Page 12 of The Survivors (The Children of the Sun God #4)

Ambrose

“She’s only a surrogate for the men who killed my mate, but her suffering brings me a moment of peace.”

I rarely sleep. Sleep is no refuge—it’s a battlefield. When I close my eyes, the memories ambush me, dragging me back to that night, to her .

Every time, it begins the same way. The scent hits me first, foul and acrid, cutting through the cool night air. Fear. Sweat. Blood. The sickening tang of arousal where it has no place.

Then I see them—Cassiopeia, my mate, surrounded by a gang of filth. Their laughter echoes in my ears, mingling with her screams, sharp and desperate until they became nothing more than broken whimpers.

My beast erupted from me, unrestrained and feral. Rage drowned out all thought, all sense of caution. I didn’t care who might see me shift; the transformation tearing through my human skin as my Minotaur form emerged, massive and terrible.

If my bull wasn’t a herbivore, I would’ve devoured each of them. Instead, I settled for annihilation.

The first man didn’t even have time to scream before I crushed his skull in my massive hands, painting my fur in his blood. The others fled, but I was faster. Stronger.

I tore through them, a tempest of fury and muscle. Limbs separated from torsos with wet, sickening cracks. Bones splintered beneath the power of my hooves as I chased down the cowards who dared to touch what was mine. They screamed for mercy, but I gave none.

When I was done, the alley of the university reeked of blood and death. Their remains littered the ground—unrecognizable chunks of flesh and shattered bone.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

Covered in their blood and the viscera of my vengeance, I returned to my human form, naked and trembling, my strength spent. It was only then, in the silence, that I turned to her.

Cassiopeia.

I fell to my knees beside her broken body. The rage in my veins replaced by a bone-deep agony. Her skin, once warm and radiant, was pale and cold under the moonlight. Her hair, always so vibrant, was matted with blood.

I gathered her into my arms, cradling her like I could somehow shield her from the reality of what had been done. My roars tore through the night, a guttural cry of anguish that shook the heavens themselves.

But Helios didn’t answer.

Then, a sharp and revolting scent hit me,—semen. The stench of seven men lingered on her like a cruel taunt, a mark of their desecration.

I retched, doubling over with her still in my arms. My stomach heaved until there was nothing left.

Even now, that inescapable stink clings to my memory. No matter how far I run, no matter what I do, I can’t rid myself of it. It’s burned into my mind like a permanent scar.

I tried everything to forget. I drowned myself in whiskey, hoping to blur the edges of my pain. I threw myself into sparring, desperate for something—anything—to distract me from the void she left behind.

Nothing worked.

And the stars. Even the stars betray me.

Every night, they remind me of her, taunting me with their cold, indifferent beauty. Cassiopeia’s constellation shines overhead, mocking me with its permanence while she is gone.

She was my light, my anchor. And now she’s nothing more than a pattern in the sky, untouchable and out of reach.

I close my eyes and see her face. Open them, and the stars look down, indifferent to my suffering.

Sleep offers no escape.

I am trapped in this endless torment. The memory of her—the memory of us —is a chain that binds me to a grief too vast to overcome.

Regret and guilt claw at me. Their talons sinking deep whenever the pain recedes, even for a fleeting second. They are relentless, whispering accusations, replaying the choices I made—the choices that led to this.

If only I had refused her request to go to university.

The thought burns, but it’s one I can’t escape. She had begged me with eyes alight with excitement and determination—the spark of a dream she had carried long before we met. She wanted more than the life I offered her. She wanted a future filled with books, learning, and a chance to make her mark on the world.

I could have said no.

I should have.

But how could I? I loved her too much to deny her that happiness. Or maybe I was too weak, too afraid of extinguishing that bright fire in her eyes.

If only I had made her stay home. Kept her safe. Wrapped her in the walls of our house and started the family we talked about late into the night. The life we dreamed of—her laughter bouncing in the halls. Children running at her feet. The warmth of a love that nothing could shatter .

Instead, I let her go. I let her chase her dreams, even though a part of me feared what might happen. I told myself I was doing it for her, but was it really for her?

Or was it for me?

Did I want her to love me more for being the kind of man who supported her ambitions? Who let her spread her wings? Was I trying to prove to myself that I could be better loving her selflessly?

The questions haunt me, circling like vultures around a carcass.

Why did I give in to her wishes?

If I had stood my ground, she would still be here. She would be alive. I wouldn’t be drowning in an abyss of loss, clutching the remnants of her life and wondering where I went so wrong.

I can still hear her voice, soft and persuasive, as she promised me that she’d be fine. That she’d come back to me, stronger and happier for having chased her dreams. “It’s only a few years,” she had said with her warm hand in mine. “And then we’ll have forever.”

Forever.

The word feels like a cruel joke now. A promise broken by the universe itself.

I can’t stop myself from imagining what could have been. A thousand alternate futures play in my mind. Futures where I had the strength to refuse her. Where I kept her home, safe, and cherished. Where she never crossed paths with those monsters .

But even as regret consumes me, there’s a small, insidious whisper in the back of my mind.

If I had denied her, would she have resented me? Would I have extinguished the very light that made her who she was? Would I have turned her love into bitterness, and her joy into regret?

My chest tightens at the thought, and the dual yoke of guilt and loss hammers down on me. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to be free.

But now, all I want is to turn back time and stop her. To hold her close and never let her leave my side. To shield her from the world and its horrors, even if it meant she never chased her dreams.

If only.

The words echo endlessly in my mind, a refrain that drowns out everything else. But no matter how many times I replay it, no matter how many ways I try to rewrite the past in my head, the truth remains the same.

I let her go. And now she’s gone.