Chapter 129

Dominic

I walked out of the stone building, the heavy door slamming behind me. The guard at the front gate didn’t speak. Smart man. I would’ve killed him too if he’d looked at me wrong. That wasn't usually who I was, but it felt like that was something I was capable of now.

The rogue was dead.

I could still feel the shape of his throat beneath my knuckles, the crack of bone against bone, the way his eyes had rolled back in his skull before the last breath escaped his lungs when I'd run out of the potion in between him trying to bullshit me and the bits of truth I'd been able to get from him. My ears rang with the sound of my own breathing, harsh and uneven, and the rust-colored stench of blood clung to my clothes like smoke from a fire that never went out.

The car was already running when I got in. I didn't remember hitting the push start or the remote start either. I was grateful that I had decided to drive myself because I'd needed the solitude, but now that I had to drive back, I hated it. I didn't trust myself at the wheel, so I waited and waited. I let myself breathe, let my hands flex, let the pain start to fade and my hands start to tremble. I glanced at my own reflection and saw these wild eyes that I didn't recognize, but they were mine.

I cut the engine and let my head fall back against the seat. I stared up at the roof, the leather above me offering no comfort, and exhaled a breath that stank of iron and fury.

Why were my hands still shaking?

I looked down at them. Raw knuckles, crusted in red. Filth caked beneath my fingernails. Sweat soaked through my shirt and jacket, and I smelled like something freshly dug up from a battlefield.

“I lost control,” I whispered aloud. “I lost control.”

I never did that. Not even in battle. Not even when Hazel died. Not on the border or when I was sure my whole world was imploding.

Brightclaws didn't lose control. They didn't beat a man to death like that.

But that man had known too much. Had done too much. And hearing what he said about Hazel, what she'd planned for Vivian, for herself, for me was too much. It had snapped something inside me.

They hadn’t meant to kill Hazel. She'd been an accident.

They meant to make me suffer though, and his leader was still a complete unknown.

The leader who was Vivian's father. I didn't know anyone who could have been leading rogues at that time. Even if I did, I wouldn't know it. It wasn't exactly someone broadcasted.

I clenched my fists again, and pain shot through my hands like fire licking bone. My own claws had dug into my skin. I dropped my eyes to my chest, half expecting the mark to have vanished. For the Goddess to retract her gift, but no. It was still there—etched into my skin like a brand. A haloed scale over my heart, burning faintly with silver-blue light.

“Why?” I growled, pressing a hand to it.

No one deserved this version of me. Then, something itched—not on my chest, but lower.

I looked down at the back of my hand.

What I’d assumed was grime—dirt, dried blood—was… glowing.

Faintly. Barely there. Like the shape of something still forming. I licked my thumb and tried to scrub it off, but it wouldn’t budge. Not a smear. Not a fade.

“What in the hell…”

I didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t filth.

It was another mark.

I stared out the window, my reflection ghosting back at me through the glass. The man staring back looked like a stranger. Hollow-eyed. Haunted. Not just because of what he’d done, but because of what he was becoming.

What was I becoming? I had always thought that I knew myself. I'd always figured I was too old to still be learning myself, and yet here I was. Discovering this of all things.

I was a bright cloud capable of beating a man to death. Of torturing a man to death. Actively. Not just letting him waste away from old injuries.

Was this what they called some twisted form of benevolence? I pressed my bloodied hand to my forehead and whispered a prayer.

“Goddess, if you still watch me… tell me who I am.”

Renee

I dipped my brush in the wrong color. Again.

“Damn it,” I muttered, scrubbing red streaks off my canvas with a paper towel. “That was supposed to be peach.”

Beside me, Maya snorted softly. “It looks fine. You’re way better than me.”

I glanced at her canvas. Her brushwork was all over the place, colors bleeding into each other, but somehow it looked expressive. Like chaos that made sense.

I gave her a small smile. “We both suck.”

“We really do,” she laughed.

The awkwardness between us had lessened, just a bit. I appreciated that she showed up to class despite everything. That she hadn’t just ghosted me after our last conversation. That meant something, I hoped. We had talked much since arriving, but she didn't shy away from sitting next to me, so I considered that a win.

As class ended, I found myself turning to her before she could start packing up.

“Hey,” I said. “Wanna grab a bite? There’s a Thai place down the street that’s supposed to be amazing.”

She blinked, surprised. “You sure?”

I nodded. “I want to try being friends. It’s not fair that you’re treated like you did something wrong just because of who Tyler is.”

Something softened in her eyes. She glanced down, fidgeting with the strap of her bag.

“I’d like that,” she said quietly.

The Thai place was cozy and dimly lit. We ordered quickly and sat down in a quiet corner near the window.

“So…” I began after a sip of water. “I want to ask you something. About… being mates.”

Maya straightened slightly. “Okay.”

“I don’t know much,” I admitted. “I mean, I’ve read things. Heard bits. But it always sounds so romanticized… And as you pointed out, my education is lacking.”

“Very,” she said with a dry laugh. “ I'm surprised the believers even thought about mates, considering how against the Goddess's will they are.”

I tilted my head. “You and Tyler…”

She sighed. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t know. I transferred here and boom. We meet. It was… just as instant as they said it would be but it grew and grew into this maddening thing…." Her jaw tightened. "I had no clue he was dating, engaged, entangled or whatever."

She shook her head. "I felt like an idiot. Think that those crazy Believers knew something that I didn't.”

“Do you still think that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

We ate in silence for a moment. The curry smelled amazing, but my stomach was twisting.

“Is it painful to be away from him?”

Maya considered it. "Yes."

"And there's… no way out of it?"

She shook her head. “Not unless one of us dies.”

A cold chill ran through me.

“So you’re stuck with him forever?”

She winced. “Not stuck. Just… always aware. Even if I never see him again, I’ll still feel him.”

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Every day.”

I looked at her. She was in pain. It was pretty obvious that she was in pain, but I could see that she was okay with it.

It was odd to think that Tyler had managed to get a mate with such a strong moral compass.

“You don’t have to go through it alone,” I said softly. "I know I can't really understand what you're going through, but I can at least be here for you. And if you want to trash talk him or just cry. I can be here for that, too."

She smiled. A little broken. A little hopeful.

“Trash talking might be in the near future… and I’d like to be friends,” she said. “If you’re sure.”

I nodded. “I’m sure.”

We shook hands and parted ways at the door. I watched her head down the street.

"I could give you a ride home."

She waved over her shoulder. "Maybe next time. See you in class!"

I watched her get to the bus stop and step on, shaking my head. It was interesting how independent she was. I never thought that that kind of person would be the kind of person Tyler would be fated for.

I got back to the condo feeling a little out of it. I got out of my clothes and got into the shower. The water was perfectly hot.

The water rushed over me, curling steam up around my neck and shoulders. I closed my eyes, letting the water wash away my thoughts. The lavender oil softened the tight coil of nerves in my chest.

I should’ve been relaxed.

Instead, I was brooding.