"I'm not going to—"
"You should." His eyes were wild. Desperate. "Everyone should. I'm not safe. I'm never going to be safe. What they turned me into—"
"They didn't turn you into anything. You're still you."
"You don't know that."
"I do." I crouched in front of him. Close but not touching. "I felt you through the bond, Stone. I felt you fighting. You didn't want to hurt anyone. You were trying so hard to stop."
"Trying isn't enough." His voice broke. "Cal could be dead. You could be dead. Because I can't control it."
"You came back."
"This time."
"Every time." I held his gaze. Refused to let him look away. "Every time it happens, you come back. That's what matters."
"Until I don't."
"Then we deal with it then."
He stared at me. I watched the war play out across his face—the part that wanted to believe me fighting the part that was drowning in shame and terror.
"You should hate me," he whispered.
"I could never hate you."
"I almost killed your pack."
"You are my pack."
The words landed somewhere deep. I saw him flinch. Saw his walls crack, just a little.
"Lumi..." His voice was barely audible. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be what you need when I can barely hold myself together."
"Then let me help hold you."
"I'm too heavy."
"Good thing I'm strong."
A sound escaped him. Half-laugh, half-sob. His head dropped forward, chin to chest, shoulders shaking.
I reached out.
Slowly. Carefully. Giving him time to pull away.
He didn't.
My fingers touched his shoulder. He shuddered at the contact but didn't retreat. I moved closer, wrapped my arms around him, pulled him against my chest.
He broke.
The sobs came hard and ugly, tearing out of him in waves. He buried his face against my neck, hands fisting in my shirt, his whole body trembling with the force of emotions he'd been trying so hard to contain.
I held on.
Around us, the room was destroyed. Blood on the walls. Furniture in splinters. The smell of fear and copper thick in the air.
