The one I somehow, impossibly, already loved. Because if I didn’t? I’d take him down with me. And I didn’t care what anyone said, Romeo and Juliet? Dying in each other’s arms?
That wasn’t romance. That was a tragedy.
“Yes, we’ll get her back to a room. Mine is bigger, so I’ll take her there. You can follow us and monitor her vitals for a while until she’s feeling well enough to talk to us,” Kane said, that familiar alpha command in his voice snapping me out of it.
No. I couldn’t let him take me to his room, his space. I needed to hole up, get away. The more time I spent with this man, the more impossible it would be to break this off. And I had to. This wasn’t some fairy tale where the power of love was magically going to fix me. My parents had been in love, been fated mates. And they’d
