Chapter 79 - The Thing He Didn’t Say
Chapter 79 - The Thing He Didn’t Say
Evren
The slap still rang in his head, heat blooming across his cheek. He hadn't expected her to do it. No one had.
But when her hand cracked against his face it wasn't just pain — it was clarity. He felt the bond tighten, humming with anger, hurt, and something older, deeper, more potent that made his stomach churn.
Watching her snarl at him, refusing to cower, refusing to pretend, scraped every nerve he had raw. He felt every word she threw at him like it was a cut.
She wasn't wrong. He had felt it first, that strong, deep pull he shouldn't have ignored — and well, he did. He'd known it was there, even before she and Ezekial had made theirs real. Even before he'd met her.
That truth settled in his bones, cold and humiliating.
When she broke down—when her voice cracked and tears spilled—he felt it all through the bond, no way to hide from the ruin in her. It wasn't just rage she was carrying. It was fear. Grief. Loss. He'd never wanted to see it. But he couldn't turn away.
He clenched his jaw until it hurt, feeling the beast in him pacing, wanting to lash out or pull her close. It wasn't just anger; it was that deep, restless animal need that hated seeing her cry even while it burned to punish her for it. hating that he'd pushed her this far. Hating that he could feel every jagged sob through the bond, hot and cutting.
He felt it pulling at him even now, demanding he go to her, comfort her, and it made him want to spit. He wouldn't move. He wouldn't be dragged like a dog on a leash. He was too proud.
But he wouldn't let her break like that again either. Not if he could help it.
He drew in a slow breath, trying to ignore the heat crawling over his skin. His chest felt tight, breath ragged, a snarl threatening to curl in his throat even now. He watched her shaking, eyes blurred with tears she clearly hated shedding.
Part of him wanted to mock her for it.
Part of him wanted to tell her to stop.
Neither impulse sat right, so he did nothing. His claws ached in his fingers where they threatened to break skin. He focused on the others instead.
Thorne still on his perch above them all, unreadable but watchful.
Topher wide-eyed, looking gutted and guilty.
Coren rigid with anger that wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular, just humming off him like a warning.
The blood dolls shifted nervously at the edges of the room, their fear so sharp he could almost smell it, eyes darting between them like prey animals unsure which predator would strike.
Ezekial hadn't moved, but Evren felt the weight of his stare on them both. Cold, measuring. The vampire radiated that quiet, controlled threat, the kind that didn't need snarling or posturing.
Evren didn't care about their reactions. He cared that the bond wouldn't shut up, humming and pulling at him like it wanted to drag him to her feet. Wanted him to console her, to wrap an arm around her shuddering shoulders and gently kiss the top of her head while murmuring to her, not words, but comforting sounds.
He fought it with every breath. He thought about the way she'd glared at him when she called him out, how she'd thrown the truth in his face like it burned her mouth to say it. He respected it. Hated that he did. He'd thought he'd wanted her to crumble, to admit it hurt.
But now that she had, he just felt smaller for wanting it.
The truth was he felt that link, felt it as deep as bone, older than either of them. And he was afraid of it. He let himself feel that fear, let it sit on his tongue like acid, because he refused to lie to himself about what it was and how badly he'd ignored it. He wasn't going to say sorry. He wasn't going to fall at her feet. But he was going to stay.
And that admission twisted like a knife inside him.
The bond pulsed at the thought, warm and undeniable, promising both safety and ruin. He let it stay there, a dull throb behind his ribs, knowing he couldn't cut it out if he tried.
He exhaled, shoulders rising and falling like he couldn't quite catch his breath. He let the memory of the slap burn in his cheek a moment longer, anger and shame curling in his belly. The bond thrummed between them, too loud in his head, too insistent. He felt its weight, its demand, its impossible promise, older than anything he'd wanted to admit.
He remembered every look she threw him tonight, every tremble in her voice as she'd finally broken. It wasn't weakness. It was raw, open truth. The kind that made you want to run or stay forever.
He hated that he wanted to stay.
Hated that she was crying because of him.
Hated that the bond wouldn't let him look away. The room felt stifling, every eye on them, but he didn't care. He'd make her see it. Make her hear it. Even if he couldn't say it pretty. Even if it came out like this.
He swallowed hard, eyes still locked on her. His voice came out rough, lower than he'd meant. "You think I didn't feel it? I did. From the start. I ignored it on purpose. I thought I had time. I thought it could wait. And now you went and made it real with him instead." He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the burn behind his eyes. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to fight you. But don't expect me to pretend I'm not angry about it."
Jaquelyn looked up at that, blinking through the tears on her lashes, confusion flickering across her bruised expression. Her voice was hoarse and ragged. "Made what real?"