Chapter 63 Chapter 63
The night had wrapped the house in thick silence, broken only by the occasional creak of settling wood and the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. Moonlight slipped through the half-drawn curtains of my bedroom, painting pale silver stripes across the floor and the rumpled comforter. I sat with my back against the headboard, knees pulled to my chest, still wearing the torn hoodie from the rooftop—fabric ripped at the seams, gravel dust clinging to the sleeves like evidence I couldn’t shake off. The vanilla candle on my nightstand had burned low; its flame flickered weakly, throwing soft golden shadows that danced across the walls but did nothing to warm the cold knot lodged in my sternum.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Mia.
Her empty eyes. The way her body had simply… stopped. No struggle. No blood. Just absence. And the way The One had walked past her corpse in the hall without even glancing down—like she was furniture. Like she’d been nothing more than fuel.
A soft creak at the door.
My heart lurched.
The knob turned.
The door eased open—no knock, no warning—and he stepped inside.
The One.
Koda’s body, but not Koda’s eyes. Not tonight. They were black-rimmed again, the darkness bleeding outward like ink dropped in water, though the centers still held faint traces of warm brown when the light caught them right. He closed the door behind him with a quiet click that sounded louder than it should have in the stillness.
I jumped—small, involuntary—hand flying to my chest.
He paused in the doorway, head tilted, watching me with that unreadable intensity.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, voice low and smooth, almost gentle. But the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away.
“You always scare me,” I muttered, pulling my knees tighter against myself.
He crossed the room in slow, measured steps—boots soft on the carpet—and dropped onto the edge of the bed beside me. The mattress dipped under his weight. He leaned back on one hand, studying my face in the candlelight.
“You’re thinking too loud again, princess.”
I looked away, toward the flickering flame.
“I can’t stop seeing her,” I admitted. “Mia. On the floor. Empty.”
He didn’t answer right away.
Just watched me.
Then—quietly—“She didn’t suffer.”
I turned my head sharply.
“You say that like it makes it okay.”
“It doesn’t make it okay.” His voice stayed even. “But it’s true. One breath. One pull. Gone. No pain. No fear after the first second.”
I stared at him.
“You’re not sorry.”
“No.”
I exhaled—shaky.
“I thought… maybe you’d at least pretend.”
His lips curved—just a fraction.
“I don’t pretend with you.”
Silence stretched.
The candle flame wavered.
I hugged my knees harder.
“You’re losing control again,” I said softly.
He didn’t deny it.
“Every time I close my eyes I see their faces,” he said. “Molly. Ryan. The boys. The girls. I see them laughing while they dragged you to that edge. I see your hands scrabbling on gravel. I see the moment you thought you were going to die.”
His voice dropped lower.
“I taste their fear. I feel their pulses under my fingers. I want to rip them apart. Slowly. So they understand what it feels like to be helpless.”
I swallowed.
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you do—if you lose it completely—they’ll come for you. The council. The pack. They’ll chain you again. Silver. Wolfsbane. Dungeon. And this time…” My voice cracked. “This time they won’t let you out.”
He looked at me—really looked.
“You’re afraid they’ll take me away from you.”
I didn’t deny it.
“I’m afraid you’ll let them.”
He laughed—soft, bitter.
“I’d burn this whole city before I let them lock me up again.”
I reached out.
Placed my hand over his.
“Then don’t give them the excuse.”
His fingers flexed under mine.
“I’m trying.”
“I know.”
He turned his hand.
Laced our fingers together.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly.
“You won’t.”
“I might.”
I leaned forward.
Pressed my forehead to his.
“You won’t.”
He exhaled—long, shaky.
Then he kissed me.
Slow.
So slow it ached.
Lips brushing mine—soft, deliberate, like he was asking permission with every millimeter.
I answered.
Parted my mouth.
Let him in.
He sighed against me—low, ragged—and deepened the kiss.
Tongue stroking mine—gentle, exploratory, reverent.
My hands slid up his arms, over his shoulders, into his hair.
He groaned—quiet, broken—into my mouth.
His hands moved—slow—sliding under the hem of my hoodie.
Fingers splayed across my bare waist.
Warm.
Possessive.
Careful.
He broke the kiss only long enough to pull the hoodie over my head.
Tossed it aside.
Then his mouth was back on mine.
Deeper this time.
Hungrier.
But still slow.
Still controlled.
He guided me back onto the pillows.
Settled over me—weight braced on his forearms.
I tugged at his shirt.
He helped me peel it off.
Skin met skin.
Heat met heat.
He kissed down my throat—open-mouthed, lingering.
Teeth grazed my pulse point.
I arched—small gasp escaping.
He kissed lower.
Collarbone.
The swell of my breast.
Through the thin fabric of my bra.
Then he reached behind me.
Unhooked it with careful fingers.
Slid it away.
His mouth closed over me—warm, wet, gentle suction.
I moaned—soft, helpless.
My fingers tightened in his hair.
He moved to the other side.
Same attention.
Same reverence.
Then lower.
Kissed my stomach.
The dip of my waist.
The line of my hip.
He looked up—eyes dark, burning, but soft at the edges.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.
I shook my head.
“Don’t.”
He hooked his fingers into my jeans.
Peel them down—slow, reverent.
Underwear followed.
He shed the rest of his clothes.
Naked.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
He settled between my thighs.
Looked down at me.
“You’re shaking,” he said again.
“I know.”
He leaned down.
Kissed me—deep, languid.
One hand slid between us.
Fingers found me.
Gentle circles.
Slow strokes.
I moaned into his mouth.
He swallowed the sound.
Kept kissing me.
Kept touching me.
Building me up—patient, deliberate.
When I was trembling, gasping, arching into his hand—he pulled back.
Looked at me.
“I love you,” he whispered.
The words hit like a shockwave.
My breath caught.
He kissed me again—slow, deep.
Then he pushed inside.
Slow.
So slow I felt every inch.
I gasped.
He stilled.
Forehead pressed to mine.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes.
Not pain.
Overwhelm.
Relief.
Love.
Fear.
Everything.
He started moving.
Long, rolling thrusts.
Deep.
Steady.
No rush.
Just… us.
My legs wrapped around his waist.
Pulled him closer.
Deeper.
He groaned against my throat.
His name fell from my lips—over and over—like a prayer.
He kissed every tear away.
Whispered against my skin.
“You’re mine.”
“Yours.”
“I’d burn the world for you.”
“I know.”
He thrust harder—just once.
I cried out.
He froze.
“Too much?”
I shook my head.
“More.”
He gave me more.
Deeper.
Faster.
But still careful.
Still loving.
My nails raked down his back.
He growled.
Low.
Possessive.
I felt it building—tight, electric, inevitable.
He reached between us.
Found the spot that made stars explode behind my eyes.
I shattered.
Cried out—half sob, half plea—as pleasure crashed through me in waves so intense tears streamed down my temples.
He followed—body locking tight, low groan rumbling against my neck as he spilled inside me.
We stayed like that—tangled, trembling, breathing each other in.
He didn’t pull out.
Just held me.
Forehead pressed to mine.
Quiet.
After a long moment he kissed the tears from my cheeks.
Soft.
Tender.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For scaring you.”
I cupped his face.
“You saved me today.”
He closed his eyes.
“I’d burn the world for you.”
“I know.”
He opened them again.
“I won’t let them touch you again.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
He kissed me once more—slow, gentle.
Then pulled me against his chest.
Wrapped his arms around me.
Held me like I was the only thing keeping him anchored.
And maybe I was.