Betrayal

Thalia's POV

A raw, keening scream tore from my lips, a sound I barely recognized as my own. The phone slipped from my numbed hand, dropping onto the floor. 

The betrayal shocked me with a ferocity that overwhelmed even the fear of the Lunar Surge. 

At that moment I forgot everything.

My broken world crumbled, breaking into a million jagged pieces. Tears flooded, scalding and bitter, streaming down my face in a torrent that could not be contained. 

My shoulders shook, and I covered my face with my hands and sobbed, raw, heart-wrenching noises that echoed in the spacious room.

After hours of crying my eyes out, I decided to go out.

I simply needed to breathe, so I stood up from the bed. Of course I needed to be somewhere, anywhere but where I was because, it was as though this room held another torture.

I stumbled out, blindly moving through the vacant corridors, seeking only the most distant, most desolate corner of this oppressive building.

My feet led me down a lesser-used hallway, between cobwebbed tapestries and shut, abandoned doors, until I stumbled upon it: a dark, small alcove, tucked away at the end of the hall, cold and isolative. 

I fell onto the hard stone floor, curling my knees into my chest, burying my face in my arms, and let the storm rage on. I cried, shaking, my body wracked with dry, suffering sobs, the hurt of my shattered life a physical ache. 

I was lost. Totally, irretrievably lost.

"Hey. What are you doing here?"

The low, gentle voice made me start. I hadn't noticed him approaching. I certainly hadn't caught a whiff of him. 

I looked up through a fresh blur of tears. 

Jax stood in the little doorway of the alcove, his features unmoving as always, but his golden eyes sharp and assessing.

"I've been searching for you," he continued, his voice a rough whisper. 

"You didn't come to dinner, did you?" He paused, his expression softening, then becoming intent on my wet face. "You're crying."

I didn't have time to answer before I could even prepare a lie, he moved. 

He dropped to his knees in front of me, wonderfully swiftly, and wrapped me in his arms. 

His arms, surprisingly strong and warm, closed tightly around me. 

I pressed into his chest, hanging on to his shirt, the sobs tearing from my throat in renewed emotional damage.

"He. he left me," I stuttered out, the words muffled in his chest.

 "Ryan. Left me for Chloe. My. My best friend. She. ..." My voice crumbled away into jerky, agonized sounds, interspersed by shuddering gasps of breath.

"Shhhh," Jax whispered, his huge hand rising to stroke my hair gently, his fingers stroking over my scalp. "That's all right, Thalia. Just get it out. Let it go."

But as he wrapped his arms around me, as his hard, rock-like body gave a surprising sense of stability, I felt it. 

The same old rush, the thick thrum that had charged me up in the kitchen with Rhys. Except this time, it was different. It wasn't desecrating. It was calm. Deeply, overwhelmingly calm. 

It seeped through my core, a healing warmth that quiets the frantic beating of my heart. Flash images of Jax grabbing his dick and moaning my name flashed through my mind, vivid and spinning, dissolving into the calm.

What started out as shocking sympathy, a burst of profound comfort in that dark area of the building, intensified. 

Jax's hands, which had been running through my hair, now began to move. Slowly, deliberately, they mapped down my back, hot and hard along my spine. 

I gasped as they wrapped around my waist, then fell lower, following the soft curve of my hips. 

Slowly. Up the outside of my thigh, tracing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I could feel the warmth seeping in, an increasing pressure, a lush tension. 

His thumbs raked the tip of my legs, only just avoiding the delicate fabric of my nightwear, sending a shiver directly through me. 

Then his fingers began to stroke the juncture of my inner thighs, creeping higher, inch by excruciating inch. My hips shifted against him, a wordless, desperate plea.

A soft moan escaped my lips.

"Stop," I gasped, the word fragile, almost smothered against his chest. "This is wrong. You're my. my broth—aah, hell. You're my brother."

My voice cracked on the last syllable, but even as I grumbled, my body relaxed a little into his caress, hungry for the loose tranquility he provided, the primal, undiluted peace. 

This was different. It was nothing at all like the intruder who had snuck into my room. This touch was peaceful. This touch was calm.

His fingers brushed against my clit, a feather-light touch, then a gentle flick. 

My breath hitched.

“Fuck..”

Another soft groan. He leaned in, his mouth on my nipple through the thin fabric of my top. He sucked softly, a low, guttural growl vibrating in his chest, quiet as to be near whispered, lost behind the sound of dripping stone walls. 

It wasn't anger that made him growl, but deep, fierce concentration, as if I were a stubborn code he had to decipher, a puzzle he had to solve. And with every suck, every flick, every peaceful, numbing caress, the calmness increased, pulled me in.

My brain screamed wrong

But something in me wanted it all.