I closed my eyes and let myself sink into the sensation. His fingers were careful, working through small tangles without pulling, the repetitive motion creating a pathway back to calm. Each stroke seemed to pull some of the nightmare's poison out with it, leaving peace in its wake.
My breathing slowed further, matching his. My heart rate dropped from its panicked gallop to something sustainable. The trembling in my muscles gradually eased, tension draining away increment by increment.
Theo's chest rose and fell against my back. His presence filled the space around me, but not in the suffocating way Bane's had in the nightmare. This was different. This was a shelter instead of a prison.
“That's it,” he murmured when he felt my body relax. “Just breathe with me. In and out. Nice and slow.”
I focused on his voice, on the rumble of it in his chest against my back. On his hand, stroking through my hair. On the weight of his arm holding me secure, and all with his leather-and-warmth scent filling my lungs with each breath.
The nightmare's grip continued to loosen, Bane's face fading from my mind's eye. The pain in my abdomen subsided. The taste of fear on my tongue transformed into something cleaner.
“You're safe here,” Theo said again, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “In this room, in this bed, with me. Nothing's going to hurt you. I won't let it.”
The conviction in his voice made something in my chest crack open, but this time it wasn't pain flooding through. It was something warmer, something like hope.
Chapter Twenty-two
Jasmine
The shower had washed away the nightmare's residue but not its memory. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, wiping away the fogged condensation. My damp hair clung to my neck, and I stared at the face looking back at me. The circles under my eyes were darker this morning, purple-gray like old bruises, and my skin had that translucent quality that came from crying too hard for too long. But I was clean. That counted for something. I pulled on the soft clothes I’d chosen from the drawer: dark leggings, and an oversized cream sweater, that smelled like laundry detergent and something faintly floral. The fabric was gentle against my skin, and I was grateful for that small mercy.
Breakfast had been waiting in the kitchen when I'd emerged. Lucian had made pancakes, real ones from scratch, with fresh berries and maple syrup that looked expensive enough to have its own insurance policy. He'd smiled when I'd walked in, a warm expression which reached his ocean-colored eyes, and gestured to the plate he'd already prepared.
“Eat,” he'd said simply. “You need your strength.”
I'd eaten because refusing would have felt like rejecting the care he was offering, and because my body needed fuel, even ifmy appetite was questionable. The pancakes had been perfect, both fluffy and warm, the berries tart against the sweet syrup. Lucian had sat across from me with his own coffee, not asking questions, just being present in that steady way he had.
Now I stood outside the recording studio door, my hand hovering over the handle, and tried to convince my feet to move forward.
The hallway was quiet except for the distant hum of the building's heating. Neutral walls, soft lighting, everything designed to be professional and calming. But my heart hammered in my chest as if it were trying to escape.
I'd agreed to this. Had said yes to recording, to preparing for the gala, to letting them hear me sing in a controlled environment instead of on street corners. But agreement and action were different things, and the gap between them felt impossible to cross. What if I broke another glass? Would they be angry with me? Would they throw me out onto the streets? Or worse, would they cage me up and beat away all sensibility?
I took a deep breath in. This wasn’t Bane. This wasn’t my old pack. These were new memories I was making, new opportunities to learn and develop my voice. The hardest thing to overcome was fear itself, and I wouldn’t let my past stop me anymore.
My hand closed around the doorknob. The metal was cool against my palm, solid and real. So, I turned the handle and pushed.
The studio opened before me, and I stopped just inside the threshold, breathing it in. I’d been here before. But every time I stepped into this space, I would get this warm feeling traveling through me and an urge to take that microphone and sing my heart out.
Professional didn't begin to cover it. The space was divided into two sections: the vocal booth, where I'd be singing, andthe control room, separated by a large window of thick glass. Wood paneling covered the exterior of the booth, both dark and rich. Textured foam was used for soundproofing, in geometric patterns that created both elegance and depth.
In the center of the vocal booth stood the microphone.
Through the glass window, I saw Kade in the control room. He stood behind the mixing board, his posture rigid, shoulders tight with tension that radiated even through the separation. My brow furrowed as I watched him discuss something with the sound engineer. Then he turned and saw me, and immediately his shoulders relaxed, his eyes warming as he gave me a welcoming smile.
Theo stood near the vocal booth door, inside the studio with me. His presence was familiar and safe after last night. He didn't smile, didn't speak, just stood there being steady in a way that helped my racing heart slow fractionally.
I took a step forward, then another. I reached for the microphone, adjusting it. The mechanism glided, and I positioned it so it sat about level with my mouth. Professional distance, I remembered from what Kade had taught me before. Close enough to capture sound, far enough to avoid harsh plosives.
“Take your time,” Kade's voice came through speakers I couldn't see, surrounding me. “There's no rush.”
The kindness in his tone made my throat tight. I nodded, not trusting my voice yet, and closed my eyes.
Breathing. I needed to focus on breathing. In through my nose, expanding my diaphragm, feeling my ribs spread. Hold for a count of four. Out through my mouth, controlled and steady. My mother had taught me this years ago, when she'd still been teaching me songs instead of trying to stop them from taking me.
The memory of her voice wrapped around me like a blanket, and when I sang, sometimes I could almost hear her harmonizing with me from wherever she’d gone.
I opened my eyes and found Theo's. He nodded once, encouraging, and something in my chest settled.
