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Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks. “I just don’t know how,” he mutters, his voice rough around the edges. “I don’t know how to be anything other than this.”
His words hit me harder than I expect, sending a wave of sadness crashing over me. Mal is so consumed by his need to control and claim that he’s built walls around himself that even he doesn’t know how to break down. The worst part is, I can feel those walls closing in around me, too.
“I don’t need you to be anything else,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I turn in his arms to face him. “I just need you to be honest with me. Please… Let me in.”
He’s silent for a long moment, his gaze searching mine as if trying to decide if he can trust me with the truth. Then, slowly, he exhales, the tension in his body easing just a fraction.
“I’m trying,” he murmurs quietly in the darkness. “I just don’t know if I can.”
It’s the closest thing to vulnerability I’ve ever heard from him, and it sends a flood of emotion through me. I lean into him, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, and for a moment, we just lie there together, the weight of his admission hanging between us.
Maybe he’ll never fully let me in. Maybe Mal is too broken, too consumed by his own darkness to ever really change. But in this moment, it feels like enough.
For now, at least, I will take what he’s giving me.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s all I need.
32
MAL
My hand gripsFreya’s tighter than it should as I walk her back to the guesthouse after that shit-show of a dinner with Kir, Issak, and that fuck Damian. But I don’t let go. I can’t.
There’s a primal, possessive urge clawing at me that I’ve never had for anyone else—not like this. It tightens its grip on my chest every time I see her talking to someone else, laughing with someone else,touchingsomeone else.
Like Damian.
Just her brother.
Fuck that. They’re not related by blood. All I see is another man trying to be close to what’s mine. And the thought of him near her makes my blood boil.
Freya glances up at me, her face serene in the moonlight, and for a second, that possessiveness softens. Just for a second.
I’ve never needed to own something—someone—like this before. Never felt the need to claim anyone in the way I want to claim her. She looks up at me with those curious eyes, so full of trust,and it only makes me want to pull her closer. Keep her there, pressed against me, away from everyone else.
Damian. Kir. Hell, the entire world.
We’re almost at the door of the guesthouse when something small and dark catches my eye, carved into the side of a tree near the path. My steps falter, and my grip on Freya’s hand tightens.
I stop.
“What is it?” Freya asks, turning to face me, her brow furrowed in concern, her free hand lightly brushing my arm.
I shake my head. “Nothing,” I mutter, tugging her toward the door. I don’t want to scare her—don’t want to admit that what I think I just saw might be real.
But I need to be sure. I need toknow.
I open the door to the guesthouse and usher her in before I can second-guess myself. “Back in a second.”
Her eyes flicker with confusion, but she doesn’t ask questions, just nods as I turn and head back down the path, my heart pounding louder with every step.
There. That tree.
I kneel down, squinting at the rough bark?—
What the fuck.
It’s gone now. Not worn off. Not covered. Literally just not there, as if it never was.
