Chapter 18: The Cost of Wanting Him
After that, they increased the pressure.
They deprived her of sleep.
They isolated her.
They whispered truths until lies felt kinder.
Your blood remembers.Your mother chose death over what you are.He will die because of you.
Each word slid into her like a blade.
She felt the pull grow restless.
Demanding.
One night, they brought Rafe to her room.
Unchained.
Watched.
Close.
Too close.
They left them alone—with cameras.
Rafe crossed the space in two strides and cupped her face.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, tears already falling.
"They're inside me," she whispered. "I feel… open."
He pulled her into his arms.
"Then feel this," he murmured, pressing her to his chest.
She clung to him.
"I don't know how to stop it."
"You don't have to," he said. "You just have to choose what it serves."
She pulled back slightly.
"What if I can't protect you?"
His thumb brushed beneath her eye.
"Then I will protect you," he said.
Her breath trembled.
"You're still choosing me," she whispered.
"Always," he replied.
She kissed him.
Desperate.
Not gentle.
As if memorizing him.
Their mouths moved together with a hunger edged in grief.
They broke apart only when alarms suddenly pierced the air.
The walls vibrated.
The pull inside her surged.
Rafe stiffened.
"They're provoking you," he said.
"Good," she whispered.
The lights shattered.
The floor rippled.
Men shouted.
Rafe stared at her.
And in his eyes, she saw not fear—
But awe.