He crumples against me, fingers digging into my thigh. Voice broken, he whispers, “I would have accepted hollow human words, but your very soul echoes the sentiment of what you have spoken. Your very soul is begging for me back, no matter how badly it hurts.” Hot breath hits me when he struggles for air. “What have I done to deserve this? What have I ever done to deserve you?”
I tether myself in his hair. “I don’t think that love is ever something we get because we deserve it. It’s given instead in spite of what is or isn’t deserved, because it’s not a reward; it’s a gift.”
“Danielle.”
I tense. “Yes?”
“Do youloveme?”
My heart trips on that question. Do I? Might I? I’d like to, I think. I’d very dearly like to. But, right now, I’m not sure, which can only mean one thing: “Not enough. Yet. But I want to.”
He swears against my skin. “I can feel how badly you long to. I canfeelit. You want to love me until loving me consumes every inch of what you are. You want to love me until little else remains. You want to put your love for me in place of every time you loved and were taken advantage of instead of loved in return. You want totrustme with your love, because you believe that not only am I capable of reciprocating, but also that I would love youwell.”
“Yes,” I whisper, “that sounds about right.”
He sighs. “Brace yourself, my darling. This will not be pleasant.”
As the floodgates of his presence reopen, there is little but agony, guilt, shame, suffering, andangerthat meets my senses. Knowing fully that not a scrap of the anger is directed at me settles peace back in place, even as the overwhelming level ofpainaches in my bones.
“Talk to me,” I whisper, throat raw. “Until you run out of words.”
His breath shakes, but he obeys. “I have heartlessly killed many. I used to challenge fae to battles before I had learned how to wield magic like a second set of eyes. I’d blind myself and challenge them to train my senses, to revel in the thrill of the chance I might be killed. I thrived in bloodshed. And while Ihave outgrown that violence, I still have no regrets where it concerns the bloodbaths. Both parties made their choices and bet their lives on it. Many times, I’d enter such a display without a singular reason to live. I’d bank my entire existence on the fight. I’d resign to the possibility of death so fully I cannot spare a thought for any who agreed with less conviction. But that is not the worst of me. There are others I killed, others who have seen my eyes and turned to stone without even knowing they should look away. There was a time I didn’t hide my eyes at all, because I did not care.At all.It was only when I met Polly and Cael that I became aware of caution. It was only then that I’d met someone I did not want to risk losing. So I covered myself, covered my sins, covered my blade. Nevertheless, beneath the thin fabric and thinner masks, I remained frightfully…me. So I lost my only friends in other ways, ways worse than death. I lost them to the repeated exposure of myself.” Castor turns his head, laying his ear against my chest. “I am a snake, my darling, my love, my heart and soul. In the days before Pollux and Cael, I’d shift often into that form. It bore no pressure, no demand, no need for words. It asked no communication or community of me. I’d wriggle around and hang from trees in human towns, justwatching. I’d garner a twisted sense of amusement any time someone spotted me. In times long gone, I heralded rumors ofstone plaguesand gathered up cults who never lifted their heads in my presence. I nurtured an ego. I stirred up chaos. I reveled in the horrors I sowed. I am not a good person, Danielle. It took me ages to value life. And Pollux and Cael were patient. So…so patient. They stayed by me for centuries. It took mecenturiesto change into someone whostillwasn’t good enough for the spare two people I wanted to change for. They gave mecenturiesof chances, my love. And, yet, I still reveled in chaos and could not figure out how to value life well enough for them. I still chose murder when threatened while they opted for mercy. I stillfound humor in cruel jokes while they refrained. I still couldn’tquiteunderstand how to help people. All the while, I witnessed how helping came as naturally as breathing to Cael. And Pollux? Pollux longed for the ability so violently he’d often collapse beneath the weight of his own isolation.” Castor’s thumb moves against my thigh, brushing heat into my skin despite the coolness of his pad. “I no longer want to spend my life making cases I can’t win. I am tired of vying for affection. I want to be loved by someone who knows my crimes and kisses my bloody hands. I want to be loved by someone who lets me grow at my own pace. I want to be loved without expectation or judgment. I want to beenoughas I am, even when I am horrible. I don’t want someone to love me out of the belief of what Imightbecome. I want… I want to be trusted. I want someone to believe in me because of what I currently am.” His teeth grit, and he hisses, “And I want that person to beyou. I want tomurdersomeone right in front of you and have you tell me I wasrightto do so. I want your loyalty to overwhelm all sense. I want toberight…but if I am doomed to only ever be wrong, I would also have your unflinching adoration of my wrongness. No questions. Nowhy. No reasoning. Just…acceptance.”
My heart aches and whirls as my head spins with everything Castor’s just said.
He wishes for me to accept cold-blooded murder?
That’s quite the tall ask, isn’t it?
Yet, at this point, it really, really,reallyis too late for me.
“I trust you,” I say. “If you’d like to find someone to murder in front of me, that’s fine. I know you’ll only pick someone very murderable. I do think that many deserving of death find more punishment in life, but many also press their horrors on others, and it’d be nothing short of kind to spare future victims.” I kiss his hair. “What would you think of using our very nice dungeonas a penitence chamber before you grant the murderable a rather—all-things-considered—merciful end?”
“You are surely not suggesting we take up the hobby of torturing people.”
“I am notnotsuggesting it—if that is what you feel you must do to attain peace.”
“My dearest, I… That is wrong.”
I let my lips part in surprise and shock. “I thoughtyouwere wrong.”
“I am wrong, but I have limits. I no longer give in to every whim or want. I have gained knowledge that proves I am no hand of justice and my actions can never be pure when they are motivated only by my own unrest. I have grown into both gentler beliefs and something of a moral code.”
“Have you?”
“I…hope so.”
“I don’t want limits.”
He tenses.
“Not when it comes to what I might excuse in the name of loving you. The devotion you want is what I wish to strive for, because I can’t promise that if you go too far, I won’t have anything to say about it, no questions, no desire for a reason…but I can promise that in every situation I will want to understand you. Without judgment. Without expectation. I trust the way you have felt about me from the first moment I have been able to sense your feelings. They are constant, powerful, and consistent. So long as they remain this stable, I would do anything, rewrite any beliefs, undo any compunction for your sake. Better or worse together, Castor. You give me the freedom to be myself; I will not steal that same gift from you.”
The pain in him…eases, settling like sand in the bottom of an hourglass. His breaths soften, fuller, deeper, calmer.“My feather…my strength…my healing…myeverything,” he murmurs.
I reply, “My kidnapper, my savior, my foundation, my freedom…” I comb my fingers through his hair, let myself trace the snakes on the hairpin I made for him, the only one I’ve seen him wear since I gave it to him. “You are not good, but you don’t have to be to be my everything. I believe in you. In your now. In your future. In the steps upward, and in the slide-backs. I believe in your intention, and I believe in your kindness. I believe in the warmth your cold hand in mine creates.”
His body quakes, and he pushes himself up as he uses his grip on my leg to drag me down. Inches over me, he looms, blindfold damp, lips trembling. “You are magic.” He kisses me. “You are majesty.” He parts my lips and drowns himself in me. “You aremine.”
