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"Right back at you," I replied in the same tone. I swallowed and said, "Wane, I—"
"If you eventhinkabout apologising for anything that was out of your control, I'll be forced to silence you," he cut in, making me blink. Reminding me that Wane had always been introverted and tentative, but never timid when it came to me.
My whole chest was numb and icy, but my body flickered with a slow-creping heat. "Oh, yeah?"
His thumb brushed the dip under my bottom lip. He held eye contact for so long that my stomach squirmed. "Yes."
I swallowed. Licked my bottom lip and said, "I'm sorry it took me a hundred years to come for you."
"Alright, you asked for it," he warned, and grabbed my hips, hauling me up his body so he could kiss me hard enough that my head spun.
I broke the kiss quickly. "Wane, I taste like vomit and sandwiches."
"The most shocking thing is you think I care," he replied, and gripped my hair hard enough to keep me in place for another deep, powerful kiss.
I groaned and melted, my heart soaring and part of my soul healing as he kissed me fiercer, taking full control of me. I needed this, needed someone to control me so I didn't have to think or feel. I needed the distraction and the connection more than I’d realised.
When Wane caught my bottom lip between his teeth, I couldn't think of anything but him. He licked the dimples his teeth made and surged back into my mouth to claim my tongue, leaving no part of me in doubt that I belonged to him.
When he finally released me, panting, I could only blink.
His rapid, laboured breaths hit my skin in waves of heat as he kissed my cheek, my jaw, my neck, almost obsessive in the way he covered me with his lips.
"Wane," I groaned when he pressed me into the cushions and covered me with his body. A surprising hardness met my hip, making my whole body flash hot and cold. My pussy ached. "Can we—not here?"
Not in Wynvail's bed, not when I never got to be intimate with him. It was a cruel reminder of what I'd never have. I understood what Wane meant about wasting time. I'd been so fucking stupid.
"Anything you need, itzaia," Wane murmured against my collarbone, leaving a long, adoring kiss there until I felt like crying. He gathered me against his body, my legs around his waist, and lifted me off the bed.
"How are you so strong?" I asked, a furrow pinching my brows. "Shouldn't you be weak?"
"Cronus has no use for weakness of any form. If my body had wasted away, he'd have ended me. But every time he killed me, every time I returned, I came back stronger."
"Is that a titan death thing, or an archdemon thing?" I asked, clinging to him as he carried me down the hall to the bathroom. My stomach tightened at the thought of showering off the blood covering me. If it hadn't been Wane holding me, I'd have squirmed out of his hold, but every moment I had with him was a goddamn gift. I'd lost him. I couldn't bear to break contact with him for a second now.
"I'm not sure," he replied, his mouth in a thin line as he shuddered open the bathroom door.
I traced a finger over the sharp edge of his cheekbone and down to that frown, brushing carefully, still so sure I'd trigger him and have to let go.
But whatever Cronus had done to him had replaced that trauma, so much worse and more harmful than twenty years with Cassander Locke. Like a killer whale swallowing a shark.3
"Archdemons are hard to kill, but I've never heard of death making them stronger," he went on, setting me down on the wide marble counter beside the sink. This room was the bathroom of my dreams, all white marble and classy black accents—and pink cloths and towels.
Because Wynvail hadn't just bought this house for me. He knew me so obsessively that he'd decorated it for me too, every single piece something I loved.
I remembered him being furious with Kai for muddying up his rug and my eyes stung. He was protective of the things in this house because they were gifts for me.
"Haley?" Wane murmured, haunted silver eyes fixed on me, wide with worry. He cupped my face in warm hands. "Hey. Where did you go?"
I blinked fast, a lump back in my throat. "This house is mine."
He tucked a lump of dirty hair behind my ear. "And you can't look at anything in it without remembering your mate."
"Yeah," I squeaked out, determined not to cry again. "I never knew—any of it. I thought I was a challenge to him, a prize he wanted to claim. But this? It means I was always—more."
It hurt so much to say it out loud. The thoughts had been circling my head constantly for the two days I'd been in his bedroom.
"And I know I have the house from him, but … I don't want to take this shirt off. The blood ishisand—and it’s proof he existed. Cronus unmade him, but if his blood is still here, then I—"
