Page 113 of Villainous Fate

The second part wins.

“I haven’t touched her,” I say, my voice calm and sincere before I let the anger enter again. “And, Fuck. You. You weren’t here. You haven’t seen how this is eating away at her. How much she feels like she is to blame. She didn’t choose her Mate. The Fates did. The last three months have been hell on her. If you don’t care about me anymore, that’s fine. I’ll accept that because of the circumstances we are in, but Grace deserves better. Or do you not remember how much you love her?” I say, hating every minute of this conversation.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

We were supposed to talk. Have a conversation and explain.

This… This is wrong.

My heart aches, knowing Grace is inside crying on the floor all alone, and I hate the stern expression that remains intact on his face. Indifference and anger are the only emotions he reveals now, and I know deep down he’s feeling more than that. We all are. We are all hurting over this.

“You expect me to believe that your wolves are Fated and you haven’t Mated? You haven’t lost yourselves in each other? In three months? What kind of a fool do you take me for, Stone?” he asks, a dark chuckle coming at the end as he uses my last name intentionally as a reminder that we are no longer friends.

“It’s the truth. You can ask her. I haven’t seen her since the morning after her birthday. She wanted to tell you in person what happened, rather than on the phone or in some letter, so we agreed. Nothing would happen between us until you returned, until she could talk to you, until we both could. She loves you, Deacon. That hasn’t changed. She just loves me too.” I say, regretting the words the minute they come out.

She has never said those words to me.

I love her, but I don’t know where her heart stands with me yet.

His fist slams into my cheek, pain exploding from the contact. The pain is almost better than the internal struggle I am having. I rock back, taking in the impact before a second fist slams into my eye, causing me to stumble to the ground, where his foot connects to my jaw with a crack. I take each blow, never swinging back at him or defending myself.

I deserve this.

“Fight back, you coward,” he says, anger flowing from him as I look up at him from my back, one eye swelling shut, blood leaking from the other cheek, slowly being washed away by the rain.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Brother,” I say, spitting blood onto the pavement.

“Then I guess you failed in that regard, too, ” he says, turning his back to me and walking away.

Chapter 55

Deacon

Theoverwhelmingacheinmy chest brings the realization that heartbreak isn't just a word. It's a visceral sensation, a suffocating weight that presses down on my very being. It's as if every fiber of my being exists caught up and tangled in a web of agony, a knot so tight that I can barely breathe.

Fate. I nearly laugh at the absurdity of it. How I unquestioningly trusted in the make-believe when I knew the only one I could depend on was myself.

Well, and Grace. I never considered her betrayal.

Betrayal is a harsh word for her role in this, but somehow, it keeps repeating in the recesses of my mind. The word itself is a poison that seeps into your soul, twisting everything you once held dear into a sickening mockery of what it once was.

Forever. Love. Always.

It's the feeling of being shattered, of watching the individual pieces of your built-up trust fall away like shards of glass that slice through the fragile threads of hope that held you together. Disbelief gnaws at your mind, the relentless questioning of how someone you loved and trusted could do this to you, the excruciating realization that the person you thought you knew, the one you opened your heart to, was nothing more than a stranger.

My Tails…

Every beat of my fractured heart feels like a hammer blow, each pulse echoing with the memory of promises broken and lies spoken. It's a relentless cycle of heartache and despair, a never-ending torrent of emotions that threaten to consume me whole.

Allowing my wolf to take control, I run, pushing my paws into the rain-soaked ground. I run, using my strength to fuel me as I attempt to burn through the pain inside with physical pain. I run, unrelenting, not slowing to avoid branches and taking every hit as I try to break my body in an attempt to tourniquet my emotions.

For hours, I circle the city, never slowing the back-breaking pace, continuing until I fall to the ground with exhaustion.

Panting, I lay there, all of my energy expended. My inky coat is soaking wet, and my paws are cut and bleeding. The sun should’ve begun its ascent over the mountains, turning the dark blue sky shades of purple and pink, but thick, angry clouds block out every beam of sunshine, physically manifesting the hopeless storm inside me.

My wolf releases control, causing me to shift and bringing a flood of pent-up emotions with the change. They slam back into me, clearing the jagged wreckage that was my heart.

I welcome the suffering, needing to feel every second of the hurt as I roll to my back and close my eyes to let the sensation wash over me, the rhythmic patter of raindrops forming a soothing melody against the cacophony of emotions.

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