Page 55 of Empire of Wrath and Ruin
But her voice, her touch, her absolute refusal to give up on me—it created a crack in the wall of rage and madness. Through that crack, I could see who I used to be, who I was supposed to be. Not a monster. Not a weapon. Just a man who loved this woman more than his own life.
My breathing was ragged, chaotic, but slowly it began to sync with hers. The shadows around us, which had been writhing with violent intent, started to settle. The whispers, while not gone entirely, faded to a manageable whisper.
"That's it," she murmured, and I could hear the relief in her voice. "Just breathe with me. You're safe. You're not alone."
Tarshi crawled to our side, wrapping his arm around Livia’s shoulders and pulling her in close to his side, and placing his hand on my shoulder. The moment we made contact, I felt something strange—a pull, as if part of the darkness inside me was being drawn toward him. My twin brother staggered under the impact, his fingers tightening around my shoulder, but he held on. For just a heartbeat, I felt the crushing weight of the shadows lift slightly, as if someone else was helping me carry the burden.
The effect was immediate and overwhelming. The rage that had been building like a storm suddenly found another outlet, flowing toward Tarshi in a way I didn't understand but desperately needed. The pressure in my skull eased, and I could breathe again.
I collapsed against Livia, my whole body shaking as the darkness finally released its hold. The shadows retreated to their normal places, and suddenly I was just a man again—broken, exhausted, and filled with horror at what I'd almost done.
"Livia," I whispered, my voice cracked and raw. "Livia, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—I would never—"
But I would have. That was the terrifying truth. If she hadn't stopped me, if she hadn't reached the man beneath the monster, I would have taken her by force. I would have hurt the person I loved most in the world, and the darkness would have made me enjoy it.
The tears came then, great silent sobs that shook my entire frame. I was falling apart in her arms, this woman who hadevery right to fear me, to leave me, to let the shadows have what remained of my soul. But she didn't. She held me against her chest and whispered words of comfort while I wept for the man I was losing, piece by piece, to the darkness inside me. Around me, I felt rather than saw each of her men kneel with us, hands reaching out in comfort and recognition, not the anger and wrath I deserved for trying to hurt our mate. I wasn’t alone, and that only made the grief more unbearable. I didn’t deserve their comfort. I didn’t deserve her. I was too dangerous.
19
The silence in the destroyed room was deafening. Taveth lay curled on the bed like a broken child, his breathing finally even as exhaustion claimed him. The shadows that had been so violent minutes before now seemed to wrap around him protectively, but I could still feel the echo of his darkness through our bond—a constant, poisonous whisper that never truly went quiet.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands shaking as I stared at the destruction around us. Splintered furniture, shattered glass, books torn to pieces. But it wasn't the physical damage that had my heart racing—it was the memory of those moments when I'd looked into Taveth's eyes and seen nothing human looking back.
"Livia." Marcus's voice was gentle, but I could hear the tension underneath. "We need to talk."
I didn't want to leave Taveth, didn't want to take my eyes off him in case the darkness came back. But the way my mates were looking at me—protective, angry, concerned—told me this conversation was inevitable.
I looked at Marcus, then at the others who had crowded into the doorway—Antonius with blood on his knuckles from where he'd hit the wall, Sirrax holding his ribs carefully, Jalend pale with shock. They'd all seen what Taveth had become in those moments, all witnessed how close I'd come to...
"I can't leave him," I whispered, my hand hovering over Taveth's shoulder but not quite touching. Even in sleep, the shadows writhed restlessly beneath his skin.
"You can't help him like this either," Tarshi said quietly. He was leaning against the doorframe, his face drawn with exhaustion. Whatever had happened when he'd touched Taveth—when some of that darkness had flowed into him—had clearly taken a toll.
Marcus stepped forward, his expression grave. "Livia, what just happened... that wasn't normal.”
I knew he was right. I'd felt it through the bond—the way the darkness had consumed Taveth so completely that there'd been nothing left of the man I loved. Just hunger and rage and a terrible, creative desire to cause pain. Through our bond, I could still feel the shadows lurking at the edges of his consciousness, waiting. I leaned down and reluctantly pressed a soft kiss to Taveth's temple before standing. He stirred slightly at my touch but didn't wake, his face finally peaceful in sleep. The contrast between this vulnerable man and the monster that had held me down minutes ago made my chest ache with complicated emotions I couldn't even begin to untangle. My body ached where his grip had been, bruises already forming on my wrists and arms, but the physical pain was nothing compared to that.
We moved to the next room where Marcus and Antonius had been sleeping, leaving the door cracked so I could hear if Taveth stirred. Sirrax moved stiffly and leaned heavily against the wall, one hand pressed to his ribs where he'd hit the stone. Tarshi sat heavily in one of the few remaining intact chairs, hisface pale with exhaustion that I was beginning to understand wasn't entirely his own, and Jalend and Antonius both wearing expressions I couldn't quite read. I barely dared glance at Septimus whose face was dark with anger, and he was practically shaking with restraining himself.
"Are you hurt?" Sirrax asked immediately, his golden eyes scanning me for injuries. There was dried blood on his temple from where he'd hit the wall, but he seemed more concerned about me than his own wounds.
"I'm fine," I said automatically, then caught the look that passed between them. "Really. I'm fine."
"How long has it been this bad?" Marcus asked. He pulled me down into his lap, holding me close, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made me want to look away.
"It's been getting worse since we returned from the scouting mission," I admitted, taking his hand in mine. "But tonight... tonight was the worst I've seen."
"Livia." Tarshi's voice was strained, and when I looked at him, I could see something haunted in his blue eyes. "What he was going to do... what I felt him planning through the bond..."
"He would have raped you," Septimus said bluntly, his voice tight with anger. "If we hadn't arrived when we did—"
"But you did," I interrupted, though my voice shook. "And he didn't. There's still enough of him left to fight it."
"Is there?" Antonius stepped closer, his expression grim. "Because what I saw in there wasn't a man fighting darkness. That was darkness wearing a man's face."
"He's sick," I said defensively. "The shadow magic is consuming him. He can't control it."
"Exactly," Jalend said, as he settled into a chair. "Which is why he's dangerous. To you, to all of us, to everyone in this temple."
