The full truth of their past, laid bare by Eliott in the quiet darkness of his loft, was a heavy, suffocating blanket. Maëlys lay beside him, her mind reeling, trying to reconcile the fierce, reckless woman he described with the amnesiac stranger she had become. The fragments of memory now coalesced into a terrifying, coherent narrative: a love that had burned too bright, too dangerously, consuming everything in its path, ultimately leading to tragedy.
She felt the weight of Léonie's death, not as an abstract fact, but as a deeply personal loss, tinged with the bitter knowledge of her own unwitting role in her best friend's demise. The guilt was a cold, sharp blade, twisting in her gut. She also felt the complex grief for Liam, Eliott's brother, a man driven to madness by jealousy and his own demons, ultimately succumbing to the flames of their destructive love.
Eliott shifted, pulling her closer, his hand coming to rest on her stomach, his fingers gently splayed. "Are you okay?" he murmured, his voice hoarse, filled with a fragile hope and an underlying fear of rejection.
Maëlys sighed, a shudder running through her. "I'm... overwhelmed," she confessed, her voice thick with emotion. "It's so much. So much pain. So much... us." She felt a strange ache, a longing for the person she had been, even with all her flaws and dangerous choices. That Maëlys was alive, passionate, fearless. This Maëlys was fractured, haunted.
He kissed her hair, a tender, possessive gesture. "I know," he whispered. "I know it's a lot. And I wouldn't have told you, if you hadn't demanded it. If I hadn't felt you needed to know to heal."
"Heal?" she scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her. "How do you heal from this, Eliott? From knowing you were the cause of so much destruction? From knowing your love led to death?"
"You don't," he admitted, his voice raw. "You learn to live with it. You carry the weight. And you try to make sure it never happens again." His hand moved lower, tracing the curve of her hip, his touch a possessive reassurance. "But you don't carry it alone anymore, Maëlys. You have me. We have us."
The intimacy of his words, the unwavering conviction in his tone, sent a shiver through her. He was offering not just solace, but a shared burden, a joint sentence in the prison of their past. The idea was terrifying, yet undeniably compelling. She was no longer alone in her amnesia, nor in her guilt.
He shifted again, rolling onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow, his eyes burning into hers. "You remember more than you've let on, don't you?" he challenged, his voice a low, knowing purr. "The heat between us tonight... it wasn't just new discovery. It was old memory, aching to be released."
Maëlys felt a blush creep up her neck. He was right. Her body had remembered him with a terrifying clarity. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust had been infused with a primal recognition, a deep-seated craving for his dominance, for the way he pushed her to the edge. The "spicy time" was not just physical; it was a reawakening of a dangerous, addictive dynamic.
"Yes," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I remembered the hunger. The way you... owned me. Even then." A shiver ran through her, a mixture of fear and thrill.
Eliott's eyes darkened, blazing with unholy desire. He lowered his head, his lips brushing hers, a soft, teasing caress. "Good," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Because I intend to remind you of every single detail. To re-etch those memories onto your skin, onto your soul, until there's no doubt that you are, and always have been, irrevocably, dangerously, mine." His kiss deepened, a slow, possessive claiming that left her breathless, a tangible reminder of the power he held over her, and the intoxicating depths of their shared past. The weight of memory was heavy, but in his arms, it was also a terrifying, irresistible promise.