Don’t you see what’s happened?I grab two fistfuls of hair and nearly rip the strands out by the root.I can’t use my power without it affecting her and vice versa. I can’t…My ribs hurt.You will kill her, Nightmare.
My father died because of this power. Because someone wanted it badly enough to murder him for it.
And now Chelsea is tied to it. To me. She's more of a target now than ever before.
Its voice drifts like a fog over a lake.I can’t. I couldn’t if I wanted to. She wanted this. She could have rejected it last night when the bond formed, but she didn’t. She grew claws, Eryx. Because this is what we make her feel. It’s what she wants. In case you haven’t noticed, Chelsea has made every decision for herself. She danced with you at that ball. She told you she wanted a different life. She told you she wanted danger. And she said yes when you proposed.
And she fucking loves us, Eryx.
Nightmare keeps going.She is our beautiful monster, because you’ve let her become who she’s always wanted to be.And yes, now she’s joined to us because part of me is in her—this would have happened sooner or later. It just happened sooner.
I drop my face into my hands.Why didn’t you tell me?
Because you wouldn’t have let her help when you were wounded. You would have kept her locked in her room, safe, where she can’t?—
Get hurt!
Live her fucking life! She wouldn’t have lived, and she wants to live. With you. So get some fucking balls and see what the two of you can do together. Prove you love her by letting her be who she truly is—every part of her. You’ll fucking thank me in the end.
The words hit like a physical blow.
Nightmare's right. I've been trying to protect her by controlling her choices. Just like she feared marriage would do. If I lock her away to keep her safe, I'm not loving her. I'm caging her.
But I protect what I love.
Even from itself.
Even if it costs me everything.
I exhale and drop my head even lower into my hands. It’s all wrong. All of it. How do I tell her? How do I explain there’s no going back?
A soft knock comes from the door. “Come in.”
It opens and there’s Chelsea. Her wet hair is wrapped atop her head in a messy bun. She wears a T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, jeans, and those fucking pink sneakers that just might be the death of me.
“You okay?” she asks.
I smile feebly. “Yes. No. Come here.”
She crosses and when she reaches me, I wrap my arms around her waist and press my ear to her stomach. She hugs me tight and whispers, “It can’t be undone, can it?”
I shake my head, and for the first time in ten years, tears spring to my eyes—not from grief, but from fear of losing her.
I blink them away and clear my throat. “No.”
“Seems we’re in a pickle.”
I huff a laugh. “More than a pickle.”
“Look at me.” She tips my face up until our eyes lock. “If I was ever going to be magically tied to someone, I can’t think of anyone better than you.”
"Chelsea—"
"I knew," she says quietly. "Last night, when the bond snapped into place. I knew whatever it was, it was big, and I welcomed it."
My breath catches. "You…knew?"
"Not all of it. But enough." Her hand cups my face. "I chose this, Eryx. I chose you."
