"It's the truth! Look at me—I'm a freak. I'm?—"
He dropped to his knees in front of me.
I froze, staring down at him as he knelt there, this powerful vampire humbling himself before me. His hands rested on my hips, holding me steady.
His eyes traveled over my body before rising to meet mine. "You are the most stunning, beautiful thing I have ever seen," he said slowly, voice raw with emotion. "And I have lived for a very long time."
"Elias—"
"The most beautiful," he repeated. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the scar tissue on my right side.
I gasped. The touch was so gentle it barely registered, but the emotion behind it hit me like a tidal wave. He kissed the scarred skin again. And again. Each press of his mouth a benediction, a claim, a promise.
"Every part of you," he murmured against my skin. "Every scar. Every imperfection you think you have." Another kiss. "It's all mine. And you’re perfect."
"I'm not," I choked out, my voice breaking on the words. My throat felt like someone had wrapped their hands around it and squeezed until I couldn't breathe. The pressure built behind my eyes, tears threatening to spill over as I stared down at him. How could he possibly think those things? How could he kneel there and call me beautiful when every time I looked in the mirror I saw the horror that was my body?
He stared up at me, those dark eyes blazing. "You survived something that tried to kill you. You wear the proof of that survival on your body. How could I see that as anything but perfection? I'm honored that you're sharing this with me. And I'm not worthy of being with you."
The tears came then, hot and fast. Great heaving sobs that shook my entire frame. Elias rose and pulled me against him, one hand cradling the back of my head while I fell apart in his arms, his shirt soft against my bare skin.
"I've got you," he whispered. "I've got you, little warrior."
I cried for a long time. Minutes. Hours. Days. I cried until there was nothing left inside me. All the fear that had wrapped around my ribs like iron bands. All the terror that had clawed at my throat every time he looked at me with those dark, knowing eyes. All the shame I'd carried like a second skin since the day I woke up from surgery and saw what they'd taken from me. Every emotion that had been building and building inside of me since the moment he'd taken my blood and I knew—knew with absolute certainty—that this moment would eventually come. That he would want more than blood. That he would want all of me, scars and asymmetry and broken pieces included.
It all came pouring out of me in great, shuddering waves that left me gasping and trembling against his chest.
And Elias just held me through it all. Never loosening his grip. Never pulling away. Never once making me feel like my breakdown was too much or that I needed to pull myself together. His hand stayed steady at the back of my head, fingers buried in my hair, while his other arm banded around my waist like he was afraid I might shatter completely if he let go.
When the worst of it finally passed, when the sobs turned to hiccups and then to shaky breaths, I pulled back just enough to see his face. To search those dark eyes for any sign of regret or discomfort.
What I found instead made my heart clench.
His own tears had dried, leaving faint tracks down his cheeks that caught the dim light filtering through the window. He'd been crying with me. For me.
"You're not disgusted?" Even with the truth written all over his face and the way he held himself, I still couldn't believe it.
"Never." He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "The only thing I feel is rage that you had to suffer through that without me. Sadness that you've spent your life thinking you're anything less than perfect. And gratitude that you're still here. That you survived."
"My family never looked at me the same after." It was so hard to see the pity in their eyes every time they looked at me that had never really gone away.
His eyes flashed dangerously. "Then they're fools."
"My family?—"
"Is wrong." He cupped my face again, forcing me to hold his gaze. "You are not damaged. You are not less than. You are not someone to be pitied. You are exactly who you're supposed to be."
I felt his conviction wash over me. And in his eyes, I saw it. Desire, yes, but also protectiveness, possession, and something deeper that terrified me even more than exposing my body had. Something that tugged at the center of my chest and made my blood burn.
"I want you," I said. "So much it scares me."
"Then let me have you." He kissed me softly. "Let me worship every inch of you until you believe what I already know."
I nodded, and that was all the permission he needed.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, his large body wrapping around me. Then, without taking his mouth from mine, his hands slid to the backs of my thighs and he lifted me off the floor like I weighed nothing.
My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and he moved so fast the world blurred. A split second later, I was on my feet again in my bedroom, my heart pounding from the rush. I fumbled for his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He helped me, yanking the fabric over his head and tossing it aside.
