CHAPTER 21: ALLERGIC TO FOREVER

KNOX'S POV

The doctor clears Ember within the hour.

I carry her back to the penthouse myself—not because she can't walk, but because I need to feel her weight in my arms, need the confirmation that she's solid and breathing and safe.

She doesn't protest. She just rests her head against my chest and lets me take her home.

By the time we reach the penthouse, it's nearly two in the morning. Ember kicks off her heels the second we're through the door and collapses onto the couch, still wearing that beautiful dress that has been spinning my mind.

She looks exhausted. Wrung out. Like she's been through a war.

"Come on," I say, offering my hand. "Let's get you cleaned up."

She takes it without argument.

In the bathroom, I help her out of the dress—carefully, reverently—and wrap her in one of the oversized robes hanging on the door. She washes her face while I start the shower, getting the temperature just right.

"I've got it from here," she says quietly.

I nod and leave her to it, even though every instinct is screaming at me to stay close.

Twenty minutes later, she emerges in a cloud of steam, wearing one of my t-shirts that falls to mid-thigh. Her hair is damp, face scrubbed clean of makeup. She looks young. Vulnerable. Beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with styling or performance.

"Better?" I ask.

"Yeah." She pads over to the bed, bare feet silent on the hardwood. "Thank you."

I pull back the covers and she climbs in, curling into the pillows like she belongs there.

I strip down to my boxer briefs, have a quick shower, and slide in beside her. The moment I'm close enough, she shifts toward me, fitting herself against my side.

"I could get used to this," she murmurs, half-asleep already.

The words hit me harder than they should.

"Could you?" I ask, keeping my tone light.

She tilts her head to look at me. "Could you?"

I should say no. Should remind her this is temporary.

Instead, I find myself saying, "Maybe. If I wasn't allergic to long-term relationships."

Her expression shifts—something fragile and hurt flickering across her face before she hides it.

"Why?" she asks quietly.

My mind goes immediately to Celeste. To betrayal and blood and everything I've spent a decade trying to forget. But I'm not ready to go there. Not tonight.

So I crack a smile instead. "Women get too addicted. It creates a global crisis for other alphas when I take myself off the market."

She laughs—soft and sad. "Right. Of course."

The deflection lands wrong. I can feel it in the way she pulls back slightly, putting distance between us even though she's still in my arms.

Fuck.

"Tell me about your mother," I say, desperate to change the subject.

Ember is quiet for a long moment. Then she sighs.

"My marriage to Gale wasn't my choice. Not really. It was a treaty—pushed by Gale's father and mine. Gale's pack is small, not particularly powerful. My mother wasn't pleased. She wanted me to marry someone more impressive, someone who could elevate our family. But my father?" She laughs bitterly. "He didn't care as long as he got his gifts from the treaty. He was drunk half the time anyway."

I feel my jaw tighten. "And your mother?"

"She hasn't contacted me in eight years. Not once." Ember's voice is small, matter-of-fact. "When things got bad with Gale—when he started hitting me—I called her. Told her everything. The bruises, the broken dishes, the nights I locked myself in the bathroom because I was scared of what he'd do."

"What did she say?"

Ember's laugh is hollow. "She said I made my bed and I should die in it."

White-hot rage floods through me.

I want to find Devika Aragon and make her feel every ounce of pain she inflicted on her daughter. I want to make her understand what it means to abandon someone who needed you.

"Then suddenly I'm with you and she's on a plane from Beijing, crying about how much she's missed me," Ember continues. "It shows just what I’m worth to her."

"Do you hate them?" I ask. "Your parents?"

She goes very still.

"I—" She swallows hard. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't." Her voice cracks slightly. "The goddess won't forgive me if I hate the people who brought me into this world. Even if they—even if they didn't love me the way I needed."

The words land like a punch to my chest.

I'm furious. Absolutely furious at the conditioning that makes her think she's not allowed to hate the people who abandoned her. Who told her to die rather than help her escape abuse.

But underneath the fury is something else. Something that breaks me.

Because her heart is so pure it borders on naive. Gullible. Trusting in a way that's going to get her destroyed.

My world, this world of pack politics and power plays and predators like Logan and Rayana, will rip that trust apart and leave her bleeding out on the marble floor.

And I'll be the one who brought her here.

"Ember," I say carefully. "You're allowed to hate people who hurt you. Even if they're family. Even if they're your parents. The goddess doesn't punish people for having boundaries."

"If the goddess was that merciful, she wouldn't have given them to me in the first place."

The words come out bitter, her eyes flashing with something raw—hurt, anger, years of disappointment compressed into one sharp exhale.

She freezes immediately, like she's shocked herself.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Don't." My voice is rougher than I intend. "Don't apologize for feeling things you're entitled to feel. Anger. Hurt. Resentment." I pause, something dark and old stirring in my chest. "The moon goddess might be the biggest asshole of all—forcing us into mate bonds and families that eventually spiral into our destruction. You're allowed to be furious at her for that."

Something in my tone makes her go still.

Her eyes search mine—those dark, beautiful eyes that see too much, that pierce straight into my soul without asking permission. I hate how easily they disarm me. How every breath I take in this moment belongs to her.

Part of me wants to push her away. Build the walls higher. Protect whatever's left of myself.

But the other part—the part that terrifies me—wants to hold her so close she becomes permanent. Desperate. Mine. All of her. Every broken piece, every hidden wound, every stubborn inch of her heart.

Mine.

Then she asks the question I've been dreading since Rayana opened her venomous mouth at dinner.

"Can you tell me about Celeste?"