The Alpha's Omega Mistress

Sixty-Seven

Kira

There were no words on earth to describe the degree of sorrow on D'Angelo's face. There was a visible rip across his features, revealing raw grief as if a wound had reopened deep within him.

Gently rubbing circles into his arms and back, I rocked him back and forth while whispering consoling words in his ear.

It didn't work because he pulled away and all I did was gaze at him in despair.
His spirits sank even lower, and he felt defeated and wretched.  This was a huge loss for him, and I feared that he would have to live a lifetime of guilt.

"I killed him," he kept saying to himself. "I fucking killed Grey."

"Don't say that," I shook my head, placing one of my hands against his cheek to wipe away stray tears before they could fall. "That wasn't you, D'Angelo. You couldn't have known that Grey would attempt such an act. Don't feel guilty for being alive. As painful as this may sound, blaming yourself won't bring him back. It'll only lead to resentment and hatred for yourself, and that's not healthy."

There was a chilling silence in the room as if someone were watching over us. I glanced upwards but we were alone.

D'Angelo looked so fragile. He clutched my hand and shivered, a terrible wave of regret overtaking him.

"He was so young, Kira," he gasped out, his gaze going remote. "With a family on the way and so many projects at the tech institute. All of his dreams are gone now. All because of me."

I felt so much sympathy for him and slid an arm around his back. He would suffer from this guilt for a very long time and have many positive things in his life ruined by it.

"Grey wouldn't want you to suffer any more than you already have,” I reassured him, pressing my forehead against his temple, “I didn't know him much, but he was a good man. He died a fulfilled man if saving you was his goal in life."

D'Angelo wasn’t even paying attention to me and it felt like I was speaking a foreign language. Rather, he was lost in thought and was staring straight through me.

"He was always so bright, always smiling,” D’Angelo mused absentmindedly. "Zina is going to hate me for taking her husband away from her. How can she ever forgive me for that?"

His hanging head lifted, and he looked at me through the side of his eye, waiting for my response.

"She doesn't hate you. She's your friend, and I believe she's going to need your support now more than ever. Give her space to grieve her loss. For her, you must get out of this hole of hopelessness and take responsibility."

He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. He blinked a few times in a row, then looked helpless, and I felt confident enough to say more.

"Give Zina all she needs, both materially and emotionally. Make sure she never feels alone. And above all, make sure her pregnancy is safe. She will find happiness in that child, and it is your responsibility to make sure that happiness lasts."

He said nothing more, so I knelt next to him, facing him, and felt his fingers lightly caress my cheek.

I ran a hand through his hair and up to his neck, sighing. His lips stopped cold against my neck, and he buried his face in my hair, taking a deep breath.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax, but my stomach was churning and my heart was racing.

When I stole a glance at him, his gaze had grown large and liquid, holding onto mine and probing to my very soul.

"Life is short, you know," he said with light bitterness. "One minute we're here, and the next minute, we're no more."

My hands went limp and my mind started racing, trying to process what this could mean.