Chapter 106 Quiet Intimacy
I woke to the sensation of crushed glass grinding against my lower ribs. It took a long, disorienting moment in the dim, grey morning light to realize the agony didn't belong to me. It was bleeding through the tether in my chest.
I turned my head on the pillow. Klaus was still asleep beside me, his face buried in the dark wool blankets, but his body was rigid. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his jaw clamped so tight the muscles twitched beneath his pale skin. His body was fighting a war it didn't have the resources to win. The Trench-Stalker’s claws had torn too deep, and the catastrophic rot he had absorbed in the arena had completely depleted his immortal healing.
I carefully slid out from under his heavy arm. The cold stone floor sent a sharp shock up my bare legs, but I welcomed the grounding sting.
I walked over to the washbasin. The water was murky from the day before, but I didn't care. I splashed a handful over my face, the freezing temperature clearing the lingering fog of shared exhaustion from my brain. I looked at the small silver dagger sitting on the wooden table. The crimson flakes of my dried blood still coated the blade.
Vespera had seen it. She had run to the Emperor hours ago. Why hadn't they come yet?
The silence of the Citadel was a deliberate torture. The Emperor wanted us to sit in this cage, smelling our own fear, watching the seconds tick away. He wanted Klaus to break.
I grabbed a fresh strip of clean white linen Sulla had smuggled in and walked back to the massive four-poster bed.
"Klaus," I whispered, kneeling on the mattress beside his waist.
He didn't wake. His breathing was a shallow, ragged rasp.
I reached down and carefully peeled back the heavy wool blanket covering his left side. The sight made my stomach turn. The four deep ravines carved by the beast were not closing. The edges of the torn flesh were angry, leaking a sluggish, watery silver fluid. Without his magic, his body was just meat and bone, failing to knit itself back together.
I pressed the clean linen against the lowest wound to soak up the fluid.
Klaus’s eyes snapped open.
His hand shot out with terrifying, instinctual speed, his large fingers wrapping around my wrist in a crushing grip. The heavy, broken iron cuff dangling from his arm slammed into my forearm, bruising the skin.
A spike of raw, defensive panic blasted through our blood-bond, hitting my mind so hard I gasped.
"It's me," I said quickly, keeping my voice low and completely steady. I didn't pull my arm away. I looked directly into his wide, dilated sapphire eyes. "It's Nerissa. You are safe."
He stared at me, his chest heaving. Slowly, the wild, cornered-animal panic in his gaze receded. He looked at his hand wrapped around my wrist, his thumb pressing into the flesh just above the black silk ribbon I had discarded in the arena.
He let go instantly, his hand dropping back to the mattress as if my skin had burned him.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice thick and rough. He squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away from me. "I didn't know it was you. The pain... it clouds everything."
"You don't need to apologize," I said. I picked up the linen cloth again and gently dabbed at his side.
Through the tether, a deep, suffocating wave of shame radiated from him. He hated this. He was the Grand Admiral. He had commanded legions and crushed rebellions, and now he was lying in a blood-soaked bed, jumping at shadows, too weak to even sit up while the woman he loved played nurse.
He suddenly pushed his right elbow into the mattress, trying to force his torso off the pillows.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, dropping the cloth and pressing my hands flat against his good shoulder.
"I have to get up," he grunted, his jaw locking as he fought against my hold and his own failing muscles. "They are coming. I cannot face the Emperor's guards flat on my back."
"You can't even stand, Klaus!"
"I will stand," he hissed, his sapphire eyes burning with a stubborn, furious pride. He pushed harder, managing to lift his shoulders a few inches.
The movement tore the lowest wound on his side completely open.
Fresh, bright silver blood spilled down his ribs. A blinding flash of agony ripped through our bond, so intense my vision actually whited out for a fraction of a second. I let out a sharp cry, doubling over as the phantom pain sliced through my own abdomen.
Klaus collapsed backward, his head hitting the headboard with a dull thud. He was panting, his skin turning a sickly, ashen grey.
"You fool," I wept, gripping the edge of the mattress as I rode out the echo of his pain. "You stubborn, stupid fool. Stop trying to fight your own body."
"I am supposed to protect you," he rasped, turning his face toward the ceiling. His chest rose and fell in ragged, defeated jerks. "I dragged you into this. If I had just stayed away from the eastern vents all those years ago... if I had just let the sea take me..."
"Don't," I cut him off. My voice was sharp, cracking with emotion. I crawled further onto the bed, ignoring the silver blood staining my ruined charcoal dress, and hovered directly over his chest. "Don't you dare rewrite history to make yourself the villain of my story. You are my Anchor."
I looked at the horrific wounds on his side. The silver blood was flowing faster now. His immortal healing was entirely gone.
"You need more," I said.
I shifted my weight, sitting back on my heels. I pulled the right sleeve of my dark grey dress up, exposing my pale forearm.
Klaus looked at my arm, his brow furrowing in confusion. Then, he realized what I was doing.
"No," he said, his voice instantly dropping into a hard, absolute refusal. "Absolutely not."
"Your body is failing, Klaus. The cut on my hand isn't enough anymore. You need the source to jumpstart your healing before they break that door down."