Page 94 of Watch Me Burn
Shadow shifts, resting his chin on my thigh. His eyes drift closed, but his body remains alert, attuned to every shift in my breathing, every hitch in my voice.
“What do you want me to say? That I’ll end it? Cut him off?” My fingers dig into Shadow’s fur, but he doesn’t flinch. “I can’t, Mar. I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried. But every night when he comes to me, when he touches me, I’m whole again. Like all the broken pieces inside me finally fit together.”
“That’s not love, Lu. That’s addiction.”
I want to argue, to defend myself, but what if she’s right? What if what I feel for him isn’t love?
No.
If I know one thing with absolute certainty in this whole shitshow, it’s that I love my wolf. My heart is his as completely as my body.
Maren’s face softens. She dislodges Juniper, who protests with an indignant meow, and stands. She crosses to the bed and sits beside me, her shoulder pressing against mine.
“I get it. I do. That feeling of being someone’s entire world, even for a few hours. It’s what we all want. God knows I do.” Her hand finds mine, our fingers lacing together. “But you deserve more than scraps in the dark, babe. You deserve someone who’ll stand beside you in the light.”
Damien. She means Damien, even if she doesn’t say it.
She squeezes my hand and stands. “I’m going to make breakfast. You better have bread this time because I want French toast.”
“Middle shelf in the pantry.”
She heads for the door, then pauses, her hand on the frame. When she looks back, her eyes are bright with concern. “Just be careful tonight, Lu. Please. And for fuck’s sake, make him wrap it up before you let him inside you again. I can’t watch you go through another loss.”
My throat tightens, and I nod because words feel impossible.
She lingers another moment, and her struggle plays out on her face. The urge to say more, to push harder, to physically stop me from making this choice. But she’s Maren, and she knows when to hold on and when to let go.
“I love you, Mar.”
“Love you, too, you reckless bitch.”
She disappears down the hallway, her footsteps echoing on the stairs.
“Come on, pussies.” Juniper follows after her as Sage and Willow scamper off the duvet. Even Shadow abandons me for breakfast.
I sit on the bed, still wrapped in my towel. Through the window, I can see the snow-covered pines. Somewhere out there, he’s watching. Waiting.
Tonight, he’ll come to me, and I’ll find out if we can get back what we had or if this loss broke us.
I love Maren for her worry, but I’m a grown woman. I can make my own choices, my own mistakes. I can walk into the fire with my eyes open and deal with the burns later.
Even if part of me wonders if I’ll survive them.
I stand, dropping the towel, and move to my dresser. My reflection stares back at me from the mirror, a body that looks the same but feels forever changed.
It’s been eighteen days since I told him about the miscarriage. Eighteen nights of him visiting just to watch me sleep. The first night, he sat beside me on the bed. Then he moved across the room to the chair. The last few nights, he’s been back beside me, our fingers threaded together.
I’ve spent the day in a state of nervous anticipation, checking the clock every few minutes as I went through the motions at the sanctuary, my heart tripping over its own beats.
Now I’m pacing between the sink and the stove, fresh from another shower, wearing nothing but a silk nightie that skims my thighs. The overhead lights are off, and the kitchen glows soft from the moon spilling silver through the window over the sink.
Tonight feels different, like a beginning. Or maybe a test.
The familiar beep of the alarm disarming freezes me in place. The enclosed porch door whispers open as I grip the kitchen counter. His footsteps echo on the tile before the soft thud of boots hitting the floor. He never tries to hide his approach when I’m awake. He wants me to know he’s coming. Wants my anticipation to build with each step.
The window catches his silhouette in its glass, the wolf mask molded to his face like it belongs there. It’s as familiar to me now as my own face, its sleek lines revealing nothing but the glint of his eyes behind it. And his mouth below it. He’s dressed all in black, as always, his broad shoulders filling the doorway.
“Luna.”
