Breath of the Night

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t step back this time. Her trembling hand hesitated for only a moment before she reached out, her fingers grazing my forearm.

“Rowan, it’s me,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “You’re okay. You’re with me.”

Her touch was a lifeline, a thread pulling me from the edge of oblivion. The beast within me howled in protest, surging against the fragile barrier of control I was desperately trying to hold. My body shuddered violently, my knees buckling as I clutched my sides. Pain flared in my chest, sharp and unrelenting, as if my very bones were at war with themselves.

“I—I can’t…” The words spilled out in broken gasps. My claws dug into the hardwood floor, carving deep grooves as I fought the transformation with every ounce of willpower I had left.

“It’s happening… Anna, I can’t stop it.”

She crouched in front of me, her presence grounding and steadying me.

“You can't stop what, Rowan?” she whispered, her voice unwavering.

“Look at me, Rowan. Just look at me.”

My gaze locked onto hers, and for a moment, the world shrank to just her face. Her eyes, warm and steady despite the flicker of fear she was trying so hard to mask, held me in place.

“You’re stronger than this,” she said, her hands cupping my face. Her palms were cool against my burning skin.

“You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

The beast snarled, a low, guttural sound that echoed in my skull, clawing at the edges of my sanity. My body convulsed, muscles spasming as the pressure built to an unbearable crescendo. My breath came in ragged gasps, and I could feel the sharp points of my teeth pressing against my lips, threatening to pierce through.

“I’m… sorry…” I choked out, tears stinging my eyes.

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head.

“Don’t apologize. Just stay with me, Rowan. Stay with me.”

Her words were an anchor in the storm raging within me. I wanted to hold on, to cling to her voice, her touch, but the pain was overwhelming. My body wasn’t my own—it was a battlefield, every nerve alight with agony as the beast clawed for freedom.

Anna moved closer, wrapping her arms around me, pulling me into her embrace. Her warmth seeped into me, a stark contrast to the cold, inky darkness that swirled inside. She didn’t flinch, even as my body trembled violently against hers, even as I let out a strangled, inhuman growl.

“You’re safe,” she murmured, her lips brushing against my ear.

“I’ve got you. It’s just a bad dream, Rowan. It’s not real.”

Her words didn’t make sense—not to the part of me that knew this was far more than a nightmare—but they soothed something deep inside. The beast hesitated, its feral rage momentarily dulled by the steady rhythm of her voice.

I clung to her like a lifeline, my fingers gripping the fabric of her shirt as though letting go would mean falling into the abyss. The sharp tang of sweat filled the air, mingling with the faint lavender scent of her skin. My senses were heightened, every sound, every touch amplified. I could hear her heart pounding, steady and strong, but just beneath it was the quickened beat of fear she tried so hard to hide.

Minutes passed—or maybe hours. Time lost meaning as I fought against the tide, my body shaking violently in her arms. She held me through it all, her hands stroking my back, her voice a constant murmur of comfort.

In the quiet moments between gasps of breath, Anna’s mind raced. She couldn’t show him the fear clawing at her own chest, the icy grip of helplessness threatening to overwhelm her. If he saw it, if he knew how terrified she was, it would break him. Her fingers trembled as she stroked his hair, but her voice stayed steady. For him. Always for him.

When the worst of it passed, I collapsed against her, utterly spent. My body felt like it had been torn apart and stitched back together, every muscle aching, every breath a struggle. Sweat soaked my skin, and my heart pounded erratically in my chest.

Anna shifted, her movements slow and careful, and guided me back toward the bed. I let her, too weak to resist, too broken to argue. She eased me down onto the mattress, her hands never leaving me, as if she were afraid I might shatter if she let go.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, brushing damp hair away from my forehead.

“You’re okay now.”

Her voice was steady, but I could see the faint tremble in her hands, the way her lips pressed into a thin line. She was trying so hard to be strong for me, to hide her own fear. But I could feel it, the faint quiver in her touch, the tightness in her voice.

“I scared you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head.

“You didn’t. I’m fine, Rowan. You’re the one who—”

“I can feel it,” I interrupted, my gaze searching hers.

“You’re afraid.”

Her eyes softened, and she let out a shaky breath.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is you. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Her words broke something inside me, and I curled into her, burying my face against her shoulder like a child seeking comfort. She didn’t hesitate, her arms wrapping around me once more, holding me close.

The room was silent now, save for the sound of my labored breathing and the steady beat of her heart beneath my ear. I clung to that sound, to the warmth of her embrace, letting it lull me into a fragile sense of peace.

But as I lay there, trembling and drenched in sweat, I couldn’t shake the faint hum beneath my skin, the primal force still lurking, waiting. It wasn’t gone. It never would be.

For now, though, I let myself sink into her warmth, into the comfort of her presence. In her arms, I wasn’t a monster. I wasn’t a beast. I was just Rowan—a broken, terrified man clinging to the one person who could hold me together.