Page 124 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

Jimena runs to her, tugging on her dress, and orders her, “Please don’t cry.” But she doesn't listen to her, sobs slipping past her lips as she takes a tentative step in my direction.

Another one, then another, and another, her feet almost soundless on the grass. The only sound filling the space is the brushing of the leaves, my heavy breathing, and her sobs.

I know I should probably come closer to her when she falls to her knees, pressing her hand to her chest while more sobs emerge, tears now pouring from her eyes, but I don't dare.

I don’t dare go and touch her unless she shows me it’s okay and doesn't chase me away from this house.

She gulps for breath, getting up on her wobbly legs and finding her balance again, all while her sapphire eyes, my eyes, stay glued to me as if she is afraid I might disappear.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

She’s standing in front of me—I’m slightly taller than her now. Her familiar flowery scent fills my lungs, and I’m a small boy again who accompanied her wherever she went.

Her trembling hands palm my face. She rubs her thumbs over some of the scars on my cheeks, gazing into my eyes, and I wait for disgust to cross her features, but it never comes.

Instead, she looks at me the way she used to, with love.

So much love I no longer deserve.

And because of that, I withstand her touch while I want to cry in despair and never let anyone’s hands touch my skin ever again.

It has been bruised and abused for so many years it wants reprieve from all the agonizing pain, but this is my mother.

My mother who sometimes I thought I’d never see again.

“Santiago,” she whispers, barely controlling her sobs, but shakes her head to rasp, “My baby.” Her hands slide to my chest, and she pulls back when she notices the many red slashes on my skin. More tears—if it’s possible—fill her eyes, and she sways back a little. “My baby.” I manage to catch her before she falls, and we both end up on our knees while her hands hug me so tightly I can’t breathe.

And I don't want to, because as we sit here, me in her arms while she sobs so hard and cries so loudly, it breaks the parts of my heart that still remain, almost making me believe that time has stopped and I’m the boy she lost.

I’m the boy who hoped.

I’m the boy who was never hurt.

For a second in time… my nightmares never destroyed the boy within.

“I knew you were alive. I knew it. My baby.” She rocks me in her arms. I scrunch my eyes so hard, my hands slowly wrapping around her waist and returning the hug, even if my body rebels against the idea.

I survived hell.

For my mother, I can survive her suffocating arms soothing some of the scars inside my soul that will never heal.

“It’s okay, Mom.” I utter the words I thought I wouldn’t ever again, even though nothing is fucking okay about it.

Words have no power to erase pain, anguish, rage. Our lives will never be the same.

“My baby. My baby boy.” She continues to chant, running her hands over my back and hugging me even closer, all while crying so hard I’m afraid she might get sick.

Jimena shifts in distress, rubbing her hands as if she doesn’t know what to do, and then rushes back to us, hugging me from behind and basically hanging on my neck.

God, I’ve survived so many wrongdoings, but I’m willing myself to survive their acceptance and not snap when it’s not well-earned.

However, years in captivity taught me to always stay alert, and when I feel a stare on me, I raise my head to see my father a few feet away, slightly thinner than I remember him but nevertheless having his powerful energy floating around him.

Lucian Cortez in the flesh finally appears, but I had to come to him myself.

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