I force myself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and throw the sheets off me. My shoulder gives a pang of protest, but the pain’s nowhere near as bad as it was earlier, so the painkillers the doc gave me are doing their job.
“I didn’t run away,” Mira murmurs softly. I follow the direction of the words and find her sitting on the old windowsill, legs drawn up to her chest, the side of her face resting on her kneecaps as she gazes out of the window.
“What are you doing over there?” I question gruffly, my voice thick with exhaustion.
“Couldn’t fall asleep. Gave up trying after a while. I would’ve gotten some reading done, but my phone has once again disappeared, and I didn’t want to turn on the lights and risk waking you.”
“That’s thoughtful,” I comment.Unexpectedlythoughtful.
“It wasn’t out of any consideration for you. If you woke up, we’d probably end up talking, and I’m not in a talking mood.” She pauses for a long moment, fingers gripping her legs. “Go to bed, Dorian. The door’s locked, and so is the window. I’m not going anywhere.” Her tone tells me she is quite displeased with her captivity.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, propping my pillow against the headboard and leaning back, observing her. Bathed by the moonlight, she looks ethereally gorgeous. Her skin seems to glow beneath the beams, and her posture, though withdrawn and shut off, still has an innate grace to it. She is absolutelystunning,and the sight of her makes a clawing possessiveness unfurl within me.
“Nothing,” she says. “Just couldn’t sleep. Go back to bed. Your voice is irritating me.”
I can’t help the chuckle that slips from my chest. “I’m glad to see that the events earlier haven’t dimmed your habit of saying whatever’s on your mind.”
Her head lifts from her knees, and she slowly turns to look at me. Her hair haloes her face, framing her beautiful features. Her lips seem fuller, eyes bigger, nose cuter. She’s somehow grown evenmoregorgeous since I last looked at her. It only takes me a moment to realize that it’s not because any of her physical attributes have changed, it’s because I now see her as mine. I found her, now I get to keep her.
“I’m not even saying a third of what’s on my mind,” she says softly, turning her gaze back to the window. I bite my bottom lip as I stare at her. I’m pretty sure there are many insults and protests floating around in her pretty head, begging to be let out, but she’s keeping them to herself. Many people hold their tongue out of politeness; I think Mira’s keeping quiet because she can’t be bothered to talk to me.
“I’ll go back to sleep as soon as you join me.”
A soft, sardonic breath of laughter escapes her. She doesn’t respond, just shakes her head.
“Come on,” I coax. “The bed’s soft and warm, and I’m supposed to be sleeping off my bullet wound.”
“So sleep,” she says impassively.
My lips curl in amusement. “I won’t sleep while you’re over there. Get your ass over here.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage,” she says, sounding completely disinterested.
A long sigh escapes me. “If you won’t come over here, will you tell me why you can’t sleep?”
“Insomnia, probably. It comes and goes. You really should sleep. I don’t want to get blamed, threatened, or executed if your injury somehow worsens.”
“Nobody’s going to blame, threaten, or execute you,” I tell her, feeling my brows draw together. Does shestillthink there are any plans to kill her? I guess we haven’t exactly had the discussion of her being mine now—mine to covet and protect—but I thought I’d assured her that no harm would come to her even after Connor’s outburst. I might have forgotten to; the painkillersarefogging up my head a bit.
“Hmm,” she says, unconvinced.
“Mira, look at me,” I say.
“I’d rather not.”
“Look at me, or I’m coming over there and bringing you over here.” My shoulder is starting to throb like a bitch, but a little pain won’t keep me from carrying her over to where she belongs,our bed.
Once again, she turns to look at me, eyes filled with irritation. I find I like her irritation more than the vacancy, but I’d much prefer to see something else in them. Lightness, or even affection.
“Nobody’s going to hurt you,” I tell her clearly. “Nobody is going to threaten you. If Connor or Seamus try to blame you for something, they’ll be facing me.”
Her lips twist for a moment, as if she might protest or tell me she thinks I’m full of shit, but then she simply nods. “Okay.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“You’re astute.”
Okay, enough. “Get back here,” I say, unable to keep the growl from my voice. “If you can’t sleep, fine, but sitting on the windowsill won’t help you. At least lie on a comfortable bed.”
