I barely get my hands on the toilet before bile surges up my throat, convulsing violently, and I throw up everything I ate yesterday.
I hear Dean rush in behind me, but he stops just outside the bathroom.
Maybe he’s finally realizing I’m nothing but trouble after all.
But then his hand is there on my back, steady and warm, rubbing slow circles, and the tears flowing down my face aren’t just from throwing up anymore.
This man never leaves. Anyone else would’ve walked away by now, decided I’m not worth what I’m putting him through, buteither Dean has no sense of self-preservation, or he truly wants to be here. For better or worse.
Everything feels unsteady once I’m done, and Dean pressed a glass of water into my hand. I lean against the sink, my hip braced against the marble as I brush my teeth with shaky hands.
My reflection mocks me in the mirror as I wash my face. When I look back, Dean is still there, sitting on the floor with his back against the tub, looking up at me… waiting for me to let him in.
Something inside me cracks, and I drop to my knees and crawl back to my mate. He opens his arms as I collapse beside him, resting my head on his thigh, wrapping myself around his middle, and burying my face in his stomach.
Maybe if I hold tight enough, the world can’t reach me, and I can hide here forever.
Dean pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my head as his fingers run through my hair, gently massaging my scalp.
He is my lifeline. I never thought I’d find someone who could help me with things I can’t even admit out loud, but Dean soothes every burn on my soul like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Sometimes when he looks at me… I believe I’m not broken.
He doesn’t just say he wants me, he proves it every single day. And never gets tired of my questions. Never gets frustrated when I keep doubting him.
He stays… even when I don’t expect him to.
There’s so much inside me, it feels like I’ll explode if I keep holding it in. I need to let it out. I need to breathe without constantly being afraid of what will happen next.
It hurts to breathe. I can’t do this anymore.
“My mother sold me to Tiberius when I was three.” The words spill out before I can stop them. Dean sucks in a sharp breath through, his hand going still in my hair.
The silence that follows feels heavier than the confession.
For a minute, I’m scared that telling him his mate was once a slave is going to ruin everything we’ve built. But then his grip tightens, gently pulling me up just enough to press a kiss to my forehead before letting me sink back into him.
He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he holds me closer.
“Tiberius doesn’t have a harem like some kings. He has slaves. He doesn’t believe they deserve titles or power when their existence is only for his benefit. Families ‘gift’their daughters to him to gain rank. I don’t even know if my mother is alive… and I don’t think I want to after she handed me to that monster.”
The words taste bitter, but now that I’ve started, I can’t stop.
When I finally look up, rage burns in Dean’s eyes.
I don’t understand how he carries that anger inside him and still manages to be gentle with me, to smile for me.
The anger and hatred inside me make it hard to breathe sometimes.
Maybe one day he’ll teach me to hold it without letting it consume me.
His voice is low, controlled as he asks, “Where’s his fated mate?”
“He killed her because…” I swallow hard, choking on the truth. “He killed her because she was barren.”
Dean shakes his head, disgust flickering across his face.
Tiberius has a purple crystal he stole from the goddess of childbirth.
