Chapter 23

Damon's POV.

As I relived everything in my mind, darkness washed over me in waves. Like lying on the beach at high tide, the shadows swept up my body.

They were thick, viscous things that cared not where I was or how I felt. Each new swell painted me in heavy black, weighing down my skin and soul. They coated the inside of my eyelids, locking me out of my Mind Palace, and they reminded me of Emelia.

Emelia's betrayal.

Pain beyond belief seared into my skull, reminding me of the ball night and David's cold words. I had been betrayed before, of course. My mother had turned her back on me, disgusted as I reminded her of how my father forced her into marrying him and separating her from her true mate. My father had all but choked me with his pride and expectations for who he thought me to be. But Emelia—

Emelia had made me believe.

Time and time again, she made me believe that I did in fact hold importance in her life, that she didn't think of me as a monster like others had my whole life. Emelia made me believe in her acceptance, without condition or consequence. And I, desperate to be genuinely, unquestionably loved, had eaten it up. Had licked the crumbs of affection off the palm of her hand.

Tears burned the backs of my eyes, real rather than imagined. I pushed them down, digging a trench between myself and my feelings. Plunging myself into a sea of calm, but failing inevitably.

Emelia never requested a life by my side, and a life without me was exactly what she would get.

‘For the greater good,’ my father always said, and for the greater good this most certainly would be.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, imagining the scent of Emelia. Or, no, perhaps she lingered on my clothes, always had. Still clinging to my skin with the same voracity that she clung to my heart. Claws sinking to the bone. Bleeding me of hope and faith. Mangling to the point that I was sure I would never love again.

Not the way I'd loved Emelia, at least. Not with any amount of trust.

“Damon? Are you listening to me?”

I opened my eyes, betrayal winding its way to the surface only to smack against the blank white wall of my emotionless defense. And I hated myself because Emelia the betrayer, Emelia the liar, Emelia the fraud—

Emelia was beautiful.

She was everything I had ever wanted. But she was a lie.

"Damon, let me explain myself and then you can decide whatever you want to do with me," Emelia was serious, and I could see a glimpse of her wolf in her eyes. The wolf she'd kept hidden for so long, now while I'm looking at her, she's beautiful.

Emelia closed the distance between us, legs long and perfect. Emelia welcomed herself into my soul, into my heart, and gave me a place to call home. She touched my temple with the tips of her fingers, cautious and over-gentle.

"Would you still accept me if I told you the truth?" she spoke, her voice low.

I stared at the perfect morning stubble on her perfect jaw. I refused to answer.

She pursed her lips and nodded, then said, “I’m ready to tell you about everything now.”

A lock of Emelia's hair fell over her forehead, into her line of sight. I wanted to touch her, to tuck it behind her ear so she wouldn't have to, but I knew better.

She left my side and faced the stacks of books placed on the desk, speaking more to herself than to me, she said, “I hated you for ruining my life, for forcing my parents to give up on me. I didn’t know what was happening, couldn't understand why everyone had just left me to suffer. I blamed you for everything, despised you for claiming me as your mate. I thought you were lying as I didn't feel anything when we met, there was no scent. My wolf was long gone after David rejected me, I never imagined that I'd find someone else."

I kept listening, her words piercing through my heart. She paused, carefully thinking of what to say next, how much to expose, "I was betrayed by everyone and I had convinced myself that you were the root of it. Revenge replaced feelings of betrayal and I wanted you gone. I just knew I needed it done, to avenge the pain you brought upon me. I wanted to kill you. Then I sneaked into the kitchen and stole the cyanide bottle. I was so sure of what I wanted until I realized I was so wrong about everything. After our argument, I panicked and came back to the ballroom to find you. In a room full of lights and people, I only saw you. You were so far yet so close to my heart. I couldn't stop staring, and I didn't know for how long. God, maybe forever until I fainted.”

Our eyes met and I responded, “What changed your mind?”

Emelia shurgged, not knowing how to explain her feelings, “I don't know, but as I stood there with my eyes fixed on you, my heart melted. After everything you'd done, I didn't have to courage to poison you.” Her gaze vanished into the abyss, guilt devouring pain.

I felt hurt, hearing Emelia confess to everything. But I had better control over myself than that. I did, however, look away.

I scoffed. “So now you don't want to kill me anymore? Is that it?”

Impetuous pain flared inside her, I could feel it. She met my eyes again, "Damon! You forced me into marrying you and threatened to kill my brother if I refused. What do you think my reaction would have been after everything?"

“The two events are not equal,” I replied, still bittersweet about the fact that Emelia thought of killing me.

“No? Is that because you forcing me against my will was an act of selflessness and love? Or is it just because it was you?  Because Damon goddamn King can do no wrong.”

My first instinct was to swoon, in love with every single aspect of Emelia. After love came pain, fresh and all-consuming. It wasn’t the poisoning I cared about. It was the betrayal.  It was my heart, small and vulnerable in her palm, and Emelia squashed it between her fingers. It was the ability to trust seeping out the sides of Emelia's fist: a slow and painful drip. And it was how blindsided I'd been, when I should have known.

I should have seen this coming after everything I'd done to her, after stripping her of the life she had known since forever.

But I hadn’t.

And no amount of pride would have allowed me to pretend I had. I looked to the ground, my impenetrable defenses failing, and bitterly murmured, “You came to first.”

Emelia stopped just in front of me. I kept my eyes on the ground. I saw her beautiful, perfect hips and slim, trim waist.

“Damon?”

I didn’t respond, couldn't respond. She gently lifted my chin, forcing me to look at her flawless face. She caught my eyes, and where other people would see hollowed impassivity, I was sure Emelia spotted pain.

Emelia's demeanor, once electrified by rage, softened to cotton. Her lips pulled together. Her shoulders dropped. She dipped her voice in sweet concern and sprinkled in multi-colored pity. “Damon, do you think it was all just a ruse?”