Page 182 of Star Claimed Omega
Her heart had not yet slowed since she whirled around to Santi.
He was no more a memory, nor a hallucination. He was freakin’ real and here on Cybele.
The image of him so thin, gaunt, so haunted, swam in her mind’s eye.
His eyes appeared hollowed out. His jaw was more pronounced, as if guilt ground him down day by day.
He had not eaten; that much was clear.
In his gaze, when it landed on her, was the raw, splintered remorse she’d hoped for.
Still, it was not enough, even when he announced in a gravelly timbre she yearned for, ‘I know I’ll have to earn your trust back.’
Well, okay. Naam. Also, no fokkin’ shit.
She didn’t want apologies.
She wanted proof. She sought change.
He could howl to the moons and promise her everything under the stars, but unless his actions aligned with his words, his promises were just noise.
As she slung the strap of her bag across her chest and turned, her boss stepped into her path, eyes widened with a blend of terror and affront.
‘What gives your monster visitor the right to come into my place of business and - ?’
Kharon’s snarl faded off as she tilted her chin and shifted to face him, her eyes gleaming with warning.
Her mouth curled with a snarl that split her already-fraying patience.
‘Fokk,’ he muttered.
He stumbled back a half step. Sweat broke on his upper lip. ‘Who are you and your friends?’
‘Your worst nightmare,’ she clipped, her tone cold. ‘Also, I had better still have my job tomorrow morning when I come back. Or else you .’
He nodded, grimacing as his face paled. ‘Y-you got it.’
She brushed past him, her boots moving fast.
The door hissed open and closed behind her as she stepped into the station thoroughfare’s dim light.
The air conditioning whipped around, stinging her flushed face.
Fury consumed her.
Shock still buzzed in her limbs, a cruel vibration, chased by a sorrow that gnawed at the edges of her spine.
Seeing Santi again was an agonizing paradox.
It was as if her soul had molten silver poured into it: burning and beautiful all at once. The sight of him, the man who fractured her life, yet still held the fragments of her desire, ignited a profound longing.
This deep, quiet ache was betrayal itself, a painful reminder that the connection, however damaged, had not dissolved.
However, she was no longerhis. No more was she the infatuated woman who folded at the sound of his voice, the captivated lover who would melt into his arms.
Nada, she would take her time, maintain her composure, and remain firm when he came around again, because he would.
When he appeared, she would not scream, cry, or plead.
