I moan, my chest rising and falling in sharp breaths as he scrubs my hair.
“Why does that feel so good?”
His lips brush against the shell of the ear. “Because it’s me touching you, and not your mate. And deep down, you like me better than him.”
Ambrose huffs, grabbing the bar of soap, and takes my hand in his as he rubs it up my arm and over the swell of my breast.
Another soft moan purrs out of me.
“She likes me far better, asshole,” Ambrose says.
I roll my eyes at how ridiculous they are both acting. But I don’t stop them. I let them bicker as they take turns washing my hair, my body, taking special care to make sure my breasts and between my legs were clean.
Them antagonising each other doesn’t stop. But neither does the gentleness in which they touch me. The way they study me, as if they are trying to test me to see if anything sparks a memory about what happened.
I close my eyes. “Tell me.”
“What?” Ambrose stops mid-pouring of water onto my breasts.
“Tell me what happened. Or better yet, show me in your memories.”
Ambrose and Nyx exchange heavy glances. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ambrose says at the same time that Nyx says, “No.”
“You aren’t fooling me. The bickering and taunting each other is back because you both survived a shared trauma. One that you want to forget. You’re both trying to go back to the relationship you had before, where you were both fighting over who had the bigger dick.
“And two, you are both scared to death to really touch me. Terrified that Nyx’s mind control dream is going to wear off and I’m going to remember what happened.”
Silence stretches between the three of us.
“Please, tell me,” I beg, quietly but assuredly of them.
More silence.
“Ambrose?” I ask.
Pain reflects in his eyes, as moisture wells.
“Nyx?” I turn to him.
His eyes have glazed over in a hardened expression, like he’s no longer in the room with us.
I push into Ambrose’s mind, finding Nyx also there. Suddenly, I have to know. I have to understand their pain…
Darkness takes hold of me. And then I see them.
Both of them are walking toward me, and my body trembles under their predatory gazes.
No, stop.
But they don’t. They can’t. They—
A solid black wall forms, etched with Moonlight runes and dark red blood. A wall they’ve built together in Ambrose’s mind.
I stare into both of their eyes, with tears in my own. I got the smallest of glimpses into what happened, and it’s already enough to break me.
Not, I realize, because of what happened to me. They ensured I wouldn’t feel it, wouldn’t remember it. Could plaster a happier memory in its place.
No, I break for them. For what they endured. For what I couldn’t save them from.