Chapter 24

Idon’t see Damien and Rion the rest of the day. Or the following day.

Though I suppose “see” is the wrong word to use in this context.

I do, however, spend my days being coddled by Bronson, the twins, and Kai. I swear that almost every second, at least two of them are touching me in some way, shape, or form. I want to feel suffocated, annoyed, but all of those negative emotions are overshadowed by the overwhelming love I feel for them.

My injuries have already healed themselves, though I still feel phantom pain from where my head banged against the wall repeatedly.

I don’t dare tell my guys exactly what happened—how the siren touched me, violated me. That’s a secret I’ll take to my grave. Besides, what could they do about it? The siren is already dead. They’ll simply blame themselves even more, wallowing in misplaced guilt.

My worry for Damien and Rion grows each hour I don’t see them. Why did Damien run out the way he did? Even though he claimed he was going to talk to Kai, my dragon shifter remains just as in the dark as I am. And Rion…

Does he really blame himself for what happened to me? He was asleep. There’s no way he could’ve known. I don’t doubt that the siren placed some sort of spell on him as well, something that put him into a blissful, serene slumber. He has absolutely nothing to feel guilty for, though trying to tell him that is like talking to a brick wall. A brick wall who is never in a room with me for more than a second.

He always finds a convenient excuse to leave whenever I enter. Go to eat in the cafeteria? Rion suddenly remembers he has to train in the makeshift gym. Go to the throne room? Rion declares he has somewhere he has to be…and then proceeds to hide in the rafters, watching me. I know, because I can see through his eyes.

Something he seems to forget.

I want to confront him—confront both of them—but I’m forced to play by their rules…even if their rules are extremely stupid and maddening. I’m sorely tempted to dive inside of their heads and read their thoughts, but I’ll never disrespect their privacy like that…even if it is killing me every day.

“Goddess,” Bron places a gentle hand on my shoulder, pulling me out of my thoughts, “are you ready?”

When Bronson asked me on a date the second I started feeling better, I was overjoyed. I missed my shadow wolf shifter with a fierceness that took my breath away. I feel this way about all of my guys, all of my mates I haven’t been able to see and talk to in a while.

Braelyn and Jenny helped me dress in a white gown Damien somehow procured. It hugs both of my biceps, stopping at my elbows, and conforms to my breasts before cinching at the waist. The skirt cascades outwards with a delicate lace frill, ending just above my knees. Through Braelyn’s eyes, I watched as she brushed my silky black hair until the color almost seemed to glow. Even now, envisioning myself in my mind, I feel an odd thrill.

I don’t look anything like myself.

For a brief moment, I imagine what life would’ve been like if I was never a prisoner in the Compound. If I never lost my eyesight. If I never went to prison for a crime I initially didn’t commit.

But then I think about the guys, my loves and mates, and I sweep those thoughts away in a tidal wave of annoyance. My past may be horrible, it may be filled with dark shadows and monsters that hide under the bed, but as Damien said, it made me who I am today. I wouldn’t be where I am without every horrible thing I endured. Going to prison was the best day of my life, mainly because it brought me to the men who own me—heart, body, and soul. Everything I am belongs to them, and I can’t help but think that fate gave me to them for a reason.

It takes a special kind of woman to love every inch of their tattered, beautiful souls. I’ll cherish and love them until the day I die, whether that be minutes from now or centuries.

“You look beautiful,” Bronson whispers, his lips tracing the shell of my ear. Goosebumps immediately erupt on my skin at his close proximity. I love the way his slightly whiskered face feels against my skin.

I slide into his head, using his eyes, as he gently places my hand on the crook of his elbow. From this angle, I can vaguely see that he’s wearing a black shirt, though the rest of his outfit is just out of view.

We move from the cell, down the hall, and to the cafeteria that is empty at this time of day. At first, I think he’s going to treat me to another fancy dinner, but instead, he moves past the tables and to a kitchen carved into the wall. The room consists of nothing but a stainless steel table, an oven, a microwave, and a fridge covered in spots of reddish rust.

Though most of the food arrives by magic, there is an area that the inmates transformed into a kitchen. Somehow, Damien was able to barter for most of the items in the kitchen, though I have no idea what he gave up.

Bronson leads me to the center island, where there’s an assortment of mixing bowls and bags.

“What is all this?” I ask, running my hand over the smooth surface. It’s cold beneath my fingers, though the room itself is tepid, turning hotter by the second due to the oven currently pre-heating.

“I thought…” Bronson forks his fingers through his hair, and I imagine he’s aiming a sheepish smile my way. “Now that you’re feeling better,” he swallows heavily, “I thought you might want to bake with me.”

“Bake?” I quirk an eyebrow

He almost sounds embarrassed when he speaks next. “Yeah. Bake. My mom…she used to teach me and my sisters. She worked at the local bakery for our pack and made everything from pies to cakes to cream puffs.” His tone turns wistful, and I can tell almost immediately that he holds the woman in high regards. A pang of sadness infiltrates my system. I’ll never be able to meet his family. Not while I’m stuck here, hundreds of feet underground with my life locked away.

“I never baked anything before,” I confess, though I know there’s no reason for me to feel upset by that. Is that what I’m feeling? Upset? Guilty? Angry? So much of my life has been spent in a tiny six-by-six cage with only just enough room for me to stand and lay down. And when I wasn’t in my cell, I was on a cold slab of cement, prepared to be tortured and experimented on.

“I’ll teach you.” He gently wraps an arm around me and pulls me against his chest, resting his chin on my head. We sway rhythmically from side to side, and I allow the sense of security, comfort, and love to seep through my skin, warming me from the outside in.

When Bronson moves away, I reach for the edge of the steel counter and grip it until my knuckles turn white. Through Bronson’s eyes, I watch as he moves throughout the kitchen with an ease that suggests he spends a lot of his time here. At least, more than I would’ve expected. He grabs ingredients from a cupboard, a few more mixing bowls, and a glass pan. But at the very corner of the pan…

“Is that blood?” I ask, unsure if I should be horrified or amused.

“Maybe I’ll use a different pan…” Bronson trails off.

After a moment, the ingredients are laid out in front of us and Bronson is pushing a carton of eggs in my direction.

“Have you ever cracked an egg before?”

Surprisingly enough, I don’t do that badly cracking the first egg. I only get a few eggshells in—which Bronson diligently picks out—so I call that a win. But the second egg…

I release a startled yelp as the yolky egg slips from my fingers, tiny white shell pieces scattering throughout the mixture of flour and sugar.

“Oh crap.”

“Here.” Bronson gently steps up behind me, his arms curving around my small body, and begins to grab the egg shell pieces. I bite my lip at the heat his body emits and instinctively shove my butt backwards, against his rapidly hardening cock. He releases a breath of air, his muscles going rigid, before he forces them to relax. “Careful, Goddess,” he murmurs.

“Careful?” I feign innocence, but I know Bronson can see right through me when he chuckles, the sound low, dark, and more delicious than the chocolate chips we’re planning on putting in our brownie batter.

“Behave,” he growls with a playful smack to my butt. I yelp but can’t contain the ridiculous smile that erupts on my face.

We work in comfortable silence for a few minutes before I dare to ask the question nagging at me.

“What do you think is going on with Damien?” I question, attempting to sound nonchalant. I can’t help but think about Damien the last time I saw him, through Kai’s eyes. His striking features haggard, the waves of his pitch-black hair falling riotously around his face, almost as if the most meticulous man in the prison hadn’t bothered to brush it. And then the glint dancing in his blue eyes, the unfathomable depths capable of rivaling the ocean they stole their color from.

His rejection and avoidance of me is beginning to hurt. A lot. More than I’ll ever admit.

But Bronson has always been able to see me too clearly. My hurt and pain…it’s all laid bare before him.

“I don’t know,” he growls out, his tone sharper than it was mere seconds before, reminding me of a frosted over sword. Apparently, just discussing someone hurting me is enough to send his wolf closer to the surface. “But I swear to you I’ll find out.”

“No,” I respond automatically, heaving out a sigh. I begin to stir the mixture once more as Bronson adds a cup of cocoa powder. I tried a spoonful earlier, believing it would taste like normal chocolate, which Abel got me addicted to, but it was disgusting! Bronson simply laughed at me, explaining that this is cocoa without any sugar. Why would anyone eat this stuff? “No, Damien will tell me when he’s ready,” I continue.

But the question is…

When will that time be?

And what does it have to do with me?

“You know,” I continue as Bronson grabs a clean baking pan, “there’s still so much I don’t know about who I am.”

“What do you mean?” Bronson grabs the bowl from me and flips it over so the batter falls into the blood-free baking pan, using a spoon to capture every last drop of chocolatey goodness. He smooths it evenly over the bottom of the pan.

“I mean, what I am.” I tap my fingers against the counter as I watch him work. Well, watching through his eyes as he works. “We know that I’m part angel and human, but the Compound placed demon DNA inside of me,” I continue. “But from what we gathered, none of those species are capable of having fated mates. So why am I different? Why do I have mates? Is it mainly because of you guys? I mean, is the bond one-sided? Am I not technically mates with the twins and Damien?” My heart thumps loudly in my chest at the thought. As if somehow, my claim on them isn’t as valid as my claim on the others. As if any second, they could leave me and not think anything of it. I think a part of me would die if that ever came to pass.

“Does any of that matter?” Bronson asks, and there’s nothing malicious in his voice. Just curiosity and worry. Probably for my mental stability. “You’re Nina Doe. What you are doesn’t negate who you are. And who you are is the sweetest, strongest woman I’ve ever met.” He pauses. “Don’t tell my mom that.”

“I want to meet her,” I say wistfully. “And your sisters.”

“They’ll love you,” Bronson assures me, a smile in his voice. “Maybe I can schedule a visitation. Would you like that? Would you like to meet them?”

“Could I?” I spin to face him fully, hope and anxiety warring within me. On one hand, I would love nothing more than to meet the family Bronson speaks so fondly about. And on the other…

What if they hate me? What if they don’t want their son sharing his mate with other men? What if I’m too weird or na?ve or?—

“Hey.” Bronson places his large hands on my shoulders and gives them a quick squeeze. “Quit overthinking everything, my goddess. I can promise you already that they’ll love you. And when have I ever lied to you?”

My lips part on a breathy exhale as I tilt my face to his. All I want is for his lips to meet mine…

Bronson goes rigid, his muscles turning taut, and throws me to the side, forcing me to instinctively leave his head. Agony reverberates up my side, though that does nothing to dampen the confusion and horror I feel. Why did Bronson just push me like a sack of discarded meat?

A deafening growl echoes in the kitchen, followed immediately by a gun being fired. The growl turns into a whine of pain, and I know in my heart who that whine belongs to.

Bronson.