AnyRegrets
1048 Words
DANTE’S POV
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I knew she was waiting for me to say something — I was the one who’d called her name, after all — but the moment she turned those eyes on me, my mind went blank. I never thought a woman could disarm me the way she did, yet here I was, silent and unsteady because she chose to look at me. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, wide and guarded, as if she was waiting for me to decide whether she lived or died. I had already made up my mind. The only problem was whether I had the courage to go through with what I’d decided for her.
I tightened my grip on the bars, the cold metal biting into my palms. I needed control. I needed distance. But the bond pulled at me relentlessly, dragging me toward her, forcing me to face what I had prayed would never happen.
“Stand,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.
She flinched — barely — but enough for me to notice. Then she pushed herself to her feet, slow, stiff from the cold stone and the hours spent curled in fear. She stood as far from me as the cell allowed, her back against the wall, chin raised in stubborn defiance.
She wouldn’t come closer.
That was good for the both of us, if she did, I wasn’t sure what I would do.
Her voice came out small but steady. “Why am I here?”
It felt like a pointless question. Wasn’t it obvious? She was here because of the bond — because the goddess had a sick sense of humor — because I couldn’t walk away from her no matter how badly I wanted to. But I couldn’t tell her that. I couldn’t let her think there was even a shadow of weakness in me.
“It was necessary,” I answered, keeping my voice unreadable. Her brows pinched in disbelief. “Necessary? Locking me in a dungeon is necessary?”
Her voice trembled, but her eyes didn’t. That same quiet defiance from earlier glinted there, stirring something in me I didn’t want to acknowledge.
“You should be grateful,” I said, though the words tasted bitter. “If I hadn’t intervened, the others would have killed you before the night was over.”
She let out a hollow laugh — humorless, broken.
“So… pity, then.”
The word struck like a blade.
My jaw tightened. “This isn’t pity. Do you really think I brought you here because I pity you?”
“Then what is it?”
She stepped forward — one hesitant pace — but enough to send my wolf surging beneath my skin.
“Why did you stop the trials for me? Why bring me here? Why—”
Her voice cracked.
“Why didn’t you just let me die with the others? It would have been kinder.”
A growl rumbled from my chest before I could stop it — low, dangerous, instinctive.
“Don’t say that,” I snapped. “You’ll only make me angry, and trust me — you don’t want to see me angry.”
She blinked, startled by my tone.
I forced myself to breathe, to calm the fury scraping at my throat. “Watch what you say. Don’t jump to conclusions without knowing the circumstances.”
“Then explain something,” she whispered. “Anything. Because right now it feels like you hate me for existing.”
Her words hit too close to the truth.
I looked away, gripping the bars until my knuckles burned. I hated that she could see through me. I hated that she could sense the cracks forming in the walls I’d spent years building.
Finally, I spoke — quiet, dangerously calm.
“I don’t hate you.”
She didn’t believe me. I saw it in her eyes.
I exhaled slowly. “But I hate what your existence means. You were forced onto me.”
Her lips parted, confusion flickering across her face.
I met her gaze again, letting her see the part of the truth I couldn’t hide.
“You were never meant to be here,” I said. “The goddess wasn’t supposed to give me a mate.”
The word felt foreign and heavy on my tongue.
“And I… was never meant to have one.”
Silence settled between us — thick, suffocating, charged with something neither of us dared name.
She swallowed. “So… what happens now?”
I didn’t answer at first, because I didn’t know. Every answer felt like a trap — for her, for me, for the future I never wanted.
Finally, I said the only thing I could without lying.
“For now… you stay.”
Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
“I will keep you,” I continued, each word scraping out of me like gravel, “but that doesn’t mean I accept you. I’m keeping you only until I decide what to do with you.”
She scoffed.
“Then why explain yourself? Who are you trying to convince — me or yourself? Because it doesn’t sound like you believe what you’re saying.”
“Enough,” I snapped, louder than I intended.
She fell silent instantly — chest still, breath caught, fear slipping into her eyes despite her attempts to hide it.
“You will know your place,” I said, my voice low and cold. “And you will not question me. Do you understand?”
Her shoulders tensed, but she didn’t argue.
I stepped away from the bars before I did something reckless — like reach for her.
Her scent brushed against me one last time as I turned, each step a battle against instincts I refused to claim. But her voice stopped me cold.
“Dante?”
I didn’t turn. “What.”
“Do you regret it?”
Her voice trembled, but her eyes… her eyes were steady.
“Stopping the trials. Saving me. Do you… regret it?”
For a moment, I didn’t breathe.
Then, without looking back, I answered quietly:
“…I don’t know.”
And it was the most honest thing I had said in years.
- Writer
