Cruxan’s nostrils flared but she couldn’t read him, couldn’t read what he thought now that he knew everything.
The smell of burning meat reached her nostrils and her eyes flicked to the expertly cut slabs on the hot stone. Ruined now, but she wasn’t hungry anyways.
“Will you say something?” she asked softly, her fingers fidgeting as she waited, as his silence permeated their small camp.
Cruxan looked at her for a long time. He opened his mouth, closed it, before repeating the sequence.
Finally, he made a sound in the back of his throat, his eyes going to the burning meat on the fire.
“I…” his jaw clenched and unclenched. “I need to go hunt again.”
“What?” she asked, perplexed.
“I will return shortly,” he said, climbing to his feet. She craned her neck up to look at him, disappointment and something that felt like bitter rejection filling her chest.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Alright.”
Tears filled her eyes again, but she looked into the fire. Cruxan seemed to hesitate for a moment before he made a sound in his throat and walked away from the camp, disappearing behind the closest line of agave trees. She listened for him, but heard nothing.
Was this how he’d felt this morning? When she’d rejected his words?
What goes around comes around, she thought, hurt.
Maybe hedidthink differently of her now. Maybe hearing her story had changed his opinion of her. Maybe he thought she was still the same damaged girl that had stayed with an abuser for almost three years.
It’s probably for the best, she thought, staring into the flames. It would make things easier, especially when she left.
So why did it feel like a dagger to the chest?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cruxan felt like he was suffocating under the weight of his rage.
When he was out of sight of the camp, when he was out of sight of hisluxiva, he crouched down, closed his eyes, and tried to control the swirling maelstrom of his emotions…of his fury, of his grief, of his disbelief, of his horror.
On Luxiria, females were cherished…now more than ever. Every so often, there was a male who abused his partner. But rape was almost unheard of. Prolonged abuse was not tolerated. Those males were immediately sentenced to death. Those males were not even given the choice of exile because why subject other planets, other races, to their vileness?
Nix, Luxiria was unyielding in matters such as these.
So to hear hisluxiva, his fated female, talk of her abuse, ofallof the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of that male…it made Cruxan want to roar his anguish to the Fates. It made him want to steal back the crystal for himself, just sohecould journey to Earth, find this dishonorable, disgusting piece of trash, and make him pay with his blood and strips of flesh.
The violence that rose inside Cruxan was unsettling. It was not what hisluxivaneeded to witness, not after her account, and he needed time to process her words, far, far away.
But Cruxan didn’t know if he’d ever be able to process them in full. He simply could not believe that any male wouldeverharm their female in that way. He had witnessed many horrors in his lifetime, during battle, during war, but this…this was something he could not fathom.
It all made sense now. He’d had his suspicions, of course, seeing her flinch when he spoke sometimes, seeing her gaze dart away, seeing her physically and mentally retreat. He remembered snippets of conversations they’d had, things she’d said that had unnerved him.
Cruxan raked his hands over his horns, threaded his fingers through his hair, gripping it tightly.
Now he knew. Everything. Now he understood why she was so…reserved. Why she was uncomfortable about sex, about touching, about violence and anger.
His chest ached. That night in the rain, when she’d had to strip off her drenched clothes…he’d heard the panic in her voice at the prospect. Now he knew for certain it was because she thought he might take advantage of her vulnerable position.
Vrax!
Luxirians were much larger than humans, especially the females. She would’ve been powerless against him. That realization would’ve definitely crossed her mind.
The thought made him sick and it took him a long while to calm his churning gut, to calm his racing heartbeat, and to calm the murderous rage within him.
