I take a sip of coffee and let my eyes drift over him.
He has rolled onto his stomach. The blanket has slipped down almost to his waist, exposing his back and arms. Even in the soft, morning light, I can see the scars. They’re everywhere—thin white lines from cuts, puckered circles from burns, faint track marks from injections.
Evidence of what they did to him.
My throat tightens. I think about eighteen-year-old Kain, full of life and plans for the future, being taken and then broken, little by little. I think about him believing he’d been sold, abandoned, forgotten. Enduring year after year of torture while holding on to memories of me.
The grief I feel is almost unbearable.
But then I think about sitting at my desk, talking to his photograph every morning. About trying to move on with David because everyone said I needed to let go, even though I knew my heart was still Kain’s.
And I think about him coming back, looking me in the eyes, and lying about the mate bond being dead.
It all happened. It all hurt.
I set my coffee down and bury my face in my hands.
I wish he hadn’t had to go through what he did. I wish I could take away every scar, every nightmare, every moment of pain.
But betraying me was still a choice. Using me was still a choice. Lying to me about something as important as the mate bond was a choice he made actively, repeatedly, for weeks.
And I don’t know how to forgive him for that yet. Maybe I never will.
Or maybe I just need time. Time to work through the pain and the anger and the grief. Time to figure out if the love I still feel for him is enough to rebuild the trust that has been broken.
I don’t know if it is. I simply don’t know.
Movement from the couch breaks my train of thought. Kain is stirring, his eyes blinking open slowly. He sees me immediately, and a vulnerable look crosses his face.
“Anne,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.
“I made breakfast,” I say, gesturing to the plate on the coffee table. “You should eat.”
He sits up slowly, wincing slightly—probably from sleeping on the couch with injuries and poison ravaging his system. His eyes go to the food, then back to me.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
We sit in silence for a moment. Him on the couch, me on the floor, the coffee table between us. A few feet of distance that may as well be a mile.
“I saw the door,” I say eventually.
He glances toward the bedroom, guilt flashing across his face. “I’m sorry. I heard you screaming, and I—”
I cut him off gently. “I know. I’m not angry about it.”
“Okay.” He picks up the fork but doesn’t eat yet. Just holds it, staring at the food like he’s not sure what to do with it.
“I’ve been thinking,” I continue, my voice steady even though nothing inside me feels steady. “About everything you told me. About what they did to you.”
He looks at me, waiting.
“I wish it hadn’t happened.” The words come out softer than I intended. “I wish you hadn’t suffered. I wish they hadn’t lied to you and broken you and turned you into something you never wanted to be.”
“Anne—”
“But,” I interrupt him, and his mouth closes. “Using me was still a choice you made. Lying to me about the amnesia and the mate bond. Making me fall in love with you again while you were planning to capture Violet. Those were active choices, Kain. Not things they forced you to do. Choices you made.”
His face crumbles slightly, but he doesn’t argue.
