She spots the cave entrance that I’m headed for instantly, pulling on her reserves for an extra boost of strength to hurry up now that there’s an end in sight for today. “Kiss-” she pants “- ass.”
I finally reach the cave situated about a dozen feet above the water, audibly groaning in relief when I’m able to let go of my death grip on the rocks. Offering her a hand to help her inside, the two of us flop onto the floor, trying to catch our breath after hours of scaling the cliff. Grinning with my eyes closed, I take another minute to breathe before rolling onto my side.
Her hair is a wild mess of tangles around her sunburned face, paint splattered clothes stiff from the ocean salt and sun drying. She’s in desperate need of a hot bath and to sleep for a week straight, but I don’t think I’ve ever loved her more than I do in this moment. She’s not just fighting for us, but for herself for once. The longer we’re out here, the more her emotional bandwidth shrinks until she can’t muster up the energy to give a shit anymore. To quote my beautiful mate, ‘Fuck Dane, fuck those assholes that stood around with their phones out instead of helping while we were being attacked, and fuck the world for making everything so godsdamned complicated.’
“Can I ask you a question?” At my words, she prys open one eyelid to warily look at me, but doesn’t move from her position.
“Is that what we’re going to do today? We’re going to fight?” she asks, sounding exhausted before closing her eyes again with a groan. “Because full disclosure, I’m beat, so you’ll be getting blunt honesty. Proceed with caution.”
Smiling, I brace my cheek on my palm, elbow digging into the stone beneath us. “Noted.” Warring with myself if I want to ask after her warning, I decide yes; I genuinely want to know, even if the answer isn’t one I want to hear. “Why haven’t you asked me to mark you?” Her eyes fly open this time, but I press on. “You’re cool with Kasen in your head, Malcolm in your chest, and accepted this whole mate thing. So what am I doing wrong that you’re still reluctant where I’m concerned?”
Rolling onto her stomach, she folds her arms, resting her cheek to look at me and wetting her lips before speaking hesitantly, “Because you’re holding back and it makes me pause, trying to figure out why. You claim to be all in, but from our conversation the other day, it’s clear there’s a lot more to you than you’ve shown me, and you seem both desperate for me to see you, and terrified of letting me.”
Sighing, she elaborates, “I completely trust that you wouldn’t abuse the link in my head, but it just seemed... wrong, I suppose? To have that connection when I don’t really know you because you’re always projecting the version of yourself that you think people want to see. It’s like I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
My stomach lurches and I push myself upright. “You’re the only person that actually knows me. You see me.” The air in my lungs becomes thin, making breathing a challenge. “A few days ago, when we were climbing after I woke up. Youlooked at me. You saw me.” I bite down on my tongue, dialing back my vehemence as I realize I’m being irrational.
Her expression softens, and I sort of hate it, associating it with pity. “I did, and that’s exactly why I was giving you the same gift you gave me; time. Not like I could rush you into being comfortable enough around me to drop your defenses or demand you trust me.”
I release a long, slow breath to keep myself in check, well aware I’m just burned out and exhausted. “I trust you more than anyone, especially myself. There’s no one I’d rather be stranded with.” Her lip twitches and I scowl, realizing I’m doing it again; deflecting and making jokes because I’m internally freaking out. “Get to know me, then. Ask me anything.”
She mulls it over for a second before prompting, “You said you’re the middle child of five, but you haven’t told me anything about your parents.”
Running my tongue over my top teeth, I admit, “They’re good at... saving face. Perfect relationship, perfect kids, and perfectly content with their places in the pack. I don’t think they’ve ever had an original thought in their lives.”
She pushes herself up, sitting cross legged in front of me. “How long did it take for you to snap?”
“What makes you think I snapped?”
Raising an eyebrow, she doesn’t pull any punches. “Who wouldn’t snap if the bar was set at perfection? No one is going to live up to those expectations, and you love pissing people off like it gives you a thrill to see them worked up. It really doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you pushed back and when you didn’t fall back in line like they wanted, you moved out here so you could finally breathe. I hate to be the one to tell you this, Beck, but you’re a cheesy romance movie cliche.” I flip her off, to which she simply grins.
Matching her energy, I bypass all of the lighthearted topics to go right for the jugular. “And what about you? We know your brother was a real cunt, but I haven’t heard anything aboutyourparents.”
She doesn’t so much as flinch, the two of us throwing our mutual pain on the ground between us like we’re playing a twisted game of poker, calling each other out and raising the stakes. “Died when I was fourteen; car crash with a mage that walked away unscathed because of his abilities. Dane had custody of me until I turned eighteen. I don’t blame him for hating mages after that, even if it’s unfair, but I hate him for thinking I’m a traitor to our parents’ memory for loving Malcolm. He wasn’t the one that killed them, but Dane couldn’t see past race; he always was a black and white sort of person.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” At my surprised face, she elaborates, “My parents weren’t cruel, but they weren’t kind either. I guess I’m just... indifferent where they’re concerned? And while I appreciate Dane keeping me out of foster care, there was always distance between us. I think I was more concerned with what I was supposed to feel than what I actually did, and my guilt was more of a motivator than love was. I loved him because he was my brother, not because of who he was.”
She rests her chin on her palm, elbow digging into her knee. “So you’re completely right about my identity crisis. I’ve always felt like I’ve come up short everywhere and that there was something wrong with me.”
“You didn’t belong there and a part of you knew it.”
She holds my gaze. “If we’re going to lament everyone that was born into the wrong situation or family, we’ll be here all night.”
Eyes flitting over her deceptively casual form, I counter, “But we’re not. We’re only lamenting the fact that both of us got the short end of the stick. Born into places we didn’t fit in and took way too damn long to find the family we deserve.”
Her dual colored eyes practically pulsate before hardening. “And who decides what we deserve? The ones that put us in those situations to begin with? The fates that tried to mash our faces together like a couple of dolls?”
I take all of the self-loathing she projects like it’s nothing, because honestly, it’s not. Not compared to what I’ve put myself through over the course of my life. “We do.” I meet her eye, ensuring she can see the sincerity in my declaration. “And I decided that I deserve you because I’m amazing, so suck it the fuck up and accept that you’re a prize.” Her startled laughter brings a smile to my face and I reach forward to drag her onto my lap.
Her hands settle on my shoulders as she smiles down at me. “Fine, your reward for all of your suffering is a mentally unstable vampire that’s overdue for a shower. Praise be Beckett Crawford for boning the most despised woman on the west coast.”
Playfully nipping at her chin, I waggle my eyebrows. “Is that an invitation?”
She snorts. “You’re deflecting again. We were supposed to be ripping our hearts out and tap dancing on them.”
I bark out a laugh. “You went there too? I was picturing spite poker with trauma stories acting as the chips.”
