“Casper, it’s me,” I choke out.
My voice trembling as I press my palm to his face, desperate to calm him, to pull him back from whatever darkness has taken hold. But his eyes are empty of recognition, flickering between mine and my lips, his gaze heavy and predatory, hauntingly unfamiliar. Panic surges through me, but I force myself to stay still, my breaths shallow, afraid that any sudden movement will snap the fragile thread tethering him to reason.
Then his gaze drops, and I realize with a jolt where he’s looking—my neck. My pulse pounds beneath my skin, loud and frantic, and adeep dread creeps over me. He’s drawn to it, his hunger palpable. Every instinct screams at me to run, but I won't.
“Cas…”
His brows furrow, as if searching for something he can hold on to—some reason, some thread of clarity. I swallow hard and slip off one glove, exposing my scarred hand—the one piece of me that might still reach him, might still anchor him to what’s real. A single tear slips down my cheek as I hold my hand out, desperation swelling in my chest. Slowly, I place it against his face, the roughness of my touch grounding us both.
“Look at me,” I whisper.
The words hang in the air, delicate and taut, like a thread tugging him toward me. His breath hitches, body going still. Then, slowly, the storm begins to break. His grip eases, his hold loosening, awareness flickering in his dark eyes.
“It’s me,” I repeat softly.
Relief washes over me as the wildness fades and the man I know surfaces again. His gaze lightens, recognition flickering like a dying ember, until it fully ignites. His hands fall away from my throat, and he steps back, his eyes scanning my face as if searching for something he fears finding. Shame and confusion linger in his expression.
I shake my head softly, offering silent reassurance.
It’s okay. I’m okay.
There’s no need for him to feel this way. I move closer, my hands resting on his chest, feeling the solid warmth beneath my touch. His eyes drop to my hands. His gaze lingers on my scarred skin before slowly rising back to meet mine. Something shifts in his expression, softening, and my heart twists. I feel tears welling again, a quiet acknowledgment of the words neither of us can bring ourselves to say.
Without hesitation, he takes my hand in his, lifting it to his lips with unexpected tenderness. He kisses each finger, one by one, the sweetness of the gesture sinking deep into me. My breath catches as relief washes over me, filling me with emotions I can’t begin to name.When he lowers my hand, I part my lips to speak, but before I can, he leans in, his lips capturing mine.
The kiss is tender at first, hesitant, as though we’re both treading on fragile, unfamiliar ground. Then it deepens, his kiss turning urgent, pulling me closer while backing me into the post. His hands tangle in my hair, tugging me deeper into the kiss, his body pressing firmly into mine. A low growl rumbles from him, vibrating through me, and I feel the hunger in him—the need to consume, to possess, coursing between us like fire.
But then, just as suddenly, he pulls back, his eyes flashing black again. I reach up instinctively, my fingers brushing his face, grounding myself in the softness of his skin.
“Casper,” I whisper, my voice trembling. The need for him to stay with me, to stay present, drowns out everything else. “You haven’t fed, have you?”
His troubled eyes search mine, and I see the battle waging within him. I reach down to the dagger at my thigh, my fingers grazing the hilt as I pull it toward my palm. A small cut—a sacrifice, another scar to add to the map of my survival. But as the blade touches my skin, Casper’s hand wraps around my wrist, firm but gentle, stopping me.
His grip halts the motion with an ease that sends a pang of confusion through me. I know he needs blood—I can see the hunger he’s trying to suppress. But he’s fighting it, and I don’t understand why.
He strokes my hand tenderly, his fingers intertwining with mine. The touch feels like a balm, soothing wounds I’ve long ignored, easing the ache I’ve carried for far too long. For a breath, the chaos fades, replaced by something painfully pure. He studies me briefly before lowering his lips to my forehead. The kiss is gentle and light, but it lingers, filling the space with a warmth that burrows deep into my bones.
Slowly, he releases me, stepping back with care. I take a shaky breath, watching as he sheaths my dagger. Our eyes meet again, and the intensity of his gaze roots me in place. Another tear slips down my cheek, wiped away by the pad of his thumb as he shakes his headslightly, a soft scrunch of his nose breaking the stillness in a way that feels achingly familiar.
"I would never,ever, let anyone hurt you..." His voice cracks, a solemn vow shattering what’s left of my composure. "Even yourself."
I look up at him, my heart breaking anew, and fall into him, drawn into his gravity. My soul reaches for something only he can give.
“Casper!”
Gwyn’s voice cuts through, clear as crystal.
“It’s Callum!”
Dread begins to bloom in my chest. Casper’s jaw tightens, his body rigid. In one swift motion, he grabs a shirt and cloak, slipping them on before taking my hand and guiding me outside the tent. The cool air stings my skin, but his grip is firm and grounding. Outside, his gaze narrows as he spots Jason. His jaw clenches briefly, concern radiating off him as he looks back at me, his expression weary.
“Stay with Lailah, don’t let her out of your sight.” he orders Jason, his voice steady but laced with fear.
Jason nods, stepping closer. Casper turns back to me, cupping my face gently in his hands. His eyes search mine, filled with something raw and unspoken, holding me there for a moment that feels impossibly long.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice laden with sorrow, before disappearing with Gwyn in a blur.
I stand frozen, the chaos swirling around me.
