There was one question I could not help but ask, one question that sat on the tip of my tongue, begging to be released. “Did you ever love again?” I had to know if it was possible or if this sad existence would be my reality? I did not know if it was possible. It certainly did not feel as though it was.
“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “After she died… I think the part of me capable of such an emotion was destroyed along with Caris.”
I did not know if I was relieved or distraught to learn I would never be able to feel such things again. I had never been one for sentimentality, often choosing to shut off my emotions, much to my detriment. Still, Calia had coaxed them out of me despite my hesitancy.
Once I realized I lost her, I knew there could never be another.
“If I may speak candidly,” he said, drawing out his words. “I can see how much you love my daughter. There are auras around mortals, telling the story of their lives—their destiny, so to speak—and yours aligns with hers.” He paused, brows furrowing. “And though I have not known her long, I have watched over Calia her entire life. I have seen the all-consuming way she loves you, and though it may violate her confidence, I know she still harbors those emotions toward you.” My chest became unbearably tight, and I forgot how to breathe. “But she is distraught at the fact you did not disclose the truth to her, and that will be a difficult feat to overcome.”
“Tell me how,” I breathed, sitting up straighter. “Tell me what I must do to earn her forgiveness.”
“I cannot. I can only tell you to persevere. You must show her through your actions, not only your words, for your words have failed her before.” He rose from his seat and walked toward me, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Take it from a man who watched the woman he loved walk away… Do not let her go, Rion. Not if you truly love her. Give her space, give her time, but do not let her go.” With those parting words, he left me alone in the library with an aching heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ihad no plans of retiring to bed, not when Calia was in our home. She would not seek me out—I knew that for certain—yet I remained awake. The information we learned had been vast, and yet I still felt as though we were in the dark about so much.
I held my father’s glasses in my hand, drawing comfort from the worn metal frames. I wondered what he would think of the man I had become, knowing in my bones he would not be proud. Under his care, I would have flourished, loving Corvina with the fire and passion of a thousand suns. But the thought also churned my stomach, knowing if Corvina and I had stayed together as we were destined, Calia would never have been born.
Could I then hate the man for dying? Hate my mother for what she turned me into?
There was no correct answer. And regardless of if he lived or died, nothing would stop me from hating the woman who birthed me.
My father had always said hate was too powerful of a word to use, but I could not help but think of how much I truly hated my mother. If possible, my feelings surpassed the definition and landed in uncharted territory.
More than anything, I hated myself for playing into her manipulation. I let her tear me down time and time again, only for her to pick up the broken pieces and fit them where she wanted them to go.
I let her mold me, unleash my inner monster, the worst possible version of myself, and for what? Some twisted sense of self-importance? Why had it been imperative to earn approval when I knew how she treated me was wrong?
Perhaps it had something to do with a biological need ingrained to make my parents proud. That was the only explanation I could surmise. Anything else would mean I was born with a dead, unfeeling, and malfunctioning heart.
Despite my efforts to show her otherwise, I could not blame Calia for seeing only the worst in me. Who could love the man who brought them to his mother like a lamb to slaughter? No matter how I tried to justify my actions, which in this case I never could, that is what I did.
“Woo her, Rion. Make her fall in love with you.”
My mother’s words should have raised more flags, but perhaps I was too far gone to see the depth of her depravity.
The sun began to peek over the edge of the Odesza, glittering black water shining like jagged shards of obsidian. Dawn had come at last, and for the first time in nearly two weeks, I had not resented it. I did not dread walking these halls and being among others.
The sound of a door slamming and rushed footsteps drew me from my reverie. I found myself staring at the door, willing it to open. “Come on, come on, come on,” I muttered under my breath. Raised voices drifted up from the foyer, but as the minutes ticked by, I could not bring myself to listen, so I shut them out.
I shuteverythingout.
Which is why I was surprised when the doorknob turned, and a blazing redhead stomped over and stood in front of me. Her eyes burned with hatred, and maybe something else… Something I did not want to think about lest I was wrong.
“What the fuck, Rion?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
I met her scorching gaze and felt a twinge of familiarity that had me wanting to tame that fire with my own. No, tame was not the right word. I wanted to be burned by her, to let her thoroughly destroy me in a way only she could do.
“What the fuckindeed, Calia?” I echoed, unsure of what brought her to my door. I tried to reflect on the past six hours since I had seen her last, but nothing came to mind. “What is wrong?”
Her nostrils flared, and I could not help but smirk. Something that only seemed to enrage her further. “Elios just told me that we are staying here now?” It was more of a question than a statement, as though she could not believe what she had been told. “Care to explain that?”
“Elios?” I asked, ignoring the voice in my mind that told me not to taunt her. “Notfather? Notdaddy dearest?” When she did not respond, I conceded, throwing my hands up. “It was his idea. Something about safety in numbers. If you want an explanation, it would be best coming from him.”
She rolled her eyes, and my palm twitched at her incredulity. “And you’re telling me you had nothing to do with it?” she asked, taking a step forward.
Gods, I itched to touch her, to take her in my arms and show her just how much I had missed her. In a perfect world, it would be slow, almost to the point of torture, but I would not be rushed. I would take my time until she was overstimulated and limp in my arms.
