Chapter 42
Lirael
Six hours total.
Six hours of watching them cut and cauterize, listening to monitors scream, sitting on that stool with my hand locked in his, feeling every twitch and spasm. By the time Dr. Blake stepped back and said, "He's stable. For now," I was numb beyond exhaustion, beyond trauma.
They moved Sebastian to recovery while I stumbled after, still chained. The room was luxury suite—massive bed, floor-to-ceiling windows, furniture worth more than houses. I stood beside the bed, staring at his face, trying to remember how to breathe.
"He needs close monitoring for twenty-four hours," Dr. Blake told Marcus. "Toxin's neutralized but tissue damage is extensive. Any infection signs, we go back in."
"Understood." Marcus glanced at me—disheveled, blood-splattered, swaying. "And her?"
"She should rest. Chain releases in six hours forty-three minutes. Until then, she stays with him. I've left medications—pain management, fever reducers, sedative if he gets agitated."
A sedative. I looked at the tray, at the small blue bottle, and something cold slotted into place. If I gave him enough while he's unconscious...
"I'll have food sent up," Marcus said. "I'll be outside if you need anything."
Then they were gone, and I was alone with Sebastian for the first time since the fishing shack.
I stared at the medications, at the unconscious man, at the chain. Then I moved toward the nightstand, fingers reaching for that blue bottle—
"What are you doing, Lirael?"
I spun, nearly losing balance. Sebastian watched me with fever-bright eyes, voice weak but aware.
"Nothing." I grabbed the water glass, heart hammering. "Doctor said you need fluids."
"Lying." He smiled slightly, predatory even weak. "You're always lying. It's one of the things I find most fascinating."
I carried water over, hands steady despite racing pulse. "You should rest. Six hours of surgery."
"Should I?" He tried sitting up, and pain hit—face white, jaw clenched, body rigid. "Fuck—"
"Don't move." Sharper than intended, reaching for him before deciding to. "You'll tear stitches. Just stay still."
"Don't tell me what to do." But he sank back, breathing harsh. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You nearly died. Multiple times." Anger from somewhere deep. "So shut up and stay still and heal."
He looked at me long, something unreadable in his eyes. Then his right hand—chained to mine—pulled, insistent. "Come here."
"I'm right here."
"Closer." Another pull, and I was sitting on the bed edge, close enough to feel heat radiating off him, smell antiseptic and blood and something purely him. "I want to look at you."
"You're looking now."
"Not like this." His free hand came up, trembling, fingers tracing my jaw with something like wonder. "You stayed. Through the whole surgery. You could have fought, screamed, demanded sedation. But you stayed."
"I didn't have choice—"
"There's always choice." His thumb found my split lip. "You chose to hold my hand. Tell me not to die. To..." Voice dropped to whisper. "To look at me like you actually gave a damn."
"I—" Words stuck. What could I say? That I did care despite everything? That watching him nearly die cracked something open I thought sealed forever?
"Why?" His eyes searched mine, raw and vulnerable. "Why did you stay?"
Because I'm an idiot. Because something broken in me recognized something broken in you. Because watching you die would feel like losing the only person who truly sees me.
"I don't know," I whispered, the most honest thing I'd said in days.
He smiled, pained, transforming. "Liar. You always know. You're just afraid to admit it."
His hand moved to my neck, fingers tangling in hair, pulling me down. Not violently like the fishing shack, but with desperate gentleness somehow worse because it made me want to lean in.
"Kiss me," he breathed against my mouth. "Please. Like before. I need to know it was real."
"It wasn't real. You forced—"
"Not that. After. When you bit me. When everything went quiet." Eyes fever-bright. "Do it again. Please."
"You're delirious—"
"I'm dying." Flat, matter-of-fact. "Maybe not today. But the beast is eating me alive, Lirael. And you—" Hand pressed over my heart. "You make it stop. Just long enough I can remember what it's like to be human."
I should have pulled away. Should have negotiated freedom. Should have done anything else.
But I leaned down and kissed him anyway.
Gently, carefully, lips barely brushing, and I felt him shudder, hand tightening in my hair as he kissed back with tenderness that made tears burn. No teeth, no violence, just his mouth moving like I was something precious.
When I pulled back, we were both breathing hard, confusion reflected in his eyes.
"That was—"
"Real," he finished. "That was real."
"That was a mistake."
"Probably." He smiled. "But I'm not sorry."
I wanted to argue but words wouldn't come. I sat on his bed edge, hands linked by silver, trying to figure out when I'd started caring whether he lived or died.
His eyes were closing again, exhaustion pulling him under, but his hand found mine once more.
"Stay," he murmured, fading. "Don't leave. Don't run. Just... stay."
"I'm chained to you. Where would I go?"
"You'd find a way." Slight smile. "You always do. But tonight... stay because you want to. Not because you have to."
I don't want to stay. I want to run far and fast.
But his breathing was evening into sleep, and I stayed anyway, perched on his bed, watching his chest rise and fall.
I looked at the nightstand, at the blue sedative bottle sitting there like a promise. It would be so easy. Few drops in water, mixed with pain meds. He was weak, fighting surgery and poison. A little extra sedation and he might just slip away. Peacefully. And the chain would release.
My hand moved toward the bottle almost on its own.
"What are you doing, Lirael?"
I froze, fingers millimeters away. Sebastian watched me, eyes clearer, something knowing in his expression.
"Nothing." I grabbed the water glass, deliberately casual. "Doctor said you need hydration."
"Doctor said a lot of things. Including there's sedative on that tray. For if I become difficult."
I said nothing, holding the glass, keeping my face neutral.
"Were you thinking about using it? Putting me to sleep and hoping I wouldn't wake up?"
"No." The lie came automatically. We both knew it was a lie.
"Liar." He smiled, almost fond. "You're always thinking about killing me. It's one of the things I find most endearing."
"Endearing. You think it's endearing I want you dead?"
"I think it's honest. Everyone else wants something from me. Power, money, protection. But you? You just want me gone. It's refreshing."
"You're insane."
"Probably. But I'm right. You're the only person who doesn't pretend. Who doesn't smile and lie about what they want. You want to kill me and you're not afraid to show it."
"And that doesn't concern you? That I'm actively planning your death?"
"Why would it?" His hand pulled gently, bringing me closer. "You won't do it. Not really."
"You sound sure."
"I am. Because if you really wanted me dead, you would've done it already. In the shack when I was bleeding out. In the helicopter when I was unconscious. In the OR when they left you alone with surgical instruments. You've had dozens of opportunities, Lirael. And you haven't taken any."
"Maybe I'm waiting for the right moment."
"Maybe. Or maybe you're starting to realize you don't actually want me dead. That despite everything—the collar, the chain, the cage—there's some part of you that..." He trailed off, suddenly vulnerable. "That doesn't want to be alone."
The words hit like a blow. I had to look away, focus on anything else to keep from letting him see how close he'd come.
"Come here," he said softly, tugging the chain. "Sit properly. You'll hurt your back perched like that."
"I'm fine."
"Lirael." Command in his voice, but pleading underneath. "Please. I'm in pain, exhausted, and I just want to sleep without worrying you'll try to escape or poison me. Just sit on the bed. That's all I'm asking."
I wanted to refuse. But he was right—my back ached from the awkward position, and the chain wouldn't let me move far enough to find elsewhere.
"Fine." I shifted carefully, sitting properly with my back against the headboard, as far as the chain allowed. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic." Genuine relief in his expression, and I realized with a start he'd been worried I'd refuse.
The room fell quiet, just soft monitor beeping and distant city sounds. I stared at the ceiling, hyper-aware of Sebastian beside me, of the chain, of his breathing gradually evening out.
"Lirael." Barely a whisper.
"What?"
"Thank you. For staying. For not letting me die."
I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because acknowledging I'd actively chosen to keep him alive felt like crossing a line I wasn't ready for.
But my hand, still linked to his, squeezed gently. I felt him squeeze back before sleep claimed him.
I sat in darkness, listening to him breathe, feeling the weight of chain and collar and all the choices I'd made and failed to make, wondering when I'd stopped being sure what I wanted.