Outside,rain pounded relentlessly. It beat against the floor-to-ceiling glass walls of the villa with relentless thumping, flash of solid wood beyond our property hidden behind relentless thud. Under other conditions, the sound was soothing—a sea lullaby for poor sleep—but tonight it was a count, each drop reverberating like an unremitting parade of an incomprehensible power coming down upon us.
I had been facing the corridor when I heard the thudding footsteps of Caspian coming towards the door. My heart was pounding the rhythm of rain against walls as I stood with my face towards a tiny crack. Outside, on the cold stone steps, under dripping branches, stood a package, no label on it. There was something that annoyed me immediately. I stepped back and allowed Caspian, his massive frame tensed with anger, to walk over to the door. His jaw was so clenched that I was certain it would splinter his teeth.
"Who brought this?" he snarled in a razor-sharp voice trembling with rage barely controlled. Marcus, his head of security, shook his head. "No one saw anything, sir. It was just there."
I stalked behind him as he brought the package into the building. The silence of the interior provided the storm raging outside as a warm-up room for Caspian's explosion of fury. Shaking fingers ripped the box open, torn shreds of packing paper spilling out onto the floor in stiff whirls like falling autumn leaves. I stood behind him, pounding heart pulsating in my chest, not expecting anything within.
Photos.
Dozens of them.
I gripped one of them shuddering in my hands. There I was—standing in a locked step amidst the throngs of the busy market,my smile locked in the moment, his possessive grasp securely on the small of my back. Another had us enjoying ice cream on a hot afternoon, his fingers drawing softly down the inside of my thigh—a sweet intimacy which I thought was ours alone and nobody else's.
And then my eyes landed on the final photo. My breath caught in my throat. It was a hazy photo taken through the glass of our bedroom window. There, we lay sleeping—tangled together, vulnerable in a way that left nothing to imagination. I could feel the chill of the air outside permeating the window, into the sanctity of our bed.
I couldn't breathe.
"They've been watching us," I whispered, shaking voice and low enough that it shouldn't warn the hidden intruder.
In the span of a single second, Caspian's rage overflowed. He punched the doorframe with his fist, and a piece of wood sprang under it. His chest was as hard as stone and rippled and fell, and when he turned to face me, his eyes were wild—black and blazing with a fury that ran shivers down my blood.
“I swear to God, I’m going to end this,” he rasped, voice low and lethal, each word a promise of retribution. “I’ll kill whoever did this.”
I did not move, and I looked at him, half in terror, half in sickly joy at his jealous fury. I did not ask questions. His love for me, though sometimes on the verge of insanity, was unyielding. And with his eyes now, the power of his eyes—so burning, so stubborn—made me want to think that no one would ever be bold enough to harm me as long as he guarded me.
The remainder of the evening was a blur. Caspian strode purposefully, issuing orders, checking every window and lock, taking triple measures of security. I occupied the other end of our couch, safe and sheltered by the man I adored. His silence gave way to angry muted curses on his phone and to the panicked, staccato pounding of his fingers on the armrest. Our eyes would catch each other's occasionally, and in those fierce glances, a whirlpool of love, regret, and fear—a quiet dialogue that needed no words.
When the storm intensified later in the outside world and rain fell in an outpour, Caspian and I confined ourselves indoors inside our room, but tension lay there too. I lay back in our bed, the distant rumble of the air conditioner blended with the pounding rain's thump. Caspian leaned against the bed, his dark form cast into shadow by the faint light of the bedside lamp. I felt the rage and vulnerability chiseled on his face, the hardness of his jaw clenched tight a proof that he was fighting a battle that he'd already waged.
"Lily…" he began, his words charged with feeling, but I halted him from advancing a step further. I moved closer, encircling his waist as if melting our fears together into a combined beat.
"You're here," I whispered against his lips, trying to anchor him—and myself—into place. "I'm not going anywhere."
He shut his eyes as if the words I had uttered were a lifeline, and I could feel his arms encircling me in a promise as pressing as unspoken. We embraced silently for a long, strangling minute, as outside the tempest raged like the vengeance that had been unleashed upon our lives.
But before long the silence was disrupted by the voices of the security guards in the distance discussing the extra measures, and I could see the set face of Caspian. His own eyes, once so kind as he regarded me, now flamed with fierce anger. I knew he was already working things out, already thinking what he would do next to rescue me from the evil danger.
I tried to dispel the tension by stroking his chest, above the scar below his collarbone—a reminder of the fight that was and of his constant battle against the darkness. "Caspian," I gasped, "we cannot let this fear win. I want to live. I want to believe that our love is stronger than any peril."
He spun around to look at me, and for a moment the room seemed to shut down around us. His eyes were a whirlpool of emotion—anger, grief, love, and something else I couldn't place. "I know," he whispered, his voice trembling. "But as soon as I shut my eyes, I see you, bare and vulnerable. And I'm afraid… afraid that if I let my guard down for one moment, I'll lose you." I have heard him say that too many times now and I was starting to wonder if the words were still filled with meaning.