But he didn't move. He couldn't.
Because every time he touched her, he lost control. Every time his skin brushed hers, his restraint frayed and the bond between them threatened to consume them both. And tonight, with her trembling so beautifully, so tragically before him, he feared he wouldn't stop at comfort.
May set the broom and dustpan carefully to the side, her movements stiff and mechanical, as if her body were no longer hers but a puppet acting on reflex. She picked up the rag, dipped it into the bucket, and squeezed until water ran down her fingers in rivulets. Her hands trembled as she pressed the cloth to the ground, scrubbing at the faint streaks of dirt and dust. She wanted to cry out, to scream, but all she could do was scrub. Scrub and shake. Scrub and sob.
Her rag slid over something sharp, and before she could stop herself, pain lanced through her finger. She gasped, dropping the rag and lifting her hand to see blood bead up bright and red, stark against her pale skin. Her gaze fell to the piece of glass half-hidden under the rag.
Her breaths came uneven, faster now, as her mind whispered terrible, treacherous thoughts. What if this was the way out? She stared at the glass, her vision blurring with tears, and wondered if death was the only escape Kingsley had left her. Would her pain end? Would he finally stop if she was gone? She thought of Adelita's sweet laugh, of Nelly's warmth, of Mark's earnest devotion—of Kade's piercing eyes that saw too much—and the thought stabbed deeper than the glass ever could. Maybe if she was gone, they would all finally be safe. Nelly wouldn't be dragged into danger.
Her hand moved almost without her permission. She picked up the glass, the sharp edge biting into her palm as she wrapped her fingers tightly around it. A tremor shook her body as she lifted it higher, pressing the cold shard close to the delicate skin of her wrist. Her eyes slid shut, lips parting on a shaky exhale, as if surrendering to the possibility of silence, of peace, for the first time in years.
"Get up."
The command cut through her haze. Her eyes flew open, and her body twisted instinctively toward the sound. Kade stood behind her, filling the dimly lit hallway with his presence, his broad frame casting long shadows across the floor.
"Mr. Kade…" Shame heated her cheeks, shame that he had seen her at her weakest, her most pitiful.
"On your feet." His gaze flicked briefly to her hand and the glass she clutched, then back to her face.
May's fingers went slack, and the shard slipped from her grasp with a soft clink into the dustpan nearby. She rose slowly, unsteady on her legs.
"What are you trying to do? You want to end it? You think that piece of glass will help?" Kade's voice was low, a dangerous growl vibrating under every word as he pried the shard from her trembling hand. Her blood smeared against his fingers, warm and slick, a reminder of just how close she had been to slipping away.
"I wasn't—" she stammered, her lips trembling, her throat dry as if every excuse she had ever used to hide her pain was suddenly choking her.
"Stop lying to me." His grip on her was firm, but not cruel. He held her gaze until she dropped her. Before she could gather herself, he tugged her forward, dragging her into the kitchen.
He yanked open the medicine cabinet, his shoulders tense, every line of his body rigid with contained violence. A bottle of antiseptic clattered against the counter as he set it down harder than necessary. Cotton wool followed, his large hands dwarfing the fragile items as though they offended him by being so inadequate.
"He is going to hurt everyone just to get to me," May whispered. She sat down heavily at the edge of the counter stool, her hands trembling in her lap.
"I know." His focus was split—half on the wound he was cleaning with an almost obsessive care, half on the overwhelming urge to storm out of the house and hunt Kingsley down. He fought himself to stay grounded, to keep his hands steady as he pressed antiseptic-soaked cotton to her cut.
"I thought that part of my life was in the past. Now he knows where I live, he knows Nelly."
"It's going to be fine."
"I cannot go back there. I'd rather die."
Kade straightened, his hand pausing mid-motion, his eyes darkening. "Tell me what he did to you."
May shook her head violently, her eyes wide and desperate. "I cannot." Her hands twisted in her lap, her shoulders curling inward as though she could make herself smaller.
Kade stared at her, his chest rising and falling. "If I could, May… I would kill him. I would."
The confession was a truth that lived in his marrow. His eyes burned into hers. For the first time in years, she believed that maybe Kingsley wasn't untouchable.
And maybe that was why she did it—why her trembling fingers moved on instinct. She had no idea if it was because she wanted to prove to herself that she could trust him, or because deep down, she craved his protection. But slowly, almost as though each button weighed a ton, she unfastened her shirt. Then, with deliberate courage, she turned her back to him and let the fabric slide off her shoulders, pooling on the floor at her feet.
Kade's eyes widened, and before he could steel himself, the beast within him surged. His gaze darkened, pupils narrowing into slits, then flaring golden. His breath caught in his throat as the scars came into view, jagged lashes carved across her back, long since healed but still angry reminders of torment. Rage burned so hot in his chest that his control slipped. A low, guttural growl tore free, primal and violent, reverberating through the kitchen walls. His wolf howled for blood, for Kingsley's throat, for revenge that could only be paid in flesh.