Quinn
Guilt.
It did not burn through her like a storm, a roaring blizzard that flayed her skin. It was like a presence — a parasitic monster with teeth that tore through her skin, worms chewing on flesh. It gnawed upon the edges of her sanity, reared its ugly head when her mentality weakened and frayed.
It was the knowledge that Quinn was nothing more than Euodia's echo.
She could tell herself that Euodia's sins were not hers, but the memories remained.
And the thoughts settled upon her chest like a cold, ugly corpse, weighed upon her lungs until she struggled to breathe. Every beat of her heart seemed stolen, taken from the seven men who had once knelt before her, bleeding, broken and bruised.
Those memories were never gentle, asking delicately for permission to enter and torment her mind. Instead, they invaded her head, sharp and sickeningly sweet, dragging her through the sharp jagged bedrock of agony.
It was poison.
It was pain.
A bloodied stain that bloomed in her chest, spreading when she allowed herself to sink, allowed herself to forget that Quinn deserved to live. But how could she separate herself from a mind that was once Euodia's, pulsing within her like it was her own?
There was a time when she could lock those memories deep behind closed doors and whisper to herself that Euodia was pure fiction. A villainess written for a story; a mere antagonist created for the development of the seven main characters that Quinn supported and loved.
Euodia was just a fucking plot point.
There was a time when Quinn believed that she was just here to make amends and live. She was not here to rewrite a broken story, but to walk quietly amongst its ruins. She was here to touch the broken pieces, to look at the wreckage, to salvage the parts that had been forgotten. She would think of them from the wastelands. She would not meet them and destroy their happiness.
She would live on her own.
Quinn had loved them, with her fingers upon the pages of a book, a mere reader in the quiet dark of the night. She had whispered prayers into the silence for their success, wept bitterly at their suffering. She had clenched her fists, enraged when the world wanted to crush them again and again.
Quinn knew their names the way the night knew the stars, etched. Zen. Rowan. Helios. Solar. Icarus. Elysian. Klaus. After everything that had occurred, they deserved a most generous world. And she cherished those goddamn fictional characters. She fucking rooted for them; she thought they deserved everything.
She wanted them to succeed.
She believed that they deserved the child at the end of the story — that final, fragile joy that rose from the ruins of death. The soft epilogue of peace, of laughter in the warmest home, of love untainted by war, by villains, and by cruelty. They deserved a sky that did not fall. They deserved happiness and love.
And yet her existence had vanquished their hopes. Her reappearance created the monsters. Her life destroyed the plot. There was an ugliness on Quinn's face as her fingers trembled, closed around the canteen.
Her very existence had poisoned their chances. Her entrance into this world, in this fucking body, had forced them back into a world blackened by death. And now they were in an alternate universe, sickened by her appearance. Bitterness gathered on her tongue, and the shadows clung to her like oil, suffocating and thick, they whispered the horrors of the past that she could not forget.
History circled her, a noose of memory. It was now a story that was not ink on paper, but memories carved into her flesh, forced upon her mind like torture. The characters that she loved were now burned by her own unwilling hands. And what did she do to deserve this? Her eyes closed to the visions.
Helios's face rose to her mind, lacerated by her own hands. The bindings on his wrists were not just chains. They were Euodia's fucking sins, forged from their history together. Blood painted his lips like an unanswered prayer.
"I won't beg," he had said. But it was not defiance that escaped his mouth. It was a monotonous surrender to a pain so immense that it had turned him into a mere shadow of himself. And Quinn could still feel the knife in her hands, could taste the metallic glee on Euodia's tongue, the sickening rush of joy when his feathers fell to the ground with each slash.
It made her want to vomit.
It made her want to die.
Then Rowan's screams followed, and his body slammed against the wall. His cries were raw, ragged sounds that seared through her bones. It was not a memory for Quinn, but a fucking wound that reopened again and again. A gash that refused to scar. She could remember Euodia's voice, her voice — sickeningly silky, venomous and dirty.
"A little rat." A finger to his chin had him seizing in her hands. His pain had been her pleasure. "A thief deserves to be trapped and killed."
The words roared in Quinn's head, and her nails dug deeper into her skin, hoping to remove the rot that Euodia had left behind. But it lived, it thrived within her. It tasted like iron, like metallic blood, smelled like fire and death. And her fingers trembled as her eyes grew glazed from the memories seared into her brain.
Solar, dear, sweet Solar who had loved her dearly. He always smiled even when the bruises blossomed across his ribs like the most gorgeous violets. He always laughed when he spat blood upon the ground, fingers on her cheek like the dearest of lovers.
Why did he love her?
Solar had been a victim who could not escape the prison that she'd placed upon his soul.
"It's okay," he would say, spitting blood when Euodia's madness had broken his limbs. She'd shattered his bones too slowly to be mere anger, too deliberately to be an accident. "I'm fine." Euodia would silence him with a hand around his throat, and the other pressed to his chest, feeling for the rhythm of his heart for her own fucking amusement.
Quinn's nails dug deeper into her flesh, but it wasn't enough. She needed to hurt.
Icarus, cold and quiet, a soul that smouldered but did not burn. He never cried; he could not. The rogue in him had always dared Euodia to break him, dared her to do more. And she did. Not with pain, but with isolation, with enforced suffering, toyed with a curse that forced him to need her.
She sealed him off in the darkness for weeks, in a place where nothing could echo, where no breath could be heard. The walls swallowed the light, consumed his sobs, and when he emerged, he was different.
She could still feel the weight of the damn key in her hands.
Her lips trembled at the thoughts that were now resurfacing like bubbling tar.
Elysian had been beautiful, untouched, and filled with a royalty's inborn respect for himself. And that was his sin, Euodia had said with a smile that gleamed like the worst of the frost. She had taken the prince out upon her balcony, to her court, to the guillotine. She declared to the throngs of Alphas of his crimes, surrounding him with a thousand mirrors. He begged like a whore, she had said, begged for the weaklings in his lands. And if he wanted her to save them, then he could do everything, even lose his soul.
He could submit like a slut.
He'd stripped in the awful cold, tried his best to please her. She made him watch himself as he begged. It was not only the eyes and the jeers of the public that seared him. It was the reflection of himself on his knees, doing everything to please her. And she watched him decay, rot into someone that could not look at his reflection in the water, would not be able to meet someone's eye for weeks.
She broke him.
There was no way Elysian, beautiful, gorgeous Elysian, would love her.
And now, whenever Quinn saw Euodia in her reflection, she wanted her to die.
Klaus was brilliant, a prince, a scholar, a man with a mind like the galaxy—wide, brilliant and full of light. She'd watched him on her sister's wedding night, fucked by a braying beast with an audience, blood dripping down his thighs. He'd been strong then, stronger than the rest, when his eyes settled upon hers with resilience, with strength.
He did not break like the others in her sister's harem.
But Euodia relished his suffering when his happiness dwindled, when his eyes caught upon her lovers, parading around in their collars, always in the nude. She rejoiced in his jealousy, his rage, his suffering as he spoke to her and tried his best not to care for the Omegas at her feet. She knew then that they were special to him, and she chose to hurt them publicly, chose to hurt them more.
His pain was her pleasure.
And then Zen—dear, fucking God, Zen.
His silence was a relic of suffering, a cathedral of sorrow. He never uttered a sound, not a single sob. But his eyes were always so vacant, yet so devoted. It was as if love had been forced down his throat, turned into a weapon that was used against his soul. He looked at her like she was salvation; he loved her when she stepped upon his hopes and dreams. Zen did everything for her. He was truly her slave.
But Euodia was damnation.
Euodia had blood on her fucking hands.
Euodia deserved death.
Quinn curled in upon herself now, jaws clenched tight for the nausea that bubbled up her throat, a gag forcing its way through. The memories were always like knives, merciless and bloody. Her body remembered things she did not want to remember. The way she smiled when they suffered, the little shiver of pleasure when she broke them. She felt it too. The cruelty. The lust for power. The hunger.
And now it was a rancid aftertaste at the back of her throat soiled by guilt.
So why the fuck did the world have to make her Euodia? What did Quinn deserve to live in the another's past like it was her own fucking mistakes? Perhaps, her mind sought reasons then. Perhaps Quinn truly was the reincarnation of Euodia, and she had to pay for her sins. The guilt did not sting then. It seared, licked at her insides with molten heat and fire. It had her questioning everything.
There was rage now in her chest, a seething fire.
Quinn could not tell where Euodia ended, and she began, and that was what scared her the most. The merging. The awful feeling that she deserved all this pain, all this suffering. She deserved to die for the seven who should have had the most.
Quinn's hands tightened. She had never allowed herself to spiral like that, had never acknowledged these thoughts. But now? It returned with vengeance after years of hiding it deep inside her, after years of convincing herself that Quinn was Quinn and Euodia was Euodia. A mere admission, words spoken into the air, had broken her into pieces. No…It was not her confession. It was their guilt that broke her.
Why did they feel guilty for what she remembered?
The room spun, heavy with the ghosts of her past. Her eyes shifted now to the trio, huddled beside the portable heater, asleep from the day's torment. No apology was enough for what she had done, no redemption for the deadly soul that merged with her own. Euodia did not deserve their forgiveness. Quinn was a monster built upon her bones, and the ghosts would never stop singing.
So, when the three Omegas had stared at her with eyes so filled with guilt, Quinn could only question their feelings with horrible, awful tears. Why did they forgive the monster? Why didn't they hate her? Why did they understand? Why were they guilty? Why was her heart aching? Why did she feel wronged? Why was she breaking from their understanding, their care, their love?
Why was her heart on fire?
The way they hurt Euodia at the end was nothing compared to what she had done. The smile on Quinn's cheek was grim. She deserved that. She deserved it all. The pain. The suffering. It was all retribution rightfully given. It was all so well deserved. So why? Her lips trembled, her legs shook, fingers peeling at her nails. Why did Zen and Elysian have to be her soulmates?
Why did she have to suffer in Euodia's place?
Was she even Quinn?
"Quinn."
Rowan's voice was soft, a murmur laced with velvet, a gentle sound that could coax all to sleep. Yet it sliced through the fog of her mind like a blade, had her shaken from its hold. She raised her head to look at him.
He looked like the last breath of a dying storm, seemed haunting as he stood with exhaustion clinging to him like a fog, broad shoulders hunched with a newfound weight. His hair, long, dark curls hanging to his cheekbones. They framed the sharpness of his jaw like the darkest of silk, always so handsome, so fucking gorgeous.
But it was his eyes that silenced her, the gold that burned from sleepless nights, flickered like candlelight. A beast was coiled in his limbs, twitching in the muscle as if his wolf were barely restrained, pacing under his chest.
His breath was rasped out slowly and deliberately as if each one hollowed him. And yet he stared at her like a predator too loyal to leave. He stared at her, like a wolf looking at the moon.
Loyalty. How could there be loyalty? How could he look at her with so much reverence and respect? How was he looking at her like he was looking at a Goddess? And so, when Rowan's hand found hers in the sweetest encompass of warmth, her spine tensed.
Quinn flinched, violently shattering under his touch. And a bloom of unbearable shame flooded her cheeks like rot, rising fast into her lungs. The heat of it was traitorous as it crawled over her skin, guilt blossoming in her flesh.
He paused, confusion fluttering in his eyes.
A wolf-like stillness settled upon him, like a beast in the woods. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, eyes burning a gloomy gold. His gaze was not kind, instead, they were too damn honest. They seemed to pierce through her soul.
He saw too much.
"What's wrong?" he asked, voice husky with timbre and sleep. But the exhaustion quickly left his eyes. He had limped over, the brace on his ankle working to support him. But wolves healed quickly, and he would only need a couple more hours to walk on both feet.
"I'm fine," she answered, a lie tracing her tongue. "There are no monsters here."
Only me.
"You do not need to take second watch," she said. "I can look for another hour or two—"
Rowan tilted his head. "You're crying."
"Am I?" Quinn touched a hand to her cheeks, felt for the tears, the dampness. A smile stretched across her cheeks when the tips of her fingers came away warm. She tasted salt as she forced a grin that felt like a painful scar. "It's nothing. Just dust." His brow lifted.
"Just dust," Rowan repeated after her, dry and unconvinced. Still, he did not speak another word. Instead, he settled himself by her side with a feline grace. His eyes turned towards the sleeping bodies of Zen and Helios across the room. "I think we'll be alright." He misunderstood her tears, but Quinn was thankful for the distraction. "Zen's smarter than you think."
"I know," Quinn said.
"And Helios…" Rowan exhaled fondly. "He'll survive anything. The dumbass survived the transformation once."
"He always has."
"They'll pull through," Rowan reassured. A moment passed, quiet and pulsing with all the words they had not said.
"I remember the room."
Rowan stilled. There was a dance of confusion in his eyes, flecked with the beginnings of pain.
"The one with her….And you."
The air seemed to change. The silence grew only colder. He did not flinch; he never did. But the pain flickered across his face like a ghost, the shadow of a scream trapped between clenched teeth. He remembered just as well as she did. "You remember that?" his voice was hoarse, distant.
She nodded. A dart of his pain flashed across his face.
"And me?" His jaw clenched tighter, eyes growing stormy. "You remember what she did to me?"
Quinn looked away, her voice cracking like thin ice. The blur of blood and screams. "Yes," she whispered. "Everything."
She anticipated fury, she believed he would leave, yell, spit in her face and turn away. She waited for him to rise like the shatter of lightning and run from her with a curse. But he did not. Instead, his breath hitched in his throat, stuttered from his chest with his fists clenched. He remained by her side, sitting with his legs crossed. There was a quiet then, and she felt a roar of something, a need to speak as he remained without a word.
He stayed.
And that had her choking through what she could only call her attempt to apologise.
"She did all that to you," she whispered out, a broken laugh dragging itself from her throat, "for a loaf of fucking bread." Her snort was lifeless, a hand brushed at her cheek. "It's so fucked up."
His answering huff was a sound that wasn't quite amusement. But it calmed her. His acknowledgement rang in her head.
Her voice shook. "She was such a bitch with too much goddamn time on her hands."
"I was a symbol of resistance," Rowan said with a long, heavy sigh. It surprised her that he spoke with his eyes fixed upon nothing. "She needed my… tenacity gone. And it worked. For a while." The pause after that was filled with strange tension. "You're right," he seemed to consider her words, "she was a bitch." Quinn stared at him, and a blur of guilt rose in her eyes.
"I hate that I have her face," Quinn admitted.
"Her face?" Rowan's gaze snapped to her with a sharpness that suddenly burned. The outrage was obvious, his thoughts were all over his features. He didn't think she looked like Euodia.
Quinn blinked, then squinted at him. "I don't?"
He shook his head. "No," he said, "I knew her. Too well. She could do everything to hide from me, and I'd know her from the back of her head. I could have picked her out from a crowd of thousands just by the curve of her shoulders or the tilt of her wrist. She could never hide from us." He exhaled, regarded her with a strange look in his eyes. "You? You move like you're trying not to wake the dead."
Her heart raced, and a strange flutter grew in her belly.
"When you smile," he continued, "your face contorts like it doesn't understand joy. You cry like you've seen too much and lived too little. You're haunted, and she never was." His fingers sought hers then, as gentle as air. "You're different."
That surprised her, it had her staring at him with a tremble in her limbs.
"Euodia doesn't smile like a normal person," he promised. "She doesn't grieve. She doesn't cry. She did not love." His eyes turned to hers. "You do." There was rain outside, bleeding into the broken glass, slithering like veins, but the sound was soft, hypnotic. "Even when you look at me now like you're terrified of what I will see…" He leaned in slowly, fingers touching her cheek, quivering. There was light in his clementine eyes when he murmured the words. "I see you."
Her lips parted, the air was thick with something else, and her words were stuttered out with her inner torment. Quinn shook, felt a rushing need to speak. "I remember so much, so many things that I did to you—"
"She," he cut her off, low and ruthless. "She did those things." And suddenly her hand was in his, laced tight as if to anchor her to him. "Don't you dare fucking apologise for the shit she did." There was rage in his eyes then, a snarl on his tongue. "You're not her. You've never been her. You're never her. You are not Euodia."
"But her memories—"
"Are just memories," he hissed, took her hand to press it firmly against his heart. "Did you do it? Did you curse my flesh and burn me alive while you laughed?"
A sob clawed its way up her throat. "No, I could never."
"Then it was her," he hissed. "Not you. Her. That woman is dead. You're innocent, you always have been, and I forgive you for having those memories, for knowing my pain." His eyes were the clearest, brightest clementines. "I forgive you."
The guilt had almost torn through her completely, but he swallowed it down with a single look, with words spoken like an angel. His gaze tore the shame from her skin and left her naked in another way. There was a spike in warmth in her eyes, a burn in her nose.
Quinn tried to look away, and her vision blurred.
"Fuck," she whispered, tears spilling. He believed her. He actually seriously believed her. It felt like a rush of joy, a cold spill of gratitude that shivered down her skin. There was a heat in her chest then that grew only warmer. She didn't even believe in herself. And yet, he trusted her. "Thank you." She couldn't help the bubble of a laugh as more tears slipped down her cheeks. "Thank you."
He caught one, his thumb brushing against her skin. And she felt heat grow in her face when he brought them to his lips, tasting her tears on his tongue. The wolf in him sparked in his eyes. His smile was sweet, displaying a flicker of a beast.
She felt her cheeks grow pink.
"Your tears taste sweet," he said, voice maddeningly soft. Then his forehead pressed against hers, not as a mere touch, but as a claim. And the world seemed to hold its breath. "You're not her." His gaze was searing, knives sharpened by longing and there was something in his eyes that carved her open and filled her with something so fucking terrifying it frightened her.
Hope.
"You're Quinn," he whispered. Their mouths hovered, despair aching in the air. Her chest burned for something she could not have as she stared into his eyes. "Say it."
"I'm Quinn," she whispered, suddenly needing so much more than just words. Her breath caught in her throat, the ache growing in her chest, boiling in her soul. She wanted. She needed. She yearned. "I'm just Quinn."
She was the one to press her tear-stained lips to his.
The kiss crashed like thunder. And it came together like an answer, aching and real. Their tongues tangled; breaths lost upon each other. It was a collision of his mouth crushing against hers, hot, frantic and starving. She was consumed by his wet heat, by the gentleness that he gave her with his hands cradling her face as if she were the most precious of gems.
He drank from her, two broken souls grasping for warmth. And when he groaned like she was the only thing tethering him to the world, she moaned into his mouth, tugged him closer as if afraid he'd go. He tasted like heaven; he smelled like honey warmed in her palms. And when they parted, his clementine eyes glowed with an edge of confession.
His breath was ragged, lips red and slick with saliva. But his eyes seemed to be on fire, a glow of pink on his cheeks as if health had returned to him. He stared at her then as if he were on the brink of destruction, as if she'd unleashed something from deep within him. A spark flashed in his eyes.
"I think I know what we could try to do," he whispered, "to save them."
Her brows furrowed as his lips pressed into a thin line, as if hesitant to say more. "What?"
His eyes darted to hers, a moment of fear, then his voice came out soft. "All beasts need to feed. The fey take emotions. The vampires take blood. The wolves? We take what's deepest and most primal. What's sacred, what's alive. Within it all is a need for something far more than just feelings and fluids. In the past, all I ever needed were my mates. It was the same for everyone else; taking from their pack was enough."
His gaze burned into hers.
"In my prejudice, I've just never seen that possibility that it could be so simple. I assumed that manipulating your emotions, faking things, it all transforms the taste into a sweetness that I craved. You tasted better. The Alphas tasted better. But why did they taste better? Why do your kisses make me feel alive?"
"What are you talking about?" A beat passed; his next words shattered her.
He licked his lips, nervous. "What if we didn't fake things?"
Quinn stiffened. "What are you trying to say?"
"It's selfish, it feels so damn selfish," he whispered, eyes closed as if pained, voice falling into a husky groan. "I don't know how to say this without saying it all wrong—"
But she shook her head. "It doesn't matter; just say it, we don't have time. If we can save them, it will all be worth it—"
His eyes burned, a plea settling into the liquid darkness. "What if we went all the way?" he asked, voice barely audible, no louder than a breath.
She froze. "You cannot be serious—"
"What if…" There was a rush of panic in his eyes, a jolt of sweat as his cheeks warmed into a beautiful carnation. And then his face seemed to melt, eyes growing dazed as his pupils swelled. "We made love?"
A/N-Thank you so much for waiting! TLDR, I found out I've got awful health +a ton of deficiencies from a regular check-up, was hospitalised and am currently slowly recovering. But things are looking good. I am healing and back.Thank you as always for the love, and I'm blessing everyone with health, wealth and happiness. Please go get yourself checked out every once in a while if you can (I totally thought I was young and strong, but I'm not).
Read ahead on
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/tinyeyecat
Inkitt Subscription: https://www.inkitt.com/tinyeyecat