57

EZRA

Silence.

She doesn't move. Doesn’t even breathe. Just stares with a blank look on her face 

Then—very softly, like she’s trying not to raise her voice or scream—she says, “You what?”

“I didn’t mean to.” The words taste pathetic. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“You marked me?” Her voice rises, brittle. “What does that even mean?”

“It’s a bond. Like… like a tether. I didn’t force it I swear and it wasn't intentional. It just—when I took you that day in my office, something shifted. I felt it. I thought if I ignored it—”

“Ezra.” She stands slowly, her hands trembling. “You marked me?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Without telling me.”

“I didn’t know how—”

She laughs. Sharp. Cold. “God, of course you didn’t. Why ask me, right? Why tell me anything?”

“I didn’t think it would bring the Nytherin—”

“But you thought it would be fine to claim me like I’m some kind of—what? Property? Territory?” Her voice is rising now, and the venom in it makes my hands curl into fists. “Jesus, Ezra. I trusted you. I chose to trust you—and you marked me without even giving me the chance to say no or give you the consent after preparing myself for days?”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“Then explain it to me,” she snaps. “Explain how it’s not exactly like that. You didn’t ask. You didn’t warn me. And now I’m some kind of vampire honeypot for every demon in a fifty-mile radius?”

I flinch.

She sees it. Presses the heel of her palm into her forehead, pacing.

“What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?” She continues to mutter to herself as she paces.

I swallow thickly.

She turns, eyes shining with tears that's already pooled.

“But maybe that was part of the trick, too. Right? The blood, the charm, the eyes. Maybe it was all just manipulation from the start.”

My stomach turns.

“It wasn’t,” I rasp. “Nothing between us was fake. The bond wasn't intentional.” 

She shuts her eyes and exhales deeply before walking over. “I didn't say it was fake.” She grits out. 

I almost sigh in relief. Almost.

“...to you.” She adds. “But you know I don't get to decide stuff for myself right. I have to put Finn into consideration in anything I do.”

I stand up and rake my hand through my hair. “I know. I—”

Her voice drops to a whisper, trembling, broken, as she continues to pace. “You should’ve told me.”

I move toward her, slowly. “Thea…”

She lifts a hand, palm out. “Don’t.”

Her chest rises and falls in sharp bursts. Her eyes shine—brighter than before, glassy and wet.

“You marked me,” she chokes out. “Without my consent. Without a warning. And now I can’t even sleep without feeling you. I taste your name in my mouth like poison. I wake up reaching for you and I hate it!”

I flinch, my throat going dry.

“I hate you, Ezra.” Her voice breaks. “Do you hear me? I hate you. You should’ve left me alone. You should’ve never come into my life.”

My world stutters. I shake my head, swallowing the roar inside me. “You don’t mean that.”

She steps forward, her face twisted in anguish. “I do. You make me weak and strong and you make me reckless and I can’t afford to be either—not when I have a child to protect, not when you’re the one dragging demons to my door and shutting the demons in my head.”

I reach for her, but she backs away.

“Leave, Ezra. And don’t come back. Not tomorrow, not next week. Not ever. If you see me at work, pretend you don't know me and accept my resignation letter.”

Her words cleave through me, brutal and final. And I don't even know whether to smile or rage.

But something inside me snaps.

I cross the space between us in a flash, grip her wrists, and pull her flush against my chest, ignoring the way she gasps.

“You’re a liar,” I growl, voice rough with need and rage. “You don’t hate me.”

She tries to pull away. “Ezra—”

I crash my mouth to hers—hard, desperate, punishing. She shoves at me, fists pounding weakly, but I don’t let go.

I kiss her like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to. Like I’m trying to ruin her for anyone else.

“You don’t get to hate me,” I hiss against her lips. “Not when you still taste like want. Not when your body leans into mine even when your mouth says run.”

“Let me go,” she whispers, voice shaking.

“You don’t want me to,” I breathe, lips brushing her jaw, her cheek, her throat. “You’re just scared. And angry. And mine.”

She trembles.

I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. My grip loosens, just barely. “Tell me you felt nothing when I kissed you. Say it—and I’ll leave.”

Silence.

But her lips part.

Her lashes flutter.

And she can’t.

Because we both know—no bond in the world is as brutal as the one we never asked for, and still crave like oxygen.

“And if hating me is the only language we speak now?” I breathe. “Then fine. I hate you too, Thea. You make me weak. You make me insane. You make me break every rule I wrote for myself. You are a risk. A dangerous, irreversible one. And I hate you— passionately.”

She shakes her head violently, like she's trying to rid herself of every thought, every feeling. But it's useless. Tears spill over her cheeks as she squeezes her eyes shut.

My breath stutter, wanting to wipe or lick them away.

Then, with a choked breath and a sound between a sob and a curse, she lunges forward.

Her hands fly to my collar, trembling fingers knotting onto my shirt. She yanks me down and crashes her lips to mine.

I stagger back a step from the force of it, arms catching her by instinct, crushing her against me. I don't breathe. I don't think.

It's not gentle. It's not sweet. It's savage.

Because this kiss, it doesn't feel or taste like forgiveness. It's not closure.

It feels like need.

It's agony and craving. And as her lips press harder against mine, her tongue probes my mouth.

I don't think she hates me.

Maybe she never could.

Maybe she loves me. And loving me might destroy her. Us.

And I don't even know how to love her right or what love is. Except for this deformed savage way of mine which might never be enough.