Chapter 173
Elena's POV
The question hung in the air like a blade. I felt my breath catch.
His voice was low, controlled, but I could hear the edge beneath it. The hurt. The doubt.
My fingers tightened on his sleeve. "How do you know about that?"
"Does it matter?" His jaw was set, eyes fixed somewhere past my shoulder. "Did you go?"
"I—" The words tangled in my throat. I thought of that awful time, the coffee shop, the ambush. "Your father's assistant called me. I didn't know Damon would be there until I walked into that room."
Caleb's body went rigid beneath my touch.
"Marcus and Isabella were both there," I continued quickly, the explanation tumbling out in a rush. "It wasn't—I wasn't trying to hide it from you. I just... I didn't get a chance to tell you before everything happened."
His silence was worse than anger. I could feel him retreating even as I held onto him, pulling back into that cold, unreachable place where I couldn't follow.
"I told Damon we're done," I said, my voice cracking slightly. "I made it clear. We're not even friends anymore."
Still nothing. Just that terrible, suffocating quiet.
I thought about the rest of it—about Damon seeing the condoms in my bag, about his disgusted reaction, about how utterly humiliating the whole thing had been. My face burned at the memory. I couldn't tell Caleb that part. I just... couldn't.
"There's nothing between us anymore," I whispered. "You have to believe me."
Finally, Caleb moved. His hand came up to cover mine where it gripped his shirt. "Did you tell him you used to like him?"
The question caught me off guard. "What?"
"Damon said you told him that. That you used to have feelings for him."
Heat flooded my face—not from embarrassment this time, but anger. "He told you that?"
"Did you say it?"
"I—yes, but—" I pulled back slightly, trying to see his face. "I have you now. I'm not going to look at Damon again. And then he just... God, I'm going to kill him."
"Elena."
"That was misplaced affection. I blindly listened to what they told me," I said fiercely. "I told him I can't stand him now. That's what I said."
Caleb's expression relaxed somewhat, but remained tense.
"I need to go back there," I said suddenly, trying to sit up. "I need to slap him again. Maybe twice this time."
"Elena—"
"I'm serious." I was already pushing the blanket aside. "I already gave him one slap that day. Clearly he didn't learn his lesson. Now he's twisting my words. He had no right to make you think—"
Caleb's hand closed around my wrist, stopping me. When I looked at him, really looked at him, I saw it—the corner of his mouth had lifted. Just barely. But it was there.
A smile.
My anger dissolved instantly, replaced by something warm and overwhelming. "You're smiling."
He tried to school his features back into neutrality, but it was too late. I'd seen it.
"You think I'm joking?"
"I think," he said slowly, his thumb tracing circles on my wrist, "that you're ridiculous."
"I'm protective," I corrected. "There's a difference."
His smile widened slightly, and something in my chest loosened. This was the first real emotion I'd seen from him since he came home. Not the cold distance, not the careful control—just Caleb.
"Say it again," he said quietly.
"Say what?"
"What you told him. About having me."
My face heated. "Caleb—"
"Say it."
I bit my lip, then leaned closer, my arms sliding around his neck. "I have you now. I'm not going to look at Damon. I'm not going to think about him. I'm not going to—"
"That's not what I want to hear."
I pulled back slightly, searching his face. His eyes had darkened, that amber glow more pronounced now. Hungry.
"Tell me," he said, his voice dropping to something rough and raw, "that you're mine."
The words should have scared me. The intensity in his gaze should have made me hesitate. But instead, I felt something settle into place, something that had been off-kilter since the moment he walked through the door tonight.
I pressed closer, my face finding the curve of his neck. His scent wrapped around me—ice and cedar and smoke, familiar and safe and home.
"Mark me," I whispered against his skin.
Every muscle in his body went taut. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, could hear the sharp intake of breath.
"Elena." My name came out strangled.
"Please." I tilted my head slightly, exposing more of my throat. "I want—"
His hand came up to cup the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair. For a moment, I thought he would do it. I could feel the tension thrumming through him, the barely leashed control.
Then he pulled back, just enough to press his forehead against mine. His breathing was ragged, uneven.
"Soon," he managed. "The full moon is coming soon."
I blinked, confused and frustrated and aching. "But—"
"It has to be perfect." His fingers traced the side of my neck, the touch feather-light and trembling. "When I mark you, I want the Moon Goddess to witness it. I want our bond to be as strong as it can possibly be."
"I don't care about—"
"I do." His thumb pressed gently against my pulse point. "I care. I want to claim you under the full moon, when everything is right."
The raw emotion in his voice made my throat tight. This wasn't about control or tradition—this was about him wanting to do this right. Wanting to give me something perfect, something untainted by all the chaos that had brought us here.
"Caleb," I whispered.
He kissed my forehead, then my closed eyelids, then the tip of my nose. Each touch was reverent, careful. When he finally reached my lips, the kiss was soft. Gentle. A promise.
"Wait for me," he breathed against my mouth. "Just a few more days. Can you do that?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Good." He pulled me closer, tucking my head under his chin. "We have all the time after that."
I closed my eyes, letting his warmth seep into me. The full moon was less than a week away. I could wait. I could be patient.