Chapter 33 Borrowed heaven
IRIS
A whisper threads through my sleep, soft and familiar, like a memory I can't quite grasp. My name. It pulls me from the depths of slumber, and I blink into the dim light of my bedroom.
Darian?
He’s here?
Darian sits on the edge of my bed, his silhouette etched against the faint glow from the streetlamp outside. His presence is a jolt to my senses, a collision of dream and reality.
As our eyes meet, he stands abruptly, as if caught in a trespass. Instinctively, I sit up and reach out, my fingers wrapping around his wrist.
"Don't go," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He turns to me, his eyes a storm of conflict. I can see the plea in them, the silent request for release.
"You're here," I murmur, more to myself than to him. The words slip out like a breath, soft and disbelieving. Like saying them out loud might anchor the moment, might make him stay.
He doesn’t speak right away. His jaw tightens, like he’s holding back a hundred things he wants to say, but doesn’t. Or won’t.
"I shouldn't be," he replies at last, his voice low, rough, like it’s been dragged across gravel. There’s something tight in the way he says it, like just being here costs him more than he’s willing to admit.
I tighten my grip on his wrist, anchoring him to the moment. "Stay. Just for the night."
He hesitates, the tension in his body palpable. Then, slowly, he sits back down, the mattress dipping under his weight.
Silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken words and shared memories. I study his face, the shadows accentuating the weariness etched into his features.
"Why did you come?" I ask.
He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling a breath he seems to have been holding. "I thought... I thought seeing you might help. That maybe, if I could just be near you, it would quiet everything else."
I nod, understanding more than I care to admit. The bond between us is a living thing, pulsing and insistent.
He looks at me, his gaze intense. "But it's not that simple, is it?"
"No," I whisper. "It's not."
We sit in the quiet, the air thick with emotion. I reach out, brushing my fingers against his cheek. "Stay," I repeat.
He leans into my touch, closing his eyes. "Just for the night."
And in that moment, nothing else matters.
I lie back down, the sheets cool against my skin, and glance up at him.
He’s still sitting at the edge of the bed, unmoving, like he’s caught between reason and instinct. I feel his eyes on me, and then he leans in slightly.
His fingers reach for my hair, carefully brushing it away from my face. They linger there, running through the strands slowly, almost like he’s memorizing the texture, the color, the way it curls slightly near the ends. It’s so gentle, I barely feel the touch, but my skin tingles anyway.
Then his hand moves, tracing the curve of my cheek, and I freeze. His touch is reverent, soft, like I’m something fragile. His thumb brushes lightly over my bottom lip, and I suck in a breath, surprised at the rush of warmth that floods me.
He’s looking at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. Like I’m his beginning and his end. It steals my words for a moment.
I swallow hard, pulse thrumming.
"Lie down with me," I whisper.
He hesitates, his eyes searching mine for a moment before he nods and stretches out beside me. The mattress dips under his weight, and the space between us feels charged, electric.
His hand reaches out again, fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. He touches me as if he's afraid I'll disappear if he's too rough.
I close my eyes, leaning into his touch, and my wolf purrs in contentment. This is what we've yearned for, what we've been denied for so long.
His fingers trail down the side of my face, tracing the curve of my jaw, the line of my neck. Each touch sends shivers down my spine, igniting a fire that smolders just beneath the surface.
I turn to face him, our eyes locking, and I see the same longing mirrored in his gaze. There's a vulnerability there, a raw honesty that takes my breath away.
He leans in, his forehead resting against mine, and we stay like that, breathing each other in, sharing the same air.
His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer, and I melt into him, our bodies aligning perfectly. The warmth of his embrace seeps into my bones, grounding me, anchoring me.
His hand moves, fingers splaying across my back, tracing patterns that make my heart race. I can feel the strength in his touch, the restraint, the tenderness.
I press my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent, a mix of pine and something uniquely him. It's intoxicating, and I feel myself getting lost in it.
His hand moves again, this time tracing the curve of my hip, the dip of my waist. Each touch is deliberate, exploratory, as if he's memorizing me.
I shiver, not from cold, but from the intensity of the moment, the overwhelming sense of rightness.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into my eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, unable to find words, and he smiles, a soft, barely noticeable, but genuine smile that makes my heart flutter.
We lie there, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside fading away. In this moment, nothing else matters.
His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining, and I squeeze gently, grounding myself in the reality of his presence.
I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull me into a sense of peace I haven't felt in a long time.
This is where I belong, in his arms, in this shared silence that speaks volumes.
As sleep begins to claim me, I hold onto this moment, this feeling, not caring about whatever comes next.