Her breathing changes against my neck.
“I’ve been falling in love with you for months,” I admit, the words finally finding their way out. “But today, sitting there completely helpless while you faced that trial alone…that’s when I knew I was already too far gone to pretend otherwise.”
She pulls back to look at me, those steel-blue eyes searching my face.
“You love me,” she says, like she’s testing the words.
“I love you,” I confirm, my hand still moving in gentle circles on her back. “I love watching you kick ass. I love that you’re not fighting your nature anymore. And I love that you don’t need me to save you—you just need me to stand beside you while you save yourself.”
She searches my face for any hint of deception or manipulation. “Even the dark parts?”
“Especiallythe dark parts.” The honesty in my voice surprises even me. “Seeing you work today, seeing you discover what you’re capable of—it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
Something flickers across her expression—surprise, maybe relief, definitely something that looks like hunger.
“You’re not trying to save me from myself,” she observes.
I scoff. “No. I’m not.” I cup her face with my free hand, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. “You don’t need saving. You need someone who can match what you’re becoming.”
Her eyes widen, and I realize I’ve just admitted something that should probably terrify me.
I’m not just accepting her transformation—I’m encouraging it.
Enabling it.
Finding it intoxicating in ways that probably make me complicit in whatever she becomes.
My conscience wars with my heart as the full implications settle in.
A better man would be concerned about her humanity and would try to preserve whatever innocence might be left after today’s trial.
A better man would worry about the psychological cost of embracing violence and manipulation as natural expressions of her personality.
But I’m not a better man.
I’m someone who watched her break another human being and felt nothing but arousal and admiration.
“Are you worried about what I’m becoming?” she asks quietly.
I consider lying, offering reassurance about her essential goodness or the possibility of finding balance. Instead, I give her the truth, which is what she’s always wanted.
“I’m worried I don’t care enough about what you’re becoming. I should be concerned about you losing your humanity. I should want to protect the gentle parts of you that Matteo spent your entire life cultivating.” I meet her gaze directly. “But all I can think about is how magnificent you looked when you stopped fighting yourself and started using everything you are.”
Her smile is absolutely devastating, and it makes me hard all over again. “You’re not going to try to save me,” she breathes.
I stroke her cheek with my knuckles. “I’m going to help you become what you choose to be. Even if what you choose scares the rest of the world.”
She leans down and kisses me again, softer this time but no less intense.
When she pulls back, there’s something settled in her expression that wasn’t there before.
“I love you,” she says simply. “And I choose this. I choose to become whatever I need to be to survive in this world.”
“Even if it makes you dangerous?”
Her smile turns devious. “Especiallyif it makes me dangerous.”
The certainty in her voice should worry me. Instead, it sends heat spiraling through me all over again.
