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“It will get easier,” she says softly.
“Will it? How can you be so fucking sure?” I hiss, sudden anger bellowing inside my chest. I’m not angry at her, but at my father. He’s still here in this room, in this castle lingering like a rank smell. He’s in my fucking blood, staining my DNA with his darkness.
Squaring her shoulders she twists her body around. “Because Nala was right,” she says firmly. “You don’t look like a scared animal ready to bite, distrusting of everyone and waiting to be beaten. You look like a man willing to learn how to be human.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt you again?”
“Are you willing to learn?” she counters.
“I asked first.”
“Yes,” she replies. “I’m afraid of many things. Including youandyour brothers.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“Are you saying you’re willing to let me go?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me.
Fuck no.
When I don’t respond, she rests her hand against the lip of the bath and moves to stand. I reach for her, grasping her wrist tightly. “Wait!”
She stiffens, her eyes moving from my hand to my face and back again. I can see the kindness seep from her gaze and a brittle hardness settle in its place. I hate that’s what I do to her. I want to change that but I don’t know if I can.
“Let me go.”
“I wish I could,” I reply, my fingers loosening despite my words. “But I knew the moment we took you that I would never be able to let you go, not willingly anyway.”
She nods as if in acceptance of that fact. “I know.”
Capturing her hand, my palm tingles, and I wonder if she feels it too, this electricity between us. It buzzes beneath my skin, swelling my cock. Thank fuck the water has turned opaque from the bath salts otherwise she’d see how fucking hard I am for her.Again.
“I can’t promise I won’t fuck this up.”
“So don’t.”
I feel her pulling away, but I can’t let her. I can’t fucking let her. Tightening my fingers, I pull on her wrist until she’s bending over me. Her hair falls forward, the tips dragging over the surface of the water, sticking to my wet chest. Our faces are a few inches apart, and I bring up my hand to cup her cheek, her birthmark darkening beneath my touch. “I’m still his son.”
“You have a choice,” she argues, pinning me with her ghost eyes.
“I want to be worthy of you—”
She shakes her head, pressing her fingers against my lips. “It isn’t me you need to be worthy of, Jakub. It’s the kid who was beaten and abused on the floor of that cabin, and it’s the man who woke up inside of you and said no more. That’s who you need to be worthy of,” she says, and with that, she turns on her heel and leaves me with a raw heart and a cock made of stone.
