The villa was still, but the kind of stillness that vibrated with unsaid things.
I rested back on the bed, the gray light of dawn flooding in through sheer curtains. My body ached — aching, throbbing pain in my foot where glass had cut through the skin, fatigue pulsing through every muscle. It wasn't the hurt in my body that was clamping down across my chest, though.
I woke to the feeling of being watched.
It was Caspian.
He was over on the far side of the room by the window, his shadow in the light out there. His shirt ripped, dried blood caked in a circle around the cut on his arm. He had not allowed anyone to fix it. Had not allowed anyone to touch him.
Hadn't even allowed me to touch him.
He stood, stiff, looking out into the night as if daring Victor Dane to emerge from the shadows again. Set shoulders, fists planted on his hips, jaw locked so tightly that I feared he would shatter.
The night curled around us like an animal — heavy, still.
"Caspian," I croaked, my throat dry.
He did not move. Untwisting.
I pulled myself towards him, limping on the floor. My feet feeling the chill of the icy floor, but I ignored the sharp pain that came with each step.
I crept over to stand beside him without making a sound. I only set my hand at the small of his back, and trailed my fingers down the cold hardness of his muscles beneath my palm. He tensed once more, his muscles harder — but he didn't move away.
Not yet.
"Rest," I whispered, my cheek against his shoulder, inches from his mouth.
"You haven't slept."
His answer, when it finally arrived, was abrupt and merciless. "I don't think I can."
I suppressed the ache in my throat. "Caspian, we're safe now. The security team—
"No one's safe, Lily." He whirled around, and he was going so fast I was panting. His eyes gazed at me — torn and shattered, the black half-moons beneath them burning brands across his cheeks. "Not when he's this close. Not when he was close enough to touch you."
I parted my lips to say something, but he was not going to let me say a word.
"I should have killed him," Caspian snarled, his face twisted in a grimace. "I should've done it when I had the chance. Because as long as he is alive, you're at risk. And I—" He broke off, nearly, and pushed his hand through the tangled mess of hair. "Can't…"
My chest folded inward. "Can't what?"
His gaze dropped to my foot, to the small bleeding next to the bandage that still seeped. His fists were clenched at his waist, as if he was struggling not to take a step closer to me.
"I don't want to lose you," he whispered, and the words broke me.
I looked back at him in reflex, and he didn't ignore me this time. My arms feeling the front of his dirty shirt, I pulled him to me so that his forehead grazed mine.
"You are never going to lose me," I said, shaking. "I'm here."
He moved closer to me, halting and uncertain, as if he wasn't sure he could reach me anymore. But when his hand brushed over my jaw, I melted in the sensation. His thumb brushed the corner of my cheekbone, shivering and gentle, as if he was memorizing every line of me.
As if he was afraid I'd disappear.
"You nearly died," he gasped, his lips on my skin. "Because of me."
I shook my head, the motion pressing my nose into his. "Because of him. Not you."
But Caspian hadn't appeared to have heard. He closed his eyes, and whatever had been locked inside him disintegrated. When he held me in his arms, it wasn't compartmentalized or guarded — it was desperate. A mad sort of desperation, as he pushed me against him and buried his face in my hair.
I held on to him as tight, my hands into his back, the pounding of his heart against mine. We stood, rigid bodies, both of us shaking silently.
It wasn't enough.
I tilted my head to one side, and his lips brushed my temple, my cheek, the edge of my mouth. A line of gauche, ragged kisses, until finally, finally, he kissed me properly — a quivering, shuddering kiss of hope and desperation in equal proportions.
I kissed him hard once more, all my need and love and fear pouring into it. Because we were alive. And I wanted him to remember that.
Forced him to find me.
When finally we caught our breaths, our gasping tangled around each other, he let his forehead fall against mine once more.
"I'm never letting you go," he growled.
My eyes filled with tears and I nodded. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
Caspian let me go, but we didn't take a step away from each other.
We just stood there, jammed in beside each other so close, that I could sense all his bruised-up breaths, all of his shudders that traveled down his spine. His hands gripped the cuff of my shirt as if letting go would break something delicate and fixable.
I leaned my head against him, against the edges of his jaw with the gentleness of my lips, tasting blood and salt.
"Sit down," I panted, my own breathing barely audible. "You're bleeding."
He did not move.
I stepped back far enough to view him, to view what it had drawn out of him on his face — the bruise on his arm, the bruise already beginning on his cheekbone. I stroked my hand up and touched his face, tracing the shape of the bruise with my fingers, and he flinched. Not because it was hurting him, but because of the softness of it.
"I don't care about any of that," he growled. "I care about you."
My heart hurt with pain, and I shook my head. "And I care about you. Let me take care of you, Caspian."
For an instant, I would have thought that he would struggle. That he would build the wall, try to conceal his own agony so that he could focus on my own. But whatever reservoirs of struggle that was in him broke down, and he let me lead him over to the bed.
He propped forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clenched in his hair as if he couldn't possibly stand the burden of it all crashing down on him. I sat next to him, my throbbing foot momentarily forgotten, running my hand down his arm.
His fingers jerked under my touch.
I've got to get this clean," I grunted, ripping off the rotting bandage. His flesh was warm under my fingers, the ropey texture of his arm taut as I ripped the cloth off inch by hard inch. The wound was horrific — jagged, red, still puffy with pus.
I was sick.
"This is going to have to be stitched," I panted, pain running up into my throat. "Why didn't you allow the medic treat you?"
Caspian's hand on top of mine, holding me back. His fingers splayed across his face, mouth on my knuckles that hurt for sensitivity.
"The moment they pulled you out of the room, I tripped over," he admitted, his words torn asunder. "I couldn't breathe, Lily. I couldn't think. You'd been hurt, and I." He stopped himself, his jaw clamped tight with a sound of stone. "I thought of nothing else.".
Tears come welling up in the corner of my eye, and I press fingers into his hair, holding his head against my chest so that his forehead dug into me. He held me close around the waist, fingers biting deep as though to grasp hard.
"I'm okay," I puffed, repeating it and repeating it and repeating it, fingers tangling in his hair. "I'm right here."
He didn't respond, but his breathing eased, his body leaning against me as if he was going to finally release.
I didn't move. I just held him.
At last, I managed to get him back down onto the bed. He resented it, his eyes glinting as if he'd be dead if he even blinked. I carefully cleaned the wound, clenching my lip hard so the tears stayed hidden inside, and tied it tightly in trembling hands.
I had stood up, had tried to stand, when Caspian's fingers closed around my wrist.
"Stay," he told me, and there wasn't room to argue in his tone.
I didn't have to go anyway.
I sat beside him in bed, and hardly had I settled than he pulled himself around me, pinned me to his chest, and forced me down against his chin. His arms pulled me to himself, the sound of his heart booming through my ear — strong, shuddering, but living.
Living.
I traced designs on his chest with my fingers, and he kissed the top of my head, holding it as if branding the shape of me onto his skin.
Tell me anything, he breathed, his mouth on mine.
I leaned in to gaze at him, our mouths inches apart I could feel his breath on my skin. "Anything."
"Don't lie to me and tell me you're not scared," he snarled. "Don't even try to lie. I want to know. I want you to tell me the truth."
I rested on him, my chest tightening. "Okay," I panted.
"And don't leave me," he panted, so quietly I could hardly hear him.
I smoothed my palm to the crown of his head, cradling his face, the curve of his jaw, the silky beard snagging at my fingers.
"I'm not going," I vowed, my voice breaking. "Not now. Never."
Caspian's eyes closed and he breathed out as if he'd been holding it since the start of time.
He didn't speak.
He just held on.
And when the first light of dawn had lit the room, I finally allowed myself hope that we'd survived the night.
Together.