“Choose me.”
I’ve never wanted anything more and never been this vulnerable. I’m desperate for her to make the right choice. To give me what I want and decide to save us both. I need her to, but I want her to, and I’d give anything to make it happen.
“I can’t,” she whispers. “Not until the blood weave’s gone.”
My heart shatters and I stand, frozen in shock.
Zara should be reeling. She should be in agony. The blood weave should be hurting her for hurting me. But instead she looks like she’s been relieved of a burden she’s been carrying.
She looks content.
And I’m in agony.
She’s rejected me, and I don’t know what to do.
It’s never happened. Never. Not once in the whole of my existence has anyone ever said no to me. Not unless they were prepared to pay for their defiance and stupidity with their lives, and I don’t know what to do.
“I can’t choose you unless I forgive you, Kade. I know my coven had betrayed me, but they were my family, and I can’t… I won’t know if it was me or the ebon chain unless it’s broken.”
I nod.
She’s a fucking idiot.
A stupid fucking idiot who deserves what’s coming to her.
Zara’s about to learn the hard way that choices have consequences and now she’s going to suffer. We’ll both suffer as Malric hurts her, and he’s very, very good and pretty damn sadistic.
She’s too damn stubborn and too damn proud to seewhat’s in front of her, and she’s chosen the harder path. The one she didn’t have to walk. The one that hurts me and now I can’t find it in myself to stop her from getting hurt in the way that she's just hurt me.
It's petty and maybe even pathetic, but I want her to suffer as I'm suffering. I want her to know this, and I don't care how much it hurts me as long as she feels some of this pain.
“Let’s go then,” I mumble, trying to hide the pain in my voice.
We walk through the mansion, descending the grand staircase with measured steps. The air feels heavier the closer we get to the exit, as though the house itself knows we’re leaving its safety for something darker. I keep Zara close and her hand reaches for me as we step outside.
The cold night air greets us as we slip out a side door, unnoticed by my brother or his watchful sentinels. The streets of Varric’s Hollow stretch before us, dingy and foreboding, shadows clinging to the edges of cracked cobblestones and dilapidated buildings.
I ignore her heavy breathing, focusing instead on the path ahead. This outpost is always dangerous, but today it feels worse. It’s more alive, more aware. Faint whispers echo from unseen corners, and the occasional scrape of footsteps behind us keeps her on edge. She should be, and her anxiety will sharpen her senses.
We weave through the shadows, hiding from other warlocks who occasionally cross our paths. The door that marks the entrance to Malric’s underground tunnels is as foreboding as always, and the dim light from a flickering lantern illuminates the warped wood and iron studs. The door looms like the gaping maw of a beast, promising nothing but trouble beyond. Zara’s grip on my arm tightens, a subtle reminder of her unease.
“This feels worse than last time,” she murmurs, her voice almost lost in the oppressive stillness.
“It is worse. Malric doesn’t make friends, Zara. He makes enemies.”
I push the door open, and the hinges groaning like a wounded animal. The rank smell of damp earth and something metallic wafts out, turning her nose from wrinkling into a grimace.
“Stay close,” I say, my voice firm. “And keep quiet. The tunnels aren’t forgiving to those who wander or those who draw attention.”
Her lips press into a thin line, but she follows me down the worn stone steps into the suffocating dark. The air inside is thick, clinging to us as we move deeper. The walls glisten with moisture, the faint drip of water echoing in the silence. Every step feels heavier, the weight of Malric’s domain pressing down on us.
I lean in closer, hoping she’ll change her mind and choose me, but certain that she’s too stubborn to admit she wants me. Zara would rather suffer the agony of a thousand deaths than admit she was wrong, and while I know this weakness, I’ll never reveal it to a cunt like Malric.
If she turns back, then I get her forever, and if she presses on I find out how to keep her before she tries to break the blood weave.
Either way, she’s never leaving me and I get what I want.
Zara exhales shakily, but nods. “You’ll be here?”
Her minor act of trust is a victory. “I’ll be in there. Every fucking second.”
She glares at me, but the defiance is weaker now, cracked at the edges by the weight of what’s coming. I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze and seeing the flicker of doubtflash through her silver eyes. She’s too proud to voice it, but I know it’s there and that means she wants me, despite all the protests and parts of her that tell her otherwise.
“I hate you,” she whispers, her voice trembling and her words lacking any semblance of sincerity.
“You don’t but cling to your anger, kitten,” I whisper, planting a chaste kiss on her cheek. “You’ll need it.”
The silence stretches, heavy and oppressive, as a dim green light flickers like a heartbeat against the tunnel. I haven’t told Zara more about what waits beyond the next turn. She doesn’t need to know, at least not yet. I tell myself it’s a mercy to spare her from the truth of what Malric will do, but it’s not just mercy. It’s selfishness.
Because if Zara knew the torment that awaited, her fear would make her turn back—and the darkest, blackest part of my soul wants her to feel the pain that awaits her, needing her to know the same agony I do now she still hasn’t chosen me.
