“Do not touch me.” I step back, putting distance between us. “You don’t get to touch me anymore. You don’t get to hold me or kiss me or fuck me ever again. You don’t get any of it.”
“You’re my mate.”
“No.” The word is final, absolute. “I’m not. Because a mate is someone you choose, someone you claim, someone you’re willing to fight for. You chose your position over me.”
“The pack needs me.”
“I needed you, too.” The admission costs me, but I force it out anyway. “I needed honesty. I needed respect. I needed you to give me a choice. And you couldn’teven do that.”
I look over my shoulder toward the hotel, the warm lights spilling from the ballroom windows. The gala is still going on. People are still dancing, drinking, laughing. The world hasn’t stopped just because mine has shattered.
I turn and take a step toward the lights.
His hand clamps around my upper arm, stopping me. “Where are you going? We’re still talking about this.”
“There’s nothing left to talk about.” I pull against his grip, but his fingers tighten.
“Like hell there isn’t. You’re my—”
“Don’t.” I yank my arm free, stepping out of his reach. “You’re right. We’re stepsiblings. This isn’t appropriate. It never was.”
Panic flickers in his eyes.
“I’m done with you, Darius. I don’t want anything from you. Not these clothes, not the apartment.” I meet his gaze, forcing myself to hold it even though it hurts. “And certainly not you in my bed.”
“No!” Both his hands catch me this time, pulling me toward him. His grip is desperate, almost too rough. “You’re my fated mate. You can’t just—”
“Will you give me the mating mark?” I ask, my voice like ice. “Will you tell the whole pack we’re together? Will you stand in front of your father, in front of everyone, and claim me as yours?”
His mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
I’m trembling now. My whole body vibrates with both rage and heartbreak.
I take a breath. Hold it. Let it out slowly.
The mate bond pulses between us. It’s weak on my end, but I can feel it now. Like a thread connecting us, fragile and fraying.
“I reject you, Darius.” The words fall into the space between us like stones into still water. “I reject you as my mate.” There’s a snap. I feel it in my chest: a sharp pain, like a bone breaking. My knees buckle, but I lock them, refusing to fall. “So, stay the hell away from me from now on.”
I turn and walk away. Each step is agony. Something inside me is screaming to go back, but I ignore it. I won’t let myself hope anymore.
Behind me, I hear a howl. It’s raw and broken, filled with such anguish that pain lances through my chest, sharp and visceral, like someone is carving out my heart with a dull knife.
But the wounds Darius has given me hurt worse.
I keep walking. Back through the garden, across the terrace, into the hotel. People glance at me as I pass. I must look like a mess. Mask gone, makeup smudged, hands shaking, barefoot in a designer dress.
I make it to the lobby and walk straight to the concierge desk.
“I need a taxi,” I tell the woman behind the counter.
“Of course, miss. Right away.” She picks up the phone, makes the call. Her eyes take in my appearance, but she doesn’t comment. “It will be here in five minutes.”
“Thank you.”
The drive back to our hotel is short. I watch the city blur past the window, not really seeing it.
I walk inside. Take the elevator up to our floor. Walk down the hallway to the room. My key card works on the first try for once. I step inside, and the door swings shut behind me with a soft thud.
