Page 10

"You want me to ruin you?"

Time stands still for a few seconds, his hand on my waist, the other on my elbow. He's staring down at me, his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip, the kiss a given.

He's about to do so much more than kiss me.

"Nothing I could do to you – that we could do together, could ever ruin you. I will do everything I can to save you, but I want more than that. I want to make you happy. I want to see you live days of nothing but joy, days that stretch into weeks and months and years."

I gasp.

"They will have to kill me first before I ever let them harm you."

I square my shoulders and run my hands through my long, tangled hair, smoothing it as best I can. Then, with the regal demeanor implanted in me, I meet his eyes without turning away and declare:

"I am nothing but a body. My body is not mine. It is a temple for the ages."

The words shatter him.

They shouldn't, but they do, a thousand feelings colliding behind those dark eyes. I've set off a chain reaction with my mantra. For so many years, The Mother taught me well, taught me to obey, taught me my place.

The prophesy above all.

And her words drive home my new truth.

It is a combination of the old and the new, of past and future, of two versions of the present colliding inside my womb. Cam sleeping with me takes that collision and turns it into a nuclear bomb.

The moment he enters me, he'll detonate the world.

"You are the most luscious body, Paigelynn, but you are so, so much more than that.

Don't let what they've taught you diminish you.

The prophesy isn't above all," he rasps, his voice quiet and dark as he sinks his hands into my hair at the base of my neck, tipping my face up, our lips so close, so achingly close.

" We are the prophesy. Just not the one they created. "

When our lips meet, I believe him to my core, surrendering to him. This time, I do it by choice, with free will. For half my life, I've been fed a lie, handed off by my parents to charlatans, raised and nurtured to be slaughtered and parted out.

Cam wants me. Really wants me. Cares for me, too.

Care so much he's willing to take my virginity to help me.

And if I actually become pregnant, that wouldn't hurt.

His tongue presses lightly against mine, feeling so good, washing away all the angst and terror that fills me. It feels good to catch a break from all the fear. Better than good – it's a relief like no other. When the kiss breaks, it's like all the happiness I've been deprived comes roaring in.

Along with grief for everything I've lost.

Cam’s eyes move over me, slow and steady, like he’s taking in every inch.

His jaw tightens, and his eyes darken. I follow his gaze and see what he does: the thin scars on my arms, the dark bruises on my ribs and thighs.

Ugly marks. Marks from the people who tried to break me, who wanted to take everything from me.

He reaches out, his fingertips brushing my arm so lightly it feels like a whisper.

His hand moves slowly, up to my shoulder and then down to the scar on my forearm.

His thumb stops, resting on the jagged line of skin.

A shiver runs through me, but it’s not fear.

It’s something else—something warm and soft.

His touch feels like a kindness I forgot could exist.

That I was never allowed to know exists.

“They hurt you,” Cam says. His voice is low, but there’s anger underneath it.

“They tried to break me,” I whisper back. “But they didn’t.”

His eyes snap to mine, sharp and fierce. For a moment, I see it all. His anger. His need to comfort me. The war inside him over what they did to me. Slowly, he leans down, and his lips press against the scar on my arm. His kiss is soft and warm, chasing away the cold I thought would never leave me.

“They didn’t,” he says again, his voice steady now.

I reach up, my fingers trembling as they touch his face. I brush my hand over the rough stubble on his jaw. He tilts his head into my palm and closes his eyes, like he’s holding onto this moment. When he opens them again, they’re steady. He’s steady. No fear. No hesitation.

Just Cam.

His hands move to my waist. His fingers skim the edge of my shirt before slipping underneath. His touch is warm, patient, like he’s learning me.

Like every inch matters to him.

When his hand brushes against a bruise on my ribs, he freezes. His fingers tighten slightly, his body going still.

“Paigelynn,” he says, his voice breaking just a little. “Why didn’t you tell me? I didn't know they hurt you this much.”

“What would it change?” I say, my voice calm. “You already did everything you could to protect me. These…” I gesture to the scars and bruises. “They’re just reminders that I’m still here.”

He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “They’re reminders of my failure.”

“No,” I say firmly. “They’re reminders of what I survived.”

His eyes change then, softening but still full of something deep. It’s not anger anymore. It’s something that wraps around me, shielding me. It makes me feel like I’m more than scars and bruises.

Like I’m more than the girl they tried to destroy.

Cam leans down, his lips brushing the bruise on my ribs.

His kiss is soft and careful. Warmth spreads through me, melting something inside I didn’t know was frozen.

He moves lower, his mouth finding another scar near my hip.

He kisses it, too. His lips linger there, like every touch is trying to erase the pain.

His lips are the antidote.

“I’ll never let them hurt you again,” he whispers against my skin, his voice shaking slightly.

“I know,” I whisper back. My fingers slide into his hair, threading through the dark strands. “I know, Cam.”

"Listen to me. Really listen. When we escape this place, you'll be free. Truly free."

"Do you think that's possible?"

"I do." His firm, positive response makes me smile. "And your freedom means you can truly choose whether to be with me."

"What do you mean?"

"You can choose me, or another."

"Another? Like... Makiah?"

"God, no. Not him,” he growls. The sound makes me feel so protected. “I mean that right now, you're with me because you have to. When you're free, you can choose to stay with me because you want to, or you can go off and live your life and be with others."

"Others? Why would I want anyone but you ?"

I pull him up gently until his face is level with mine. I study the sharp lines of his face and the softness in his eyes. I want to memorize him, to hold onto this moment forever.

Then I kiss him again.

It isn’t careful. It isn’t soft. It’s everything I feel for him, everything I’ve held back. He responds instantly, pulling me closer, his body pressing against mine like he can’t stand the space between us.

He lifts me easily, carrying me to the bed in the corner of the room. The rough sheets scratch my skin, but I don’t care. All I feel is him—his hands, his mouth, his warmth. Every part of me is alive. His touch is sparking something inside me I thought was gone forever.

Cam leans over me, balancing his weight on his elbows. His eyes move over my face, but it’s more than just looking. He’s seeing me. All of me. Every broken piece.

Every part I thought I had to hide.

Every part meant for someone else.

Every part I was never given a choice to control.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice rough but steady.

I blink up at him, startled. “Don’t lie to me. I'm a complete mess. Look at all this damage.”

His brow furrows, and he cups my cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing my jaw. “I’ve never lied to you, Paigelynn. Not about this. Not about you.”

My chest tightens, my heart pounding as I turn my face away. “You don’t have to say that. I know what I look like now. What they did to me?—”

“Stop,” he says, his voice firm but gentle. He tilts my chin back, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You don’t see yourself the way I do. You see the scars, the bruises. I see you . What you call damage is my failure. Not yours.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “What do you see, Cam?”

His lips twitch into a faint smile. “I see strength,” he says, his fingers tracing the scar on my arm. “I see someone who survived what most people couldn’t. I see someone who’s brave, even when she’s scared.”

His hand moves to my ribs, brushing the edge of a bruise. “And I see beauty. Not just here.” His lips press softly against my collarbone. “Not just here, either.” His hand moves to my cheek, cupping it with such tenderness it makes my chest ache. “Every part of you. All of it.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I shake my head. “I don’t feel beautiful. Not after everything?—”

“Then let me remind you,” he whispers. “Let me show you.”

Before I can respond, his mouth moves lower, pressing soft kisses along my neck, over my shoulder. He pauses at another bruise, this one on my hip. His breath is warm and steady there before he kisses it gently, reverently.

“This,” he says, his voice low and rough, “doesn’t make you any less beautiful. It doesn’t make you any less whole.”

I reach for him, my fingers tangling in his hair. “Cam,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “You don’t have to do this.”

He lifts his head, his eyes blazing. “I want to,” he says. “You deserve to be touched like this. To be loved like this.”

A tear slips down my cheek, and he catches it with his thumb. “You are more than what they did to you,” he says, his voice fierce. “You are more than what they took from you.”

I pull him closer, my lips finding his. He kisses me deeply, his body pressing against mine, grounding me in a way I haven’t felt in years. His hands move over me, slow and deliberate, tracing every curve, every line, every scar like he’s committing them to memory.

“Cam,” I murmur against his lips, my voice breaking. “I need you.”

His forehead rests against mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You have me,” he says. “You’ve always had me.”