Page 94 of Theirs to Rule

“Scars can be beautiful,” I whispered. “They can be a sign of strength, of everything you’ve survived.”

“They’re also a sign of everything I’ve lost."

“You’re family…” I said, my voice cracking.

“Yes. My family. And you. Everything is intertwined, Camille. I can’t see you or the scars without thinking of everything I’ve lost.”

A wave of nausea rose in my chest, guilt that his torment was so intertwined with me. Guilt I knew was completely unfounded. It tightened around my heart like a vise. Without thinking, I moved closer to him, my hands reaching out to gently touch more of the scars that marred his skin. Each one felt like a story of pain and survival, and my heart broke a little more for each tale they told.

When I touched one of the fresher scars, Ty jolted slightly, his stomach tensing. I realized I might be hurting him and dropped my hand, moving back and giving him space.

We stared at each other, something dark and tormented in his expression. I forced myself to back away and pick up my pencil again. To my surprise, the ensuing silence that followed felt more comfortable as I focused on capturing Ty’s beauty. Not just his physical form, but the strength and vulnerability that made him who he was.

Later, as I added the final touches to the drawing, I realized how thankful I was that Ty had stormed into art class and bulldozed his way into becoming my art partner. What we’d been doing wasn't just about creating art; it was about seeing Ty, truly seeing him, scars and all, and showing him that he wasn't alone in his pain.

Suddenly, Ty broke the silence. “I went to Italy. That’s where I’ve been these last few days. I had something I needed to do.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” I asked, putting down my pencil.

Ty shook his head. “No questions, remember?”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes—he was the one who’d brought it up. But this was the most he’d opened up to me in a long time. And there was something in his eyes, though—something that told me the trip had affected him deeply.

“Did the trip give you clarity?”

“It gave me something,” he finally admitted, and there was a tone to his voice that told me this was where the conversation ended. I parted my lips to press for more, but he spoke again. “Are you done with that picture yet?”

I wanted to show him the drawing I had completed, a representation of him that I thought captured his essence. Handing it over, I watched his face for any sign of approval. He studied it, his expression unreadable for a moment.

"It's good," he finally said, but there was a 'but' hanging in the air between us.

I knew what the “but” was. I hadn’t captured all his scars. I had drawn him as I had seen him, beyond the darkness written all over his body. I didn’t want to acknowledge all he had been through, the pain he had suffered—and that I might have been the cause for so much of it.

"But you don’t have to censor me," he finished. "You don’t need to hide what I’ve become.” Ty smoothed his palm over the scars on his torso. “Draw me as I am. My pain and darkness. Even if it means you have to acknowledge your pain and darkness, too."

His words sent a shiver down my spine. He was right. There was pain inside me. Darkness, too. One I wanted to forget, the other I didn’t even want to acknowledge. But that darkness—it was there. It was the side of me that, even as I'd been horrified when Kage slit Silas's throat, I'd also taken pleasure in seeing Silas's blood and reveling in Kage's strength and power. Beingwith Ty, embracing that edge, felt like releasing a part of me I always kept chained up.

"What could I possibly do that would push you away?" I asked, half-daring him to answer.

"Nothing," he replied, with such certainty that it took my breath away. “If you don’t believe me, test me. Test yourself. No shame. No limits.”

Ty was offering me a freedom I'd never allowed myself to explore. The weight of it was both terrifying and exhilarating. The darkness he spoke of wasn't just his to bear; it was a part of me, too, a part I desperately wanted to explore. With him, I felt like I could dive into any abyss and still find my way back. It was a dangerous, intoxicating thought. Ty wasn't just a catalyst for chaos; he was a mirror reflecting back parts of me I'd been too scared to ever acknowledge.

Chapter 42

Camille

Iknocked on the back door of Dante’s house, the sound echoing in the quiet evening. When no one answered, I banged harder, feeling the kind of irritation that only Dante could inspire. My phone buzzed just as I was contemplating whether to break a window or just sulk on the porch.

“Hey,” I said into the phone, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “I’m out back. Want to let me in?”

“Sorry, I got held up in a meeting,” Dante replied, his tone that infuriating mix of apologetic and amused. “I shouldn’t be too long. Let yourself in. See the potted plant near the door? The one with the purple flowers? It’s fake. Key’s underneath.”

I blinked at the phone. “Wait, wait, wait. Big, bad Dante hides his spare key in a fake flowerpot? You know that’s, like, the first place anyone would look, right?”

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. “You’ve seen my house. Not much worth stealing. The only thing I care about is you.”

The breath hitched in my throat before I could stop it. Dante had a way of saying things that left me off-balance, like I was standing on the edge of a cliff and he was daring me to jump.

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