The thought hit me with the clarity of cold water, sharp and undeniable. She was calm now, the crisis passed, the kittens doing more for her state of mind than I ever could. Staying was dangerous—I could feel my control fraying with every breath she took, every small movement that reminded me how close she was.
I pulled my hand away from hers, started to push myself up from the floor. "You should try to sleep. Take the kittens with you if you want. They're good company."
The words came out rougher than intended, too abrupt, but distance was the only safety I could offer either of us right now. The monster in my chest was wide awake, interested in ways that had nothing to do with protection and everything to do with possession.
But when I moved to stand, her hand caught my wrist.
"Don't."
One word, an echo, barely audible, but it stopped me more effectively than a bullet would have. Her fingers were light on my skin, barely there, but I could feel each point of contact like a brand.
"I don't want to be alone tonight." The admission came out broken, like she was forcing it past years of learned self-sufficiency. "I know I shouldn't—that it's not appropriate, that you're just protecting me because of the situation, but—"
"Maya." Her name came out as a warning, though I wasn't sure if I was warning her or myself.
She set the kittens gently back in their box, where they curled together immediately, then turned to face me fully. On her knees now, close enough that our breath mingled in the space between us.
"Please."
I settled back down, closer this time—close enough that my thigh pressed against her knee, close enough to see the flutter of her pulse at her throat, the way her lips parted slightly like she was about to say something else but couldn't find the words.
The moonlight caught her face at an angle that made her look otherworldly, all sharp shadows and soft edges. Beautiful and broken and so fucking strong it made my chest ache with something I didn't have a name for.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered. "Any of this? You don't know me. I'm nobody to you, just some basement doctor who patched you up. You've repaid that debt ten times over. So why?"
The question demanded honesty. She'd been lied to enough, manipulated enough, had enough people use kindness as a weapon. She deserved the truth, even if I barely understood it myself.
"Because I look at you," I said slowly, testing each word before I let it escape, "and I see someone who deserves to be taken care of. And no one ever has."
Her breath caught, a tiny sound that might have been surprise or pain or something else entirely.
"You've been taking care of everyone else," I continued, unable to stop now that I'd started. "Your patients, the people Brand was destroying, everyone except yourself. You forget to eat. Youdon't sleep. You apologize for needing comfort when you're falling apart. You fight your own instincts for self-soothing like they're something shameful instead of just human."
My hand moved without permission, fingertips barely grazing her cheek, feeling the dried salt of tears.
"Someone should take care of you," I said, voice dropping lower. "Someone should make sure you eat. Someone should guard your door while you sleep. Someone should tell you it's okay to not be okay, that needing help doesn't make you weak, that wanting comfort doesn't make you pathetic."
"And you want to be that someone?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but there was something in it—not quite hope, but maybe the space where hope could grow.
"I want—" I stopped, trying to find words for the thing clawing at my chest, the need that had nothing to do with the monster and everything to do with the man underneath it. "I want you to be safe. I want you to eat full meals and sleep eight hours and not jump at shadows. I want you to have a place where you can be soft and small without worrying someone will use it against you."
Her eyes were bright with fresh tears, but she wasn't pulling away. If anything, she was leaning closer, drawn by something neither of us quite understood.
"That's not what men like you do," she whispered. "You destroy things. You told me yourself—you're built for violence."
"Yes," I agreed. "But maybe that's exactly why I can protect something worth preserving. Maybe the monster needs something gentle to guard."
My hand moved to cup her jaw properly, thumb brushing across her cheekbone with a tenderness I didn't know I possessed. She leaned into the touch like she was starving for it, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment before opening again, finding mine in the dim light.
"Maya."
Her name was a question, a warning, a prayer.
She answered by rising higher on her knees and pressing her mouth to mine.
The kiss undid me. Completely. Thoroughly. Irrevocably.
It started soft, tentative, like she wasn't sure she was allowed to want this. Her lips were gentle against mine, careful, testing. But then I made a sound—something between a growl and surrender—and everything changed. My hand slid into her hair, tangling in the dark strands, holding her close but not trapped. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer, and the kiss turned hungry.
