Page 43

WES

T he ballroom was loud with the ear-splitting clatter of spoons and knives and forks and bullshitting of soldiers enjoying time off and a good meal.

The Council of War meeting had me stuck in the War Room all damn day, and all I kept thinking about was Mara.

As much as I kept dragging my attention back to the meeting, she broke through my resistance over and over again.

The smell of her hair.

The taste of her skin.

The warmth of her body against mine.

It was like a fucking drug, and I wanted more of it. I wanted an IV tapped right into an artery on an endless drip of euphoria that kept my heart pounding and blood hot.

I shuddered at the thought.

My eyes scanned the tables, searching for the girl wearing civilian clothing in a sea of black and olive-green—my promised, my bride, my Mara .

But I found none. My brows furrowed. I searched one more time, confirming she wasn’t there, but I caught sight of Edith and Chelsea.

I marched over and took the empty seat across from them.

“Hey, Wessy-boy. Hungry?” Edith lifted her fork and pierced a baby carrot on her plate.

“Not particularly. Do you know where Mara is?”

Edith shrugged. Chelsea answered. “Not here, obviously .” The sass in her voice was heavy.

I ignored her attitude. “Did she eat already?”

“No,” she responded again. “She wasn’t hungry.”

I frowned, getting up. “Thanks,” I muttered, turning to walk away.

“I’d leave her alone if I were you.”

I froze. Turned to face Chelsea once again. “Why?”

She rested an elbow on the table and cocked a brow as she pointed her fork at me. “I don’t know what you did, Wes, but she’s not happy with you.”

Heat. Hot magma pulsed through my veins. “Why? What happened?”

Chelsea shrugged, but Edith kept her eyes trained on her plate.

I sat down once more and leaned across the table, staring hard at Edith. “What happened, Le? What do you know?”

She looked up at me and glared. “Don’t try your scowling, hard-ass shit on me, Wes. I’m immune to your bad boy, grouchy attitude.” Her eyes said she was being honest. But they also said she was angry at me.

“Edith,” I said softer, but I could feel the tightness growing in my chest, tensing every muscle. “What happened?”

She narrowed her eyes further, leaning in as she whisper-yelled, “What do you think happened, jackass? You freaking broke her heart.”

“ What? ”

She leaned forward and smacked my crown with the bottom of her fork. A slew of obscenities came flying out of my mouth as I scowled.

“Shut up,” she scolded, and then pointed her fork at me again. “Think real hard about what happened last night. ”

Two seconds. That’s all it took, and I pieced the puzzle together. “Fuck.”

“ No ,” she snapped. “ Fuck is exactly what you didn’t do last night, you dumbass.”

I shook my head, spearing my hands through my hair. I just couldn’t win. I was trying to do the right thing, and now I was in the fucking doghouse. “Shit,” I muttered to myself.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Wes?” she scolded. “Are you trying to screw yourself over or something?”

I leaned back in my chair, feeling pissed off and disgusted with myself. “You know why,” I finally said, shaking my head and then rubbing my eyes. God, I was such a fucking idiot. I should have known this was going to blow up in my face. All because I was a fucking coward.

“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head with a cynical laugh. “Don’t tell me, Wes. Please don’t tell me that you still haven’t freaking told her!” she snapped, her voice rising with each word.

I furrowed my brows and shifted my gaze to the table. I felt weak. Like a total ass. So much for being bold.

“You asked her to marry you— again —without telling her the freaking truth ?” she said, each word feeling like a slap. It wasn’t a real question. She knew. Edith always knew.

“It’s not that simple, Edith—”

“Like hell it’s not!” I looked up at her then and watched as she sent daggers piercing right through me.

“I hope she dumps your sorry ass, Wes. Because at this point, you deserve it. You’ve thrown stones at her for all her scheming when you, yourself, sit in a glass house, buddy.

And that’s not cool. It’s utter donkey shit—”

I didn’t bother listening to the rest. I got up and marched out, listening to Edith yelling my name as I walked away.

** *

I paced the hallway outside her door. What if she wouldn’t talk to me? I knew she was pissed and she was hurt, and she had every right to not want to see me right now.

Edith was right.

Mara didn’t deserve this from me. She didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark. I never meant to hurt her either. I was trying to keep her from a choice that she would regret later. I wanted nothing more than to keep her safe in every possible way.

How many times had I almost lost her?

Too. Fucking. Many.

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling like a caged tiger, filled with angst and aggressive energy.

Fuck, why does this all have to be so hard?

A part of me thought that us finally being together would make things easier, but it hadn’t.

It just made it that much more confusing, that much more difficult, and that much more of a risk.

Because she was mine now. Mara was mine.

And who the fuck wants to give up what they care about most? What they love most?

Fucking nobody.

I growled. I didn’t even know what to say to her. This was going to be a fight, I just knew it. And the last thing I wanted was a fight with her. I blew out a breath, lacing my fingers behind my neck and stared at her door.

I’d gone into Telvia undercover.

I’d stolen, and killed, and muscled my way through each mission.

I’d been shot at, stabbed, and stunned.

I’d hung from buildings, fallen to my death, ran for my life, swam from my demise, and taken on more frightening situations than most people experienced in a lifetime.

But I was never afraid.

Never afraid to die. Never afraid to live. Never afraid, ever …

Until now.

Mara made me fear death—of losing her forever .

Mara made me fear life—of living without her by my side.

Mara made me fear . And fear was scary ass shit.

And now here I was, facing her door, scared to death of just talking to her. To a girl, for fuck’s sake. Of telling her I was sorry for not being honest. Of telling her who I had been to her before she ever knew I existed. Of telling her my truth.

As much as anger and hate made me strike out like a vicious bolt of lightning, I was discovering that fear made me a hurricane.

Category 5.

Nothing but torrents of rain that flooded the streets of my soul.

Nothing but wind that tore off the roofs of the world.

Nothing but crashing waves that destroyed anything in their path.

Mara made me a hurricane. And she made me a tidal wave, and a tornado, and a volcano. All because of fear. Because I feared living a life without her.

So I lied, and that made me a coward.

But Mara deserved better.

She deserved someone who would be honest with her, no matter how heavy the truth could be. And she deserved someone who would help her rise; to lift her up so she could finally figure out how to fly, how to be the woman I knew she was inside.

I dropped my hands. Squared my shoulders and faced her door. With a shuddering breath, I knocked, and then she answered.