“Birdie . . .”
Blue light washes over us, and my Mark is an inferno as I shake my head. How long has it been burning? How long have my veins been brimming with magic, brought on by my shock?
I have no idea.
Gabriel sits up, the sheet pooling around his middle.
“Who...” My voice is raspy, and the word gets stuck in my throat. I swallow, then try again. “Who did this to you?”
42
SOUL-DEEP PAIN
GABRIEL
Who did this to you?
Wren’s question rings through the cabin, and it’s the only thing I can hear. The walls are closing in, my fingers tremble, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. How to speak. How to do anything at all except stare at Wren.
I always knew this moment would come. I knew that one day, she’d see the scars on my back, the evidence of the abuse I suffered at my father’s hands, and I’d have to explain them.
I fucking knew it, and I thought I was ready. I thought I’d mentally prepared myself for this.
But here? Right now, after what was undoubtedly the best night of my life?
I was wrong. I wasn’t ready—but it’s too late for that. Wren is crying for me now, but what will happen when she finds out about my father?
I should’ve been better prepared for this moment. Should’ve warned her somehow.
But it’s too late.
“Gabe?” She clings to the sheet wrapped around her body with one hand and reaches for me with the other. “Who hurt you?”
“It’s... a long story.” I pick my words carefully, weighing each one before I give it voice.
“We have a long time,” she offers quietly.
All the time in the world might not be enough for this, but I owe it to Wren to tell her the whole truth. Even though she might look at me differently after, even though things may change between us when she learns about my family, I must tell her.
People have been lying to her for her whole life, and I refuse to be added to the list of people who keep things from her no matter how much it pains me.
“Okay.” I brush my lips against hers, relishing in the softness of the kiss. I commit it to memory because this might change everything. “You may want to get dressed, because this is a long story.”
I slide out of bed, pull on a pair of pants, and get us each a glass of water from the jug on the dresser before reclaiming my spot. Handing Wren the glass, my breath catches as I realize the shirt she chose is mine. The fabric falls to her mid-thigh, and she isn’t wearing anything beneath it. She looks so gods-damned delectable in my clothing that for a moment, all I want to do is worship her once more.
But then I look back at her tear-streaked face, at her watery eyes and the pity in them, and I remember that this isn’t the moment for thoughts like that. And that maybe after she knows everything, there won’t be any more moments for us. Maybe, even after all the words we exchanged last night, it will become nothing more than a distant memory, a cherished moment that I remember on cold nights when I’m alone with Mist.
Wren takes a sip, her eyes never leaving mine. “The scars, Gabe,” she prompts.
I squeeze the cup. “There is something I need to tell you, and I hope you’ll listen to the whole story.” An ache blooms in mychest, and I rub it with my fist. “I hope we can talk about this and what it means for us.”
Her brows knit. “What are you saying?”
“You are my whole world, and I meant what I said last night. You are mine.” She will always be mine, even if this is the end of us.
Water sloshes in Wren’s cup, and she inhales sharply. “Gabe, I don’t understand.”
“I was always going to tell you. When the right time came, I was going to tell you.” Although is there really a right time to tell the woman you love that your father wants her dead? I’m not sure this would’ve ever been an easy conversation.
