He finally lifts his head, and his eyes flick to mine, tears threatening to fall. “And still I failed.”
“You didn’t fail.” I drag in a breath. “You rescued me and took care of me all night. You always take care of me.”
He shakes his head in disbelief.
I lift my hand, fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. His stubble scratches against my skin. “I wanted you,” I murmur. “Still do.”
He exhales shakily, forehead dropping back into my lap. “You don’t know what it did to me—watching you go limp in my arms. After everything?—”
Silence stretches between us. Only the wind outside speaks, brushing against the walls like it’s seeking a way inside.
“I chose you, Andrik,” I whisper into his hair. “You didn’t steal anything. You didn’t rush me. You held back when I begged you not to. You weren’t reckless, you were trying to take care of me.”
His head shakes against my lap like he’s disagreeing. Like he can’t accept it.
“I begged you,” I remind him, smoothing the blood-matted strands of fur away from his brow.
His fingers dig into the blanket again like he’s fighting with himself. I cover his hands with mine.
“I wouldn’t change it, Andrik,” I say softly. “ You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t fail. You saved me. I feel safer with you than I’ve ever felt in my life.”
He finally lifts his head, and God, those eyes. Wild and glassy and rimmed with red.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he says. “To hold something like you without breaking it.”
“You already are,” I whisper.
Minutes pass, maybe hours, before his hands lift hesitantly, landing over my heart, so gently I barely feel it. His palm shakes where it rests against my bare skin, over the blood-dried vow he drew onto my breastbone.
He’s fixated on it. I know he’s probably thinking about the moments leading up to him having to draw this on me.
I lean down, pressing my forehead to his. “Velorin,” I whisper.
He shudders.
I say it again, slower, “Velorin, Andrik. I am safe with you, always.”
His bottom lip quivers, so I press a kiss to his temple.
“I don’t deserve you,” he rasps.
I kiss the corner of his lips. “Tough luck,” I whisper, curling my fingers into his curls, “I’m not going anywhere.”
His breathing finally starts to even out.
His head stays tucked into my lap, heavy and warm. His arm wraps loosely around my waist, claws sheathed now, fingers twitching like he’s still trying to hold on even as he drifts.
I sit there, spine crooked, hips aching, legs numb—but I don’t move a muscle.
My hand trails through his hair, slow and light, untangling a few knots. His antlers glint in the firelight, and I realize I’ve never really taken them in like this.
At the tapered ends, delicate shards of pale blue crystal shimmer like frozen starlight. They hum faintly with his pulse, casting tiny glimmers across my skin.
The vow still glows softly on my chest, pale blue-gold lines that hum when his skin brushes mine.
He mumbles something inVraksûn.I don’t catch it, but it makes me feel warm, and something in my chest hums in acknowledgment. I smile and keep stroking his hair until his body fully sinks against mine,
The fire is warm, the storm hushes to a whisper, and I feel completely content. The last thought I have before sleep takes me is simple:
