There was, however, a kernel of worry lodged deep within him that threatened to grow into despair.
“You can’t be sure of anything,” Kit said.
