Page 86 of Hero Worship

I came around the table and pulled Misha into my arms. “It’s over,” I murmured as he trembled.

He broke with a choked sob. “Thank you,” he managed through the tears. “For helping me. For saving me. I won’t forget this, Xander. Ever.”

I held him tighter, both of us taking comfort in the knowledge that justice had finally been served.

Behind us, Roche’s preserved body caught the light like the world’s most macabre fashion installation. Art, after all, was meant to make a statement, and this one would ensure no one ever forgot what happened here.

The whiskey burned likeformaldehyde going down, but I couldn’t stop drinking. I couldn’t risk being sober enough to process what I’d awakened inside myself. My knee throbbed in time with my pulse, the day's exertions and stress finally catching up to my battered body. I reached absently to massage the damaged joint, a habit formed through countless nights of similar pain. The hotel room felt too small, suffocating, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave, even to go to the balcony. Not when Xander’s designer dress was still stained with Roche’s blood. Not when the urge to own and possess still burned in my veins.

Xander moved around the room, throwing our things into suitcases while I kept my vigil by the window. Xavier had gone out an hour ago to help Nikolai coordinate the cleanup with Lucky Losers. I pretended not to notice the concerned glances he'd thrown at me on the way out, the way he'd bowed his head and whispered that they should keep a close eye on me.

And God help me, they were. Xander wouldn't stop looking at me with those puppy dog eyes, that pinched brow, those pursed lips that I ached to bite, to claim. To own.

Xander took a step in my direction, reached for me.

I flinched away. “Don’t.” The word came out rougher than I intended, so I knocked back another drink, relishing the burn. “Stay away from me.”

“Ash…”

He reached for me again, but this time I caught him by the wrist. My grip on him was too tight, bruising, but he didn’t even try to pull away. He just watched me with those sad eyes, seeing straight through me.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly. Too softly.

I was. My whole body trembled with the effort of maintaining control, of not letting the possessive beast inside me surface to take what it wanted.

“Let me help,” Xander whispered. “Let me take care of you for once.”

He took another careful step closer, approaching like I was a wild, wounded animal. Dammit, maybe that’s exactly what I fucking was.

I shook my head. “I can’t. Not tonight. Not when I want… When I…” My throat was suddenly raw, so I lifted my glass only to find it empty. Dammit all.

Xander’s slender fingers closed around the empty glass while I was still staring at it and he took it from me, placing it on the dresser. “Tell me what you need. Honestly.”

“Honestly?” I let out a long, slow breath. It didn’t help. “I need to own you completely. To keep you perfect and still forever. To preserve every inch of you as you are right now. I let myself sink too deep, Xander. Standing there, in Roche’s sanctuary with all those butterflies… But it wasn’t him I saw. All I saw was my father. I…became him tonight. And now I don’t know how the fuck to come back from it.”

“Bullshit.” Xander’s voice was cutting. “That’s not what you want at all.”

“You have no fucking clue what I want.” The words came out as a growl.

“The hell I don’t.” He stepped closer. “The Ash Valentine I know doesn’t want me frozen in time like some pretty butterfly. He wants me to grow. To evolve. To become stronger and deadlier every single day.”

Their hands found my face, soft and warm against my cold skin. “You spend every training session pushing me past my limits. Making me better than I was the day before. You own my progress, my future. That's how you want to possess me, to make mebetter. Not by preserving me in amber, but by honing me into the beautiful weapon you know I’m meant to be.”

The truth in his words hit hard. Even at my darkest, I had never wanted to put out the fire in him. He was right. My possessive need had always been about nurturing him, molding him into something beautiful and lethal.

“You are not your father,” Xander said firmly. “And you’re not Roche. You are Ashley fucking Valentine, and you’remine.”

Something in my chest fractured with his words. My hands found his throat, thumb dragging lightly over his pulse just to feel the steady beat of life beneath his skin. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Xander said with conviction. “Mine.” He covered my hands with his own, pressing them harder against his throat,trusting me completely. “Now, let me take care of what belongs to me.”

Xander stepped backward, pulling me with him toward the bathroom. Once we were inside, I let my hands drop limply to my sides. He closed the door and locked it before turning on the shower. Steam curled around us, and it was enough that some of the ice in my veins had begun to melt. Bloodstained silk whispered against my fingers as they guided my hands to the zipper of their dress.

“Help me wash it away,” he murmured, breath ghosting over my lips. “All of it. The blood. The chemicals. The ghosts of what we did here in Paris, and the ones that haunt you from before. Let this be a baptism. Let’s start over everything that isn’t us.”

My fingers trembled as I drew the zipper down, but I felt detached, like someone else was controlling my body. Numbly, I registered that I was probably disassociating. It wouldn’t surprise me if we all walked away from this mission with a little PTSD. The dress pooled at his feet, leaving him in white lace that somehow managed to look deadly instead of delicate.

He reached for my shirt buttons next, carefully undoing them.

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