And it’s not just some abstract battle in the name of some faceless warlord I care nothing about.
This is for her.
I won’t let anything harm her. Especially not my twin.
Selfishly, I stay perfectly still, holding her for hours as dawn slowly brightens the sky beyond the windows. Watching her. Memorizing every detail.
Her face is so perfect and serene in sleep—the slight part of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes, the way her hair spreads across my chest like dark silk. Her beauty makes my chest physically ache, a sensation I’m entirely unfamiliar with.
I feel her begin to stir as sunlight spills golden across the bed, and I know it’s time to depart. Time to do the tactical thing and extract myself before this becomes more complicated.
But still, I don’t move.
If I’m to have stolen these moments with her—and they are stolen, taken without permission while she slept—I won’t flee without her knowing about it. Unlike my brother, I’m no liar. I won’t be a coward either.
So I stay there as her eyes blink awake, sleep-encrusted and bleary in the soft morning light. She starts a little when her vision clears, a slight gasp escaping her lips when she sees my face hovering above hers.
“You,” she whispers. Not accusatory. Just... surprised.
But she doesn’t immediately yank away in disgust or fear, and it gives my foolish heart hope it has no right to feel.
“Me,” I say, my voice coming out more gruff than I intend. Rougher with hours of silence and emotion I can’t quite contain.
She blinks several times, then swallows. Her arms and legs are still entangled with mine, bare skin against bare skin. “How long have you... been awake?”
I’m tempted to lie. To say I just awoke moments ago. That would be the tactical choice—give away less information, maintain control.
But I remind myself: No. No lies. Not with her.
“Many hours.”
She blinks rapidly, looking confused. Perhaps trying to calculate exactly how many hours I’ve been lying here holding her sleeping form.
“You were sleeping so peacefully.” I allow myself to brush a strand of hair from her face with my free hand, the touch feather-light. “It seemed wrong to wake you.”
Her eyes search mine as if waiting for me to say more. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, perhaps. When I don’t continue, she reaches for the sheet, beginning to disentangle from me as she covers herself and rolls away. “Oh.”
That single syllable carries so much disappointment that my heart hammers against my ribs.
I rush to add, “And it felt so good to hold you.” The admission costs me, but I force it out anyway. “Selfishly, I didn’t want to wake you.”
I hear her sharp inhale as she turns around to look at me, eyes wide. Her bare back is exposed as the rest of the sheet is drawn tight around her front, creating a barrier between us. Her eyes are full of questions—confusion and hope and doubt all warring together.
“But I thought you hated me and wanted to get rid of me.”
“I never said that,” I say heatedly, the words coming faster than I can control them. I dare to reach out and place a hand on her sheet-covered thigh. It feels cruel to have the fabric between us after hours of holding onto her soft, bared flesh. “I’ve only been afraid my brother was using you for some purpose that would harm you. I was trying to protect you.”
“Remus wouldn’t hurt me.” She pulls away slightly, defensive.
“Perhaps not,” I say, only to humor her. To maintain the tactical ground I’m gaining. I have absolutely no faith in my brother’s capacity for genuine care, but the strategist in meknows that playing along may get me further toward my goal. Especially considering where Remus has positioned me—literally in bed with the woman we both want.
“I’ve been thinking about a lot of things during the night while I had the privilege of holding you as you slept.” I let the words hang between us, intimate and weighted.
She blushes beautifully and looks away, color flooding her cheeks.
“I was wondering if maybe there’s a way we could all work together.” I pause, choosing my next words carefully. “You want my brother, and—”I want you,I leave conspicuously unspoken, no need to put all of my cards so blatantly on the table just yet, “—and I don’t want to stand in the way of your happiness. But there remains a reality I hope you won’t find too inconvenient.”
She looks back at me, curiosity lighting her features as I reach for her hand. Her fingers are small and warm in mine.
