Page 50 of Tempest Blazing
The towel was soft against my skin, but even that simple pleasure felt muted. Everything felt muted, like I was experiencing the world through thick glass.
I was reaching for the clothes someone—Ciaran, probably—had left folded on the counter when it hit me. The scent.
Home. Cinnamon and warmth and the faint musk that clung to all my favorite sweats. These weren't random clothes from some magical wardrobe. These weremine. From my apartment.
My hands stilled on the fabric, a soft gray hoodie that I'd owned for years. Underneath were my favorite leggings, the ones with the small hole near the left knee that I'd never bothered to fix. Even my underwear—plain cotton, nothing fancy, butmine.
Someone had gone to my apartment. Had gathered my things, had thought about what I might want to wear, had anticipated my needs before I'd even known I had them.
The thoughtfulness of it hit me like a wave. They'd seen me broken and afraid, and their response had been to bring me pieces of home. To wrap me in familiar comfort when I needed it most.
I sank onto the closed toilet seat, still clutching the hoodie. The mate bond thrummed with Mason's quiet strength, but underneath it was something else—the echo of care from all of them. They'd chosen to do this. Chosen me.
Control was an illusion, wasn't it? Yesterday had proven that. But maybe that was okay. Maybe being vulnerable didn't mean being powerless. Maybe letting them care about me wasn't weakness—it was trust.
The hoodie slipped over my head easily, the familiar weight of it settling around my shoulders like armor. Each piece of clothing felt like reclaiming a small part of myself, but also like accepting a gift I was still learning to believe I deserved.
I caught sight of myself in the mirror and didn't flinch this time. The bruises on my throat were still visible above the hoodie's neckline, stark reminders of how quickly everything could change. But I was here. I'd survived. And I wasn't facing what came next alone.
The scent of breakfast was stronger now, accompanied by the low murmur of voices from somewhere deeper in the sanctuary. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since... when? Yesterday morning?
The mate bond pulsed gently, carrying Mason's steady presence even through the walls between us. Not intrusive, just... there. Available. Patient.
He's waiting for you.
They all were. And maybe that was enough. Maybe I didn't need to have all the answers or feel completely whole. Maybe I just needed to show up and let them care about me, one moment at a time.
Even if it scared me senseless.
I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath, and reached for the door handle. This time, I turned it.
Chapter 22
Tess
The kitchen in Ciaran's hidden sanctuary felt warmer than it should have, considering the weight of everything we'd just survived.
Mason sat beside me, close enough that our knees brushed under the table. The mate bond hummed between us, steady and reassuring, but I could feel something else underneath it—a coiled tension he was trying to hide.
Kane sat across from us, his usual sharp composure dulled by exhaustion, while Draven lounged in his chair with deceptive casualness. Ciaran moved between the stove and counter, somehow managing to look both domestic and dangerous as he plated what smelled like the best breakfast I'd had in weeks.
"So," Kane said, cutting into his eggs with surgical precision, "the fighting ring is gone. Completely destroyed."
Mason's fork clattered against his plate. Every muscle in his body went rigid, the mate bond suddenly crackling with shock and fury.
"What fighting ring?" His voice was deadly quiet, the kind of calm that preceded violence. "What the hell were you doing at a fighting ring?"
The blood drained from my face so fast I felt dizzy. In all the chaos, the relief of being safe, I'd forgotten that Mason didn't know the details of what had happened. More than that—I'd forgotten how those places haunted him. The scars they'd left on his soul from his own brutal past trapped in the underground circuits.
"Mason, I—"
"Answer me." His dark eyes were blazing now, fixed on Kane with an intensity that made the air feel electric. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as old demons clawed their way to the surface. "Why was my mate anywhere near that place?"
Kane held up a hand, his voice carefully measured. "She didn't go there willingly. She was taken."
The words hit Mason like a physical blow. His grip on my hand tightened almost painfully, the mate bond flooding with a mixture of rage and terror so intense it made me dizzy.
"Taken," he repeated, his voice cracking. "Someone took you there. To fight."
