I should pull back. That’s the smart move. That’s the version of me that’s kept me alive for ten years—hell, long before that when I spent years protecting myself from Thomas. It’s the version that learned how to walk away before anything gets complicated, before anything gets real… or unsafe.
Instead, I stay exactly where I am.
Varek hasn’t moved either. Not properly. There’s tension coiled through him now, visible in the set of his shoulders,in how his breath comes slower, more deliberate, like he’s controlling something that wants out.
The bond hums between us, low and steady, but there’s an edge to it now. Heat layered over anticipation.
I swallow, suddenly very aware of how close we are. “Will you always be this honest?” I ask, because apparently I’ve decided talking is safer than thinking.
“Yes.”
“No filter at all?”
“Not with you.”
I huff out a quiet breath, dragging my gaze over him again, slower this time. Taking in details I’ve avoided for years. The clean lines of his face. The faint glow under his skin. The way his horns frame everything, elegant and brutal all at once.
“You’ve been holding back,” I say, not really thinking before the words come out.
His eyes narrow slightly. “From what?”
I shift, just enough to feel the solid line of him more clearly against me. “This,” I say.
There’s a pause. Then, quieter, more controlled, he answers, “Yes.”
“Why?” I ask.
His gaze holds mine. “Because you asked me to.”
Right. I did.
Years ago…. Hell, a month ago. So much anger and hurt drove me to every decision. That and a different kind of fear that I lived daily in my marriage. In truth, I hadn’t allowed myself to think about what our bond would actually mean long term. My focus was always about needing distance, needing control over something when everything else had been taken from me.
And he listened, which I learned long ago he always would.
I scrub a hand over my face, exhaling slowly. “I feel like I should say thank you… for doing as I’ve asked. For listening.”And I mean it. Boundaries are so fucking important. Consent even more so.
Varek goes very still. Not frozen. Not uncertain. Just… attentive in that way he has, like every word I say slots into place somewhere inside him, weighed and understood before he responds.
“You do not need to thank me for that,” he says finally, his voice low but steady.
I glance back at him. “Yeah, I do.”
His gaze holds mine, unflinching. “No,” he replies, quieter now. “That is the minimum you are owed.”
Something in my chest shifts.
He continues, slower this time, like he’s choosing each word with care. “You asked for space. For distance. For control over what was yours.” A pause follows. “I would not take that from you.”
There’s no defensiveness in it, and I can tell there’s no expectation of praise. It’s like he’s just making a statement of fact, which is delivered with that same unshakable certainty he brings to everything else.
“I have failed you in other ways,” he adds, and there’s something painful under the surface of his voice now, something that doesn’t quite break through but sits there, present. “I will not fail you in that.”
I swallow hard. I don’t have a quick comeback for it or something cutting or deflective ready to go. So I just nod once, slow, letting it sit. “Still,” I mutter after a second, quieter now. “It matters.”
His expression softens. “Yes,” he says. “It does.”
Silence hangs for a second before I ask, “And now?” I ask.
