Chapter 95 A shoulder to Lean On
I wake already choking on the dream.
Not screaming this time,ust a sharp inhale, like my lungs forgot how to work for a second. My sheets are twisted around my legs. My skin hums with that leftover echo of the beast, the kind that doesn’t fade when you open your eyes. The room is dark, quiet, familiar and still my heart won’t slow.
The nightmare was different tonight.
Not louder.
Not bloodier.
Worse.
I don’t even remember the details clearly just impressions. Cold metal. My father’s voice, calm and disappointed. My mother somewhere nearby, screaming or maybe silent. And the feeling that I was small again. That I couldn’t stop what was happening. That my body knew what to do long before my mind did.
I sit up slowly, pressing a hand to my chest.
Breathe.
My beast stirs. Not violently. Just alert. It hates when I’m afraid. It always has.
I swing my legs off the bed and pad to the door, hoping to get some water to drink to moisten my parched throat.
That’s when I see him.
Darius is asleep on the floor outside my door.
Not sprawled out. Not comfortable. Just sitting back against the wall, one knee bent, one arm draped loosely over it. His head has tipped forward slightly, dark hair falling into his eyes. He’s barefoot again. He must have come straight from his room.
The sight hits me harder than the nightmare did.
He’s been doing this more often lately. Just… there. Like a silent promise he never asked me to accept.
I open the door a fraction wider without meaning to.
The hinge creaks.
His eyes open instantly.
They meet mine through the narrow crack of the door.
For a long second, neither of us moves.
Just the quiet awareness of each other breathing.
The bond hums between us,low, constant, painful. Like a wire pulled too tight.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly.
The question is careful. Not demanding an answer. Just an offering.
I shake my head once.
“No.”
The word comes out hoarse, stripped bare.
He doesn’t ask me to explain. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t stand up.
I swallow, then open the door fully.
“Come in,” I say.
Still, he doesn’t move until I step closer and reach for his hand.
My fingers wrap around his without hesitation.
That seems to break whatever restraint he’s holding onto. He rises smoothly, letting me lead him inside like this is the most natural thing in the world.
I close the door behind us.
The room feels smaller with him in it, but safer, too.
“I had a bad dream ,” I warn quietly.
He nods. “I know.”
I crawl back onto the bed and lie down on my side. He follows, careful, deliberate, giving me space until I close it myself,pressing closer, curling slightly into his chest.
Only then does he wrap an arm around me.
Not tight.
Not possessive.
Just there.
I breathe in his scent pine, steel, something uniquely him,and the beast settles instantly. Like it recognizes him. Like it always has.
“You’re my tether,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
His breath catches.
Silence stretches between us, thick but not uncomfortable.
Then he speaks, voice lower.
“My biggest sin wasn’t lying,” he says. “It was deciding for you. Thinking I knew what was best and taking your choice away.”
My chest tightens.
“I told myself it was protection,” he continues. “That you were too hurt. Too overwhelmed. But the truth is… I was afraid.”
I lift my head slightly, just enough to look at him.
“Of me?” I ask.
“No,” he says immediately. “Of you thinking you were never loved.”
That’s what breaks me.
Not rage.
Not fury.
Grief.
It pours out of me all at once, raw and uncontained. My shoulders shake. A sound tears out of my throat that I don’t recognize. I press my forehead into his chest, claws digging lightly into the fabric of his shirt as I sob.
He holds me through it all.
Doesn’t hush me.
Doesn’t rush me.
Just stays.
His hands are open, steady on my back, grounding me. I cry until my chest aches and my throat burns and there’s nothing left but quiet exhaustion.
The bond flares painfully between us,bright, insistent, undeniable.
I tilt my head up without thinking.
Our faces are inches apart.
His breath ghosts over my lips.
For one dangerous, aching moment, I almost kiss him.
The want is sharp and terrifying and so very real.
But I don’t.