Page 49 of Forsaken Devotion: Part 2
I leaned back and tipped my head against the couch.
There was no sign of that bitch Cierra, nor had her passport been used at airports. She’d likely fled in her car, shooting for going toward either of the borders. If we didn’t manage to findher, it would be a failure. Just another indication that I’d let my mate down.
Pain squeezed my stomach. The same pulsation that had stayed with me every time she pushed me away.
I’d always been disgusted with myself for rejecting her. Of shattering the innocent hope in her brown eyes and being the reason they filled with pain. After believing she was dead, I knew no happiness could come for me, so I resolved myself to my pathetic life. Now I knew the hollowness in my gut and heart, making it impossible for me to feel, was because she’d been alive the entire time. And that was even worse, just the thought of her in a cell, cold and surviving, fucked with me.
I’d take any advantage I could to garner her forgiveness. For now, she wouldn’t leave because of her empathetic soul. I knew it well, but it wouldn’t last long; I could feel her slipping out of my hands. I missed the Josephine from before she discovered my lies. The sweet mate who leaned toward me every time I neared, seeking me out for touch.
I’d been in pain as soon as I’d rejected her four years ago, closer to five years now. I’d never faced it until she stood in front of me and my guilt rushed forward. A single rash action destroyed what could have been. The possibility of what could have been wrecked me.
The suffering she would never have gone through . . . I squeezed my eyes tight.
But what I endured was no comparison to the agony she must have felt.
I would break every bone in my body—trade my soul—anything, to time travel. My body was close to normal, other than the broken ankle, and even that was a faint throb, easy to ignore. Though I didn’t want to clue her in to the fact that I was better, it would only give her the chance to leave me.
I can’t let her go.
I stretched my legs out, a sharp pain traveling bone deep. I counted the days until the cast came off. It was such a hassle wrapping it up before bathing. Without my body hindering me, I could take my mate out, fuck her until she couldn’t think.I could do everything for her.
I took a swig from the bottle, swallowing in large gulps. The pressure in my chest eased with each swallow. I continued drinking, wanting to drown out the agony, guilt, and shame devouring me from the inside.
I was turning into my father. The very man I used to judge so harshly.
Why couldn’t he function?Why was he soweak?
I laughed, the bitter sound echoing off the lonely walls. Same fucked situation.
He’d been without his fated for years.
If I were never able to see her . . .
I shivered, smoothing my fingers over her bite on my forearm. The indents of her claim had become a rosy shade, like a birthmark. Her teeth imprints that I would always have.
As deceptively as I’d come across the mark, I wouldn’t change it. There was no other for me.
If she left me.
I exhaled shakily. I couldn’t survive. I wouldn’t want to.
19
Iwatched him, his head tipped back against the back of the couch, eyes squeezed tight. It was late, and the moonlight shone through the large window in the living room, causing a hazy blue filter.
My hair was still a bit damp from the shower I’d taken at Samantha’s after I’d gotten her tucked back into bed. I’d left her with the promise to check in on her later while also forcing her to promise to call me if she needed anything. The last thing I expected upon coming back into the house was Lucian still being awake.
His eyebrows were too furrowed for him to be asleep. Moonlight washed over him. He tipped back the whiskey. Light glinted off the blocky bottle. He hadn’t heard me approach, I was sure of it. Lucian was always hyper-aware of my arrival, and that told me he was drunk.
Once I pulled my feet out of my shoes, I shuffled across the carpet until I stood in front of him, studying his scrunched face.
His lips were set in a severe frown, and dampness painted the bottom of his eyes. I went numb. Was he crying?
“Lucian?”
His eyes flung open, and he straightened so suddenly that the bottle slipped out of his hand. It thudded to the floor, and I dipped to grab it. I shouldn’t have worried; it was practically empty.
“Josephine,” he blurted with a deep sigh and flopped back against the cushions.
