"What."
"Nothing." His mouth curves, barely. Almost mortal. "I just wanted to say it."
He leaves.
Renan pushes off from his spot against the wall. "You should know," he says. "He hasn't let anyone in this room in decades. No one sleeps in that bed except him."
I don't know what to say to that. Thank you? Congratulations on being the first idiot to land in a god's bed without even trying?
"He watched you all night." Renan heads for the door. "Sat right there in that corner and didn't move. Didn't sleep. Just watched you breathe."
My throat goes tight. But underneath that, lower—warmth spreads through my belly. The image of him in the dark, those white eyes fixed on me while I slept. Watching over me. Watching me.
My skin prickles everywhere.
"Why are you telling me this."
He pauses at the threshold, looks back at me over his shoulder.
"Because someone should," he says. "And because if you hurt him, I'll kill you myself. Nothing personal. Just how it is." He shrugs his shoulders.
The door closes behind him.
I'm alone.
I lie there in the dim room, in the gaudy bed, surrounded by stone walls and the faint smell of lamp oil. His scent. His sheets. My ribs ache. My throat burns. Everything hurts.
But underneath the pain, underneath the confusion and the fear and the survival math that won't stop running—
He came for me. Made me say his name. His true name.
I stare at the ceiling and wait for any of this to make sense.
It doesn't. But that's never stopped the universe before.
She's standing.
That's the first thing. Not that I slept—I didn't—not that I'm still in the chair I dropped into sometime after dawn. She's standing. By the desk. Looking at my papers.
Her ribs. The bruising. She shouldn't be—
I'm on my feet before I decide to stand. The chair scrapes back. She turns, and her face is better. Still bruised. Still split at the lip. But the swelling has gone down and the marks on her throat have shifted from purple to yellow at the edges.
Healing. Good.
I want to put my mouth on the yellow parts. Feel the blood moving underneath. Taste where it hurt.
"You're awake." She doesn't sound surprised.
"You're vertical."
"Astute."
"How long have you been up."
"An hour. Maybe two." She's watching me. "You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you."
"You should have."
