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“Yes.” My throat felt thick, and it was hard to form words.
“Did you think of me at all?”
“Yes.” I squeezed his hand tight. There was a wetness to his long black lashes that hadn’t been there before.
He stood so suddenly I fell backwards and had to release his hand.
“I’ll make sure you have a new queen’s guard before the night is through.”
“I… What?”
“You really don’t understand what’s changed, do you?”
“Lucas and I completed the mate ceremony.”
“He’s marked you. Not like the mate-bond. He’s written himself all over you. Inside you, even. It’s like a tattoo on every part of your being telling other wolves to fuck off. It tells them you’re his. It tells me you’re his.”
“But I—”
“No. This isn’t something you can rationalize around, Secret. This is something neither of us has a say in anymore. You belong to Lucas. You’re not mine anymore.”
He walked into the bedroom, and I was right on his heels. “You can’t go.”
“I have to. I can’t look at you without seeing him.” Stooping in the closet, he started throwing things on the bed.
“But I love you.”
He stood up, a duffel bag in his hand. The bag dropped, and he crossed the room, pulling me in for a hug that hurt as much as it comforted. “I know.”
“I love you more.” More than Lucas. More than the pack.
Desmond tilted his head back. Our gazes locked, and for a fraction of a second I thought it was enough. I thought the power of love alone would break through whatever was ripping us apart and we’d be okay again.
“And I love you. I do. I love you so much you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thought that crosses my mind before I fall asleep. Loving you is the one thing in life that comes easy to me.” He pressed his hand over my heart, and one tear broke free, landing near his thumb. I choked back a sob. “I love you enough to leave.”
I grabbed him when he tried to break away, yanking him back and kissing him. It wasn’t passionate, it was needy and desperate, my urgency laid raw as I foraged past his lips and tried to make him remember the part of us worth fighting for.
I tried to appeal to the part of him that knew I hadn’t given up on us
. That knew I’d never give up.
He broke away and wiped a pink tear off my cheek.
“I have to go,” he whispered.
“No.”
“It’s not up for debate.”
“You just said there’s always a choice. You can’t have it both ways.” I grabbed the duffel bag from him and threw it back in the closet. “I almost died out there.” I lifted my shirt and showed him the new bullet scar between my ribs.
He sat on the bed, and for a moment I was reminded of our first fight in this bedroom.
I pleaded with him, using his own words from that fight. “You told me once nothing could match how you feel when you’re with me. So stay with me.”
“It’s different now.”
“Why?”
