Well played, Moon Goddess.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I will spend the rest of my life feeling guilty for all the ways I’ve gone about us.”
You’d think I’d be mad at how he treated me with the knowledge of who I am to him, but I can understand. And I’m ready to move forward. We’ve lost so much time.
“I forgive you,” I say.
His lips part, and his eyes soften. Then, they fill with tears. He quickly wipes them away with his thumb.
“Hey.” I place a hand on his thigh and the other on the cheek farthest away from me, turning him to face me. “None of that matters now.” Our foreheads touch, and we breathe in deeply until his heart returns to a normal pace.
“Now we can be together.”
He moves away from me, so we’re no longer touching. It’s subtle, but the absence of his touch isn’t something I could overlook. His actions are powerful—it means something. What exactly, I don’t know, but my heart goes from calm to racing again.
“We can’t be together.”
“What do you mean? We’re fated mates. The council—”
“The council won’t accept us.”
“Then we can fight.”
He scoffs. “Yeah? With what army?”
“Is it because of something I did for my herd?”
“Do you think my pack will accept you if they find out you killed their alpha?” He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t matter if they did. The coven wants what they want, and they’re determined to get it.”
Silence lingers between us.
“So, that’s it then? You’re just giving up.”
Insulted, he scoffs his retort. “What?”
“You won’t even try to fight for us.”
“Won’t even try?All I’ve doneis try. What more do you want from me, huh?” His eyes bug as he points to himself. “I didn’t do this to us.” Then he points to me. “You did.”
This is his fault just as much as mine, and he needs to own it.
“My fault?” I blink in disbelief and point at myself. “I didn’t slaughter an entire group of people.”
“For you!” He sweeps the air with his hands in such a fit as he talks. “For you, I’d slaughter the entire lot of them. But I don’t fight for you, right?” He scoffs.
He looks angry, but that’s not what I’m feeling from him—it’s utter despair.
“So, what does that mean? You’re choosing her?”
“I’m choosingyou.”
His choice of words are deliberate. And as nice as they might sound, he’s still avoiding answering my question.
“Are you choosing her?”
“We can’t fight witches, Jay.”
“Are. You. Choosing. Her?”
