Because this is a bad idea. A terrible, reckless idea that's going to end in disaster.
Darian won't just let me go. He'll hunt me down, drag me back, make me suffer for the humiliation of leaving. And Lorenth—gods, Lorenth has no idea what he's getting into. What kind of man Darian is when his pride is wounded.
But even as the rational part of my brain screams warnings, another part—deeper, more primal—sings with relief.
Because I'm free.
For the first time in years, I'm actually free.
Lorenth descends toward a quieter residential quarter, away from the glittering chaos of the main city. The townhouse he lands in front of is two stories, modest compared to some of the grander buildings, but well-kept. Inviting.
He sets me down carefully on the front step, steadying me when my legs threaten to buckle.
"This is your home?" I ask, staring up at the door.
"Yes." He produces a key from his pocket, unlocking it with practiced ease. "You'll be safe here. I promise."
Safe. There's that word again.
I want to believe him. Want to trust that this isn't just postponing the inevitable. But fear has lived in my bones for so long I don't know how to let it go.
Lorenth pushes the door open, gesturing for me to go ahead.
I hesitate on the threshold, looking back at him. At the fierce determination in his storm-blue eyes, the set of his jaw, the protective way he hovers close like he's ready to catch me if I fall.
"Why are you doing this?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "You don't owe me anything."
His expression softens, just slightly. "Because I have spent two weeks searching for you, Senna. And I won't let you go again."
The possessiveness in his tone should probably alarm me. Should send up warning flags that I'm trading one cage for another.
But it doesn't.
Because unlike Darian, Lorenth isn't trying to own me. He's trying to protect me.
And gods help me, I want to let him.
I step inside, crossing into the warmth of his home. The door clicks shut behind us, and something in my chest loosens—just a fraction.
I'm still scared. Still certain this is going to end badly.
But for the first time in years, I'm also excited.
Because maybe—just maybe—I don't have to go back.
13
LORENTH
I'm barely holding it together.
My hands are shaking—actuallyshaking—as I lean against the wall outside my bedroom, wings tucked tight against my back because the space is too narrow for them to spread. The sound of running water echoes faintly into the hall, a reminder that she's in there. In my home. Safe.
For now.
The bond in my chest has quieted somewhat, that vicious lashing easing to a steady pulse now that she's close. But it doesn't change the rage still coiling through my veins, hot and acidic.
Sold.
