Page 38

Aurelia

When I get back to Oddity, I gently slide off Wrath’s bike with a sharp hiss before he can even help me. My eyes lift to what’s left of the place—now just a smouldering pile of ash, smoke curling into the sunrise sky like old ghosts finally leaving.

I hear him dismount behind me and side-eye him, then quickly turn away, walking toward my trailer with my bloody, ruined hands stretched out in front of me, fingers stiff, skin screaming.

He offered to take me to the hospital, no insisted, but I shut that down. I don’t need sterile lights and fucking strangers. I just want to crawl into my shelter and disappear. The wounds will heal. It’s my soul that needs the fucking work.

As I near the trailer, I glance over my shoulder and, of course, he’s still following.

Fuck’s sake.

I press the handle down with my wrist and walk in, closing the door behind me, not that it’ll actually lock. I head straight for the kitchen, trying to focus, trying to pretend like I’m alone.

But the door creaks open and I roll my eyes.

Of course.

He closes the gap between us from behind and my body goes tight, shoulders curling in as I grab some paper towels.

The pain hits hard, sharp, and I drop them with a groan.

“Here, let me…” he says softly behind me.

“No,” I growl, pushing past the pain and grabbing them myself. “I don’t need your help.”

“Little corpse,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to soften it, like it’s still some twisted term of flattery.

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, turning but refusing to meet his eyes. “Ever again.”

I move past him, and he lets me, just standing there, silent, unmoving, like a shadow frozen in place.

I reach the bathroom, shove the door closed behind me, and twist the lock. My back presses against it as I squeeze my eyes shut. The tears come fast, hot and furious, but I choke them back, jaw clenched, lungs burning.

Breathe. Just breathe.

I drag myself toward the sink, gripping the edge with trembling hands, forcing myself to look in the mirror.

I barely recognize what’s staring back at me.

After the shower, after scrubbing every last trace of him off me, after cleaning and bandaging every burning wound, I wrap a towel around myself and step out of the bathroom.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

My eyes scan the room, pulse ticking. When I walk into the bedroom, my breath catches in my throat. The chains are still there—bolted to the ceiling, dangling, unmoved. Notes still taped to them like cruel trophies.

My stomach twists into knots. Fury and grief wrap around each other like barbed wire.

Then I see him.

Wrath is sitting at the edge of the bed, head in his hands like he’s been there the whole time. Waiting. Silently stewing in his own fucked-up headspace.

I don’t say a word. I just take a breath and head for the wardrobe, needing to get dressed, needing something normal—anything.

But I feel his eyes lift to me.

“Can I get some privacy?” I mutter, dragging a loose shirt off a hanger.

“Privacy?” he snorts, lifting his head fully now. “Allure, I’ve seen the inside of your asshole. What the fuck do you mean, privacy?”

I roll my eyes at his disgusting, tactless response and drag the oversized shirt over my head, letting it fall down my body.

When it’s covering enough, I yank the towel off and let it hit the floor with a wet thud.

“Can you leave then?” I mutter, grabbing some sweats.

“No,” he growls, final.

I spin around, eyes narrowing. “Well, I don’t want you here.”

He shrugs once, that same infuriating calm. “Doesn’t change shit.”

I step closer, fury flaring up my throat. “What, you think you can just fuck my dead mom and everything’s gonna be fine? Like we’re just gonna stay what the fuck we are?”

His jaw tightens, red eyes locked on mine, unmoving.

“Is that what you thought, huh?” I press, folding my arms, challenging him.

“No,” he says low.

“No,” I echo before stepping back. “Well, good. Because I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“I don’t fucking think so,” he bites back, the words coming out like a growl.

My eyes narrow, shooting daggers at him, but I don’t step back.

“I’m not staying here, and you can’t make me.” I say it louder this time, but the tightness in my chest makes it harder to keep my voice steady.

He takes another step forward, and my body stiffens, instinctively preparing for the impact I know is coming.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, Allure. I’m not letting you go that easy. You’re mine.”

A surge of anger floods through me and my vision blurs as I fight to keep it together, but the tears spill over, burning down my face.

“I’m sick of being everyone’s!” I scream, the sound raw and desperate, a jagged crack of vulnerability I’ve been holding in too long.

My lip quivers, and my whole body shakes, the tension in me breaking free.

“This is all your fault,” I shout, my finger trembling as I point at him, tears streaming down my face. “If you hadn’t done what you did, I wouldn’t be living this nightmare. Everything I had was ruined because of you! You killed my mom, you fucking chose to destroy everything!”

His red eyes flash, and he growls low, anger and pain mixing in his voice. “Choose?” he snarls. “I was a fucking child. You think I had a choice?”

“So what?!” I snap back, the words tearing out of me.

For a split second, I see something shift in his expression—hurt, regret, something real. He looks away quickly, but I feel the guilt stab at me like a knife. I’m not sure if I want to take it back or dig it in deeper.

He nods once, his eyes avoiding mine now.

“I’ll wait for you, Aurelia,” he says quietly, his voice quieter but full of certainty.

I feel him moving toward me before I can even react and I take a step back, then another, until my back hits the wall. His body looms over mine, forcing me to stay still.

He tilts my jaw gently, lifting my face to meet his, but I keep my eyes firmly shut.

“I know you’re hurt, beautiful. And unfortunately, I’m the cause,” he murmurs, his thumb wiping away a tear that I didn’t even know had fallen. “You’ve been through so much, too quick. Things you never fucking deserved.”

His words coil around my chest, suffocating me, and for a second, I feel that familiar ache of wanting to surrender, to fall into him, even though I know I can’t.

When his thumb brushes over my cracked bottom lip, and eyes flutter open, locking with his.

“I want to be there for you,” he murmurs, his voice rough but steady. “I really fucking do. But I’m big enough to know when you need your space... and when I’m the problem.”

The words hit me harder than I expect, and I feel the sting of his honesty deep in my chest. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of my mouth, his lips barely touching my skin.

“I don’t want us to break what’s already so fucking fragile,” he whispers. “I can’t lose you, my little corpse. Not today. Not fucking ever.”

I want to reach for him, call out, but I can’t move and he’s already stepping back, that warmth, that safety, slowly slipping away from me.

The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is suffocating. I just stand there, staring at the empty space he left.