Celine pressed her forehead against the cold stone wall, her hands braced flat against the surface as if it could hold her up. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, like her body was trying to keep everything from spilling out at once.
She had told herself she wouldn’t cry. That she was past this. Above it.
But the ache in her chest had festered too long, sharp and brutal, a wound she’d been pretending wasn’t there. And now it broke open, sudden and raw.
The first sob escaped before she could stop it—quiet, but real. Then another.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, hot and unwanted, falling silently onto the stone below. Her shoulders trembled, not from weakness, but from everything she had refused to feel until now.
The wedding. Luke. Lilith. The weight of it all crashing into her in the silence of this empty hallway.
She didn’t make a sound. But she let herself break. Just for a moment. Where no one could see.
She had held herself together for so long. Time and time again, she had told herself it didn’t matter—that she was fine, that the sharp edges of her past couldn’t cut her anymore. She had told herself she was stronger than this, that she had moved beyond it.
But now, standing here in the quiet, she could feel it cracking.
The pressure behind her ribs. The tightness in her throat. The sting she refused to blink away. And the worst part was how familiar it felt.
She hated it.
She hated herself for letting it touch her at all.
A soft footstep echoed behind her. There was no rush to it, no hesitation. It was a steady pace, quiet and sure. Then came the scent—dark cedar and cold air, like snow clinging to bark.
She didn’t need to turn around. She already knew who it was.
Leon said nothing at first. He simply stepped up beside her and leaned casually against the stone wall, exhaling a slow breath as he settled there. He didn’t reach for her. He didn’t speak. He was just there. Solid and still. And somehow, that was worse than any comfort he might have offered.
“Pathetic,” she muttered to herself, voice barely above a whisper. “This is pathetic.”
Leon let out a quiet hum, something between amusement and agreement. “You’re not wrong.”
A sharp, bitter laugh scraped from her throat. “You don’t have to stay here and watch me fall apart.”
“I do,” he mused, tilting his head. “I spent too much effort keeping you alive. Can’t have you breaking yourself now.”
She hated that his voice steadied her. Hated that even now, when everything inside her felt like it was breaking apart, his presence was enough to keep her standing. She had been on the edge, barely holding together since Luke had spoken those words—since the moment he had chosen Lilith over her. And Leon had seen it. All of it.
But she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve his patience or the way he stood beside her without asking for anything in return.
She straightened her back, pushing the weight of it all down as best she could. Then she turned to face him, her expression tight, her voice flat.
“Now you know the truth,” she said.
Leon didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just watched her, eyes locked on her face, unreadable. His stillness wasn’t hesitation—it was restraint, like a man holding something back.
She curled her hands into fists, her nails cutting into her palms. The pain grounded her, gave her something to focus on. Her voice came out tight, pushed through clenched teeth.
“I lied to you. I tricked you into keeping me here. And now—” She stopped, throat closing around the words, but forced them out anyway. “Now I have nothing left. So if you’re going to kill me, just do it.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. She waited for a reaction. A word. A blow. Anything. But he gave her none of it.
Then, without warning, he moved. He closed the space between them in a single step. His hand rose and caught her jaw, firm but not cruel. He tilted her face up, eyes burning into hers, and before she could take a breath, his mouth crashed against hers.
The kiss slammed into her—fast, heated, and with no room to breathe. It wasn’t soft or careful. It wasn’t an apology or a question. It was possession—blunt and consuming. He kissed her like he meant to burn everything else away. Like nothing else existed outside this one brutal, breathless moment.
And somehow, she let him.
Her thoughts scattered. Her grief, her guilt, even her anger—none of it mattered beneath the heat of him. This wasn’t what she’d imagined. Not like the kisses she once dreamed of with Luke—those had been soft, cautious, full of things left unsaid.
Leon was not cautious. He kissed her like she was his. Like she always had been. And something inside her gave way.
Her hands rose on instinct, grabbing at his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him back. The feel of him—solid, burning, too much—was everything she didn’t want to need.
She felt her wolf rise beneath her skin, wild and eager, drawn to his. The pull between them sharpened. Their magic pressed against each other, hungry and restless.
Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away. The break came like a slap. She stumbled back a step, breath caught in her chest, her lips still tingling. Her heart hammered in her ribs, her hands still curled in his shirt.
She stared at him, shaken, everything in her unraveling.
“What…” Her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. “What the hell was that?”
Leon straightened, his expression already shuttered. The heat in his eyes was gone, replaced by that calm, unreadable mask she’d seen him wear in every battle.
“The only way to snap you out of it,” he said.
She blinked, stunned. “Are you joking?”
He let the ghost of a smirk touch his lips, but there was something else underneath—something harder. Something he didn’t bother to explain. His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered, then rose back to meet her eyes.
“Are you still begging for death?” he asked.