Jay’s rage roars through him as he pulls again on his restraints, finally stopping when he feels the iron press against the fragile bones of his wrists.
“That should give us all the time we need. Now, how about we make a deal, big guy?” he says to Jay, crossing his arms. “Let’s see if you can resist me.”
The world tilts, and everything inside Jay’s mind becomes static and echoes. One moment, he is there on the altar, fury pounding behind his eyes and in every muscle of his body, and the next, there’s a heavy pressure against the wall in his mind that Grayson had constructed with his magic. It bursts like a popped bubble, and in the next instant, Withers is in his mind, like an invisible hand pressing against the walls of his consciousness.
Oooh, look at all these Daddy issues. He was so disappointed in you. And your poor mom. You know she’s dead because of you. If only you’d made her go with you. If only you hadn’t been such a failure as a son. Yikes, that must hurt. But, you know what would make this pain go away?
Jay’s heart aches at the reminder of his parents. What Withers is saying is true: for his whole life, he’d been a disappointment and a source of embarrassment. No matter how he’d tried, they couldn’t love him, and that, in the end, he hadn’t been alpha enough to save his mom.
So much heartache. I can make it go away, pluck it right out. I promise I’ll make it quick. Just say yes.
When he’d been younger, even before Nix had come back to him—to them—Jay might have considered saying yes. Even for a second, and perhaps that’s all Withers would have needed.
But not now, because despite the ever-present painful self-doubt he hides from everyone but himself, he has no problem remembering his reason for living.
“No,” Jay moans, struggling against the onslaught of painful images. “Mates.”
Oh, come on. Look how you let Nix suffer. So many years of agony that you could have prevented—how can he even look at you?
Agony sears through his heart, his bond with Nix glowing red-hot when he hears his own self-recriminating words in someone else’s voice.
And the others. Surely you know they don’t need you. They have each other. They have never really loved you. It’s all because of the fame and fortune that they ignore how useless you are. You should have let that boy take your place and saved them all a world of trouble.
Jay’s heart burns in his chest, his bonds with each of his mates surge white-hot, because he knows that’s a lie.
Withers could have chosen anything else to undermine Jay’s love for himself—all the failures he tries to make up for in everything he does, in every aspect of his life, for the rest of his life.
But trying to prey on his bonds with his mates? That’s a mistake.
Because Jay is loved.
He feels it in how Gideon reveals his soft underbelly when they make love, in the quiet vulnerability they share, and in how they care for their family and make big decisions together.
He sees it in Leo’s unwavering confidence in him—the way he has always held him up and held him close, a pillar of strength in Jay’s life from the very beginning.
He sees it in Grayson’s eyes—eyes that look at him with pure desire and trust, even though Grayson is arguably the most beautiful person Jay has ever seen, an enigma who has chosen to let Jay lead.
He feels it in Luca’s trust—how Luca allows himself to be cared for in his most vulnerable moments and lives his most authentic life because he places his faith in Jay to be the best man he can be.
He sees it in Finn’s mischievous grin and in the way he seeks his comfort when the world feels like too much, trusting Jay to be his shield from life’s hardest edges.
He feels it in Rowan’s wolf—how it honors Jay’s wolf with its deference, while simultaneously making Jay feel worthy of that respect and reverence.
And Nix. His first love, his Beloved, the one who brought sunshine and color back into Jay’s life when he hadn’t known how gray it had been. Nix made it possible to come home to Clearwater, to heal, even in what has been the second hardest time of his life—Nix has never once blamed Jay for the choices he made when he was a child.
He is loved. Deeply, completely, and without question.
“You blew it, asshole. You don’t know anything about me or my life. How can you? You’ve probably never been loved,” Jay says, his voice steady as he meets his tormentor’s cold, unfeeling eyes. “Unlike you, I belong to people who have always—and will always—love me.”
Withers’s sadistic smile falters, replaced by a flicker of frustration. The pressure in Jay’s chest intensifies, unbearable now, and he barely manages to cry out.
“So tiresome. I guess it’s time for no more Mr. Nice Guy,” Withers hisses. “Are you sure you don’t want to make this easier on yourself?”
A drop of Withers’s saliva falls onto Jay’s cheek, sizzling against his skin like acid. He flinches but refuses to look away as Withers leans closer, his grotesque face of blackened bone and charred gristle filling Jay’s vision.
The blade of a large knife catches the light from the flickering candles, glinting ominously in his periphery.
“Go. Fuck. Yourself,” Jay growls, his voice sharp and unyielding despite the suffocating pain.
