Page 33 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

“I do understand,” I cut in, my voice firm. “Your dad told me, and I know what it’s like to take a life and feel like you’ll never be clean again. I know what it’s like to wake up and wonder if it’s written all over your skin.”

Her breath catches, her nails digging into her palm.

I reach for her again, this time gripping her hand, squeezing tight. “But I also know that he deserved it. And I know that if you hadn’t done it, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

Tears well in her eyes, but she blinks them away furiously. “You should’ve told them.”

“No,” I say immediately. “This stays between us. No one else needs to know. Not Cast, not the others.” I hold her gaze, making sure she understands. “This is our secret, Willow.”

Her lips part, a mixture of emotions flashing across her face. Guilt. Relief. A little of both.

She exhales shakily. “You should hate me.”

I scoff. “I could never hate you.”

She closes her eyes for a beat, and when she opens them again, she looks… different. Not lighter, not yet. But a presence inside her has shifted.

“I don’t know how to live with it,” she admits, voice so soft I almost don’t hear it.

“You don’t have to live with it.” I whisper. “I’ll live with it.”

Her breath catches, her lips parting like she wants to argue, but no words come. I watch the war play out in her eyes—the fear, the guilt, the unbearable weight crushing down on her. And then, her demeanor shifts.

Slowly, she reaches for me, her fingers hesitant at first, then firmer as they curl around the front of my hoodie. A silent plea. A need to hold on to something—someone—solid.

I don’t hesitate. I cup her face, my thumbs tracing over the delicate curve of her jaw. “You don’t have to carry this alone, Willow.” My voice is rough, steady. “I won’t let you.”

Her lips tremble. “Damien…”

I don’t give her a chance to say anything else. I close the space between us, pressing my mouth to hers in a kiss that isn’t soft or hesitant—it’s deep, consuming, a promise wrapped in heat and desperation.

She melts into me instantly, her fingers fisting my hoodie, pulling me closer like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go. I slide my hand into her hair, tangling my fingers in the soft strands as I angle her head, deepening the kiss.

She tastes like coffee and hope, like a treasure I never should’ve touched but can’t bring myself to resist.

A small sound escapes her throat, and it undoes me. I groan against her lips, my other hand gripping her waist, anchoring her to me. She kisses me back, her fingers gripping my shirt, pulling me closer.

For a moment, nothing else exists. Just her. Just us.

14

WILLOW

Chapter 14 ():

I am curled on the living room couch with my world history textbook pulled up on Damien’s iPad and Professor Harlow’s sad face on my laptop.

“Willow,” she says gently, her voice careful. “I really think you should consider the sabbatical. We can frame it as a sympathetic academic leave—you’d still be in good standing when you return. No penalties, no repercussions. Just time to grieve.”

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. Rudy got cornered by Professor Harlow after I missed my sixth class without a single word, and of course, he spilled everything—told her I was grieving. She didn’t waste any time. By the next morning, she was demanding a meeting, making it crystal clear that if I didn’t show up, my scholarship would be rescinded.

I swallow around the lump in my throat. "I don’t want to fall behind."

"You won’t." Her brows pinch together. "You’re already ahead in your coursework, and your professors are more than willing toaccommodate you. This wouldn’t be a failure, Willow. It would be grace."

I clench my jaw. I hate that word. Grace. It feels like pity wrapped up in something prettier, a concept more palatable. But what choice do I have? Pretending I’m fine is exhausting. The weight of everything—of trying to hold on like nothing is slipping through my fingers—it's too much.

"Fine," I whisper. "I’ll take the leave."

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