Page 23 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

Damien follows soon after. He doesn’t speak, but there’s a quiet understanding in his eyes as he leans in and kisses my cheek. It’s brief, but it’s enough—a reminder that even though Cast is gone, I’m not completely alone.

Before I can even process the silence that follows, Jasmine is pulled away by Landon for a job. I watch them go, feeling the loneliness of everyone leaving, one by one. The rain starts shortly after, a soft pattering against my cheeks and hands, like the world is mourning with me.

Vincent stands beside me, his jacket suddenly draped over my shoulders. He doesn’t say a word, just offers the small act of kindness, his warmth against the cold of the night. “Don’t want you getting wet,” he says, his voice low and almost lost in the sound of the storm.

The rain is relentless now, drowning out everything else. I pull Vincent’s jacket tighter around my shoulders, the fabric warm but not enough to chase away the chill in my bones.

After a while, he speaks again, his voice low and almost hesitant. “Willow, it's getting worse out here. We should go home.”

I suck in a sharp breath, but I don’t move instead saying. “I’m sorry,”

“For what?” Vincent’s voice is thick with frustration, as he pulls my gaze to him, and I look at something other than my father’s grave for the first time in hours. He looks exhausted, and angry, two things I’ve never seen on his face before. “For what, exactly?”

“For letting Damien and Cast do the eulogy. For saying no to you when you stand here in the middle of the rain with me,” I say, my eyes trained on the curve of his jaw. “I love you. I should have said yes.”

His jaw tightens. I can see it in the way his hands curl into fists, like the words are physically hurting him. And maybe they are. Maybe they’re hurting me, too, because I’ve been running from this for so long.

“You’re damn right you should have said yes,” he snaps, stepping forward, his eyes burning with raw passion. “I would’ve given you everything. You know that, don’t you?” His voice rises, the words spilling out like fire. “I would’ve given you the world, but you turned me down.”

His anger hits me like a wave, sharp and hard, and I feel the sting of my own regrets flooding my chest. He’s right. I pushed him away when all he wanted was to love me.

“I was scared,” I murmur, my voice small and fragile, like the words are all I can offer. “I didn’t know if I could be what you needed.”

Vincent’s eyes flash, the hurt in them almost unbearable. “That’s not good enough,” he spits, stepping even closer now, his words cutting through the air. “You think I didn’t feel that? You think I didn’t feel the doubt when you said no? But I still wanted you. I still wanted to fight for you.”

“I didn’t mean to—” I begin, but he interrupts, his voice rising again.

“You didn’t mean to?!” His frustration is palpable.

“I was terrified,” I admit, my breath shaky, my chest tightening. “I was at my dream school, Vincent. My entire future ahead of me and you want marriage, kids-”

“Not right now!”

“But you wanted to run away to Paris. You wanted me to give up my dreams for yours.”

“No, I never said that.”

“Vincent-”

Vincent’s eyes bore into mine, stormy with emotion. “You should’ve said yes,” he murmurs, voice thick with regret. “I would’ve given you everything. I didn’t need anything else—I just needed you.”

Something in me snaps. I grab his collar, pulling him in, and our lips crash together, breaking open everything we’ve held back. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, the heat of him drowning out everything else.

“I would’ve given you everything,” he mutters between kisses.

“I know,” I breathe. “I should’ve said yes.”

His forehead rests against mine, breath shaky. “It’s not too late.”

And then his lips are on mine again—fierce, desperate, like he’s trying to erase the past. The rain pours down, soaking us, but I only feel him. His hands frame my face like I’m someone precious, someone he can’t lose again.

“You’re everything to me, Willow,” he rasps, his touch searing against my skin. “Everything I need. Everything I want.”

“Then give it to me,” I whisper.

His breath hitches, and for a moment, he just looks at me, his eyes searching mine, like he’s trying to find some sign that this is real. And then his lips are on mine again, and this time, it’s different. There’s a desperation in his kiss, a raw, aching need that mirrors my own.

His hands fumble with the buttons of my shirt, his fingers trembling as he pushes the fabric aside. I help him, my own hands shaking as I tug at his belt, desperate to feel him, to be close to him. The rain pours down, soaking us through our clothes, but I don’t care. Nothing else matters except him, except this.

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