Pressing my lips in a thin line, I mull it over. And the more I think about it, the more I realize he’s right. I hate myself right now. I hate that I’m on such unstable footing, doubting myself, and upset. I hate that I don’t feel likemewhen I put so many years into creating a version of myself that I was actually happy with. It’d be easier to pin all of that on her so that it isn’t my fault that I’m so beaten down and miserable, but that’s a huge-ass cop out that I should know better than to fall into the trap of.
The circumstances that I grew up in weren’t my fault, but the choices I’ve made since I was free are on my head, no one else’s. That includes owning up to the fact that I fucked up, even if it’d be easier to pass the blame onto my other half’s shoulders.
My life is many things, but easy hasn’t ever been, and I doubt ever will be, one of them. I’ve never let that stop me before. If I fail, I take a minute to regroup, recalculate, and figure it out.
I adapt and keep moving forward, because I’ll be damned if I let the past win by keeping me trapped there.
“Yeah,” I admit, my voice barely audible as I focus on the dying fire. “That sounds about right.”
He only lets a few seconds pass by before speaking, refusing to let uncomfortable silence take over. “Are you more upset that you killed people indiscriminately without remorse, or that you liked it?”
Snapping my attention back, I find him still staring at me, head tilted as he assesses my face, and by his smirk, he already knows the answer and is simply leading me to it. Blowing out a heavy breath, I admit, “Neither? I literally feel nothing about any of that, which should terrify me, but it doesn’t. The only thing that has me freaking out is that I led you all into a death trap without a good reason when Iknewbetter than to sink to other people’s level. Worse, you’re always going to be in danger if I can’t control myself, and I’m not confident I can keep everything on lockdown anymore. My mental walls have officially melted, and everything I’d meticulously compartmentalized over the years either went up in smoke, or is in shambles.”
“So don’t hold yourself back anymore.” He shrugs a single shoulder, like it’s so obvious. “From yourself,orfrom them. Because whether you see it or not, you’ve been keeping one foot out the door like you’re already resigned to the idea that your relationships are doomed to fail eventually, and you’re guarding a piece of your heart so it’ll hurt less when you have to go back to being on your own. Juggling so many mates is hard enough in the first place, but not going all in? That’s a recipe for heartache and disaster all around; as you’ve already witnessed.”
Cracking his neck from side to side, he continues. “Once you claimed your mates, they became immune to manipulation from outside forces; which is fucking insane, I’d like to add. They aren’t wolves, Sabrina, they’re more on par with hellhounds. Logic dictates they’d be immune to bursting into flames, so I think it’s safe to say they can handle whatever you throw at them.”
Snatching up a new stick, he breaks the intense stare off to prod at the ashes, stirring a few embers to life. “Whatever curse we operate under, it falls in favor of the women. You’re a stronger breed of wolf that creates a matching set of mates. You literally made them to be able to keep up with you; do you really think they’re going to fall apart if you embrace who you were born to be? Because I don’t. I think you were forced to become more than any one person should have to endure, so you sought out people to share the burden. You gave them some of your strength to hold onto, so times like now when you need it, they can give it back to you.”
Reaching up with his free hand, he fidgets with one of the silver rings in his ear. “Being on the outside looking in sucks sometimes, but it does offer the perfect vantage point to see everything those too close to the situation miss.”
My throat is suddenly dry, and even swallowing does nothing to ease the ache. “You have a lot of opinions about my love life for someone that I haven’t corrupted.”
“That’s because I know you better than you know yourself. You’re scared to look too closely, but I’m not,” he declares easily, flipping up a piece of charred wood.
Snapping my hand out, I grab his wrist, needing him to stop treating this like a casual conversation. He doesn’t get to say things like that like they’re no big deal, to poke at a dying fire to try and rekindle it when I’m right here needing the same treatment. And I finally accept that fact, even if it makes me uncomfortable. I can’t go back to being numb; I just can’t. I won’t survive simply existing now that I know what it feels like to really be alive.
“And what do you know?” I challenge, but there isn’t any heat behind the demand, only desperation. I don’t know who I am anymore, and I need someone to tell me before I completely lose all sense of self and spiral past the point of no return.
“You talk in your sleep,” he declares, tossing the stick into the fire. “Sometimes it’s sweet, but more often, the things that come out of your mouth rip my heart out of my chest, out ofallof our chests. The past month while you’ve been sleeping, we’ve been taking turns in the gym beating the shit out of the bag or running off the aggression. It’s agonizing, and yet I listen every night, counting down the minutes until whatever man is sharing your bed is able to chase away the nightmares that plague you without you even realizing you’re as tormented as the rest of us. You think you have such a firm handle over your demons, yet all you’ve done is shove them into the darkest recesses of your mind to be forgotten, but they slip out when your guard is down.”
Wetting his lips, his gaze flits over my face as he twists in his seat. “I know that you don’t actually like coffee, but you’re addicted to the smell and caffeine boost, so you trick yourself into thinking it’s good. That you can’t help but tap the dashboard when going through a yellow light in the intersection even though you’re not superstitious, so you likely picked up the habit from someone, and it’s your way of keeping them around.”
My eyes burn, the faint memories of watching Dad from the backseat blurring and fading more with every passing year.
Cupping my jaw, he strokes his thumb over my cheek with a wry smile. “And I know that you have no intention of sacrificing yourself for any of us, and I respect the hell out of you for it. I don’t want to use you to save my home, Sabrina, I want you tobecomehome. To live, and remind people what it means to have something worth fighting for. To force them to take a hard look at their lives like you did, and want something better than simply surviving.”
Leaning in, he settles a hand on my knee, whispering in my ear, “Unlike the rest of them, nothing about you makes me want to be a better man.” Slowly, he slides his palm up my thigh a few inches. “I want to cave into every depraved impulse, and help you burn that entire mountain to the ground. But whether it’s kneeling before you, or standing by your side, I’m a happy man simply knowing that everything I’ve hoped for all of these years is true.”
Voice rough, I rasp, “And what’s that?”
Pulling back, he rests his forehead against mine. “You exist. And it isn’t as a means to end our suffering, but to remind us of why we’re a dying breed so we can rectify our mistakes. You’re too good for us, Sabrina, if only because you inspire us to throw what remains of our souls onto the pyre.”
