“Does knowing I’m your mate really change your intention to marry him?” Westley hadn’t meant to ask, but the question slipped from his lips.
“You don’t believe me?” she asked.
“I do. I think I’m just finding it difficult to believe that I deserve any of this, any of you.”
Her silence was not reassuring, and as it continued, his brow began to sweat. His fingers dug into her waist as he braced himself for the moment when she’d inevitably come to her senses and pull away from him.
Instead, she surprised him by placing a palm on his cheek.
“You deserve our bond, West.” She implored him to believe, holding his gaze until his shoulders lost their tension. “But ...” He tensed again.
“But?” he asked. Although, why he asked when he didn’t want the answer, he didn’t know.
“But I won’t pretend I am not still suffering from your actions.”
His stomach bottomed out. It was one thing to know how badly he’d hurt her. It was another to hear it from her lips.
“I know,” he agreed. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
Her anger flared and she slapped his face. “Why the Hel wouldn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to be trapped with someone who hurt you. I’ve betrayed our bond, Solveig. I’ve betrayed you, and I couldn’t bring myself to force you into a decision that you didn’t want.”
“So now you know what I want?”
“I know you want to help your people, and mating me might not have been the best way. I wanted you to be able to choose.”
“How could I choose when I didn’t know?” she implored.
Westley needed to take a step away. She was much too close for clear thought.
“I kissed you and told you I loved you,” he practically shouted. It wasn’t anger at her though, it was anger at himself. He was screwing all of this up. “You may not have known I was your mate, but you at least knew how I felt—how I feel about you.”
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the wall, exposing the creamy skin of her neck. He could barely see the scars he knew were there. He knew every scar she had.
And he knew exactly where he wanted to sink his teeth into her, give her a new scar that marked her as his. Fuck, what was wrong with him? He needed to get a grip. They clearly had a lot to work through before she allowed him anywhere near her in that way.
“You should have told me,” she said without opening her eyes.
“I know,” he whispered. He sank down into a chair he’d spent decades in as a faeling.
His rooms hadn’t changed since he’d last visited. Everything was exactly where he’d left it, down to the unfinished novel on the bedsidetable. But even though nothing physical had changed, with Solveig here, it was like a brand-new space.
She brought everything back to life.
The tan walls that had once been dull and boring were now warm and comfortable. He’d always hated the dead trees that grew from the floors in the corners of the room, but now he could see their charm, how they created the sense of nature. Untamed and free. Like his mate.
Candles burned brighter. The air was sweeter.
Hel, even the carpet felt more plush.
Her presence made the entire space inviting. As long as she was there with him, he never wanted to leave. Lock him up and throw away the key. She was all he needed.
Goddess, he was a goner.
“I understand why you didn’t.” Her strong voice broke the silence.
He whipped around to see that her eyes were now open, staring at him. “You do?”
