“All my life people have spoken so highly of my parents. They’ve told stories of their greatness. My mother ended a war with her mind. And look at me?” I ignore the tears. “I am not Skylenna Ambrose. I cannot go into the void and rewire a person’s brain. I cannot drag their psyche to hell. Icanfall through time and get stuck!”
I’m lightheaded, hungry, and angry with myself. My hands cover face as I shake uncontrollably. It’s all so bad. It’s all too much. I’m never going home. I’m never—
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
Niklaus removes his white shirt and opens his arms to me.
“Come here.”
“What?” I turn my head to get a better look at him.
“You’re freezing.”
I glance down at his bare chest. The symbols of tattoos. The scattering of black hair on his pecks. And he’s staring down at me with that furrowed brow, not out of anger, but another complicated emotion that’s laboring his breathing.
“Yes, and you’re going to freeze with your shirt off,” I object.
Niklaus sighs. “No, I won’t. The sedatives make my skin hot.”
I study his invitation cautiously, while trembling like my body is made of a block of ice. He stays perfectly still, waiting while I decide if I should lower my mental guard to accept his kindness.
“I promise not to insult you if you get over here and fall asleep on me, Spitfire.”
I prop myself up on an elbow, watching my long hair drape over his arm.
“Then say my name, Niklaus,” I say.
His eyebrows raise briefly. Jaw tightens. He exhales.
“Let me hold you, Sapphire.”
This one sentence…it unlaces me. It leaves my lungs in a stutter. I must have been heavily armored against him this entire time. But the emotion creasing his forehead and stiffening his muscles—it makes my bones go slack, like the very frame of me could collapse in his arms. My hatred, normally so robust and volatile, is paper-thin and hollow. I should remind him of the vicious things he’s said to me. The many occasions he’s made me sob to my brother.
But all I can manage is a silence so vast, so fragile, it trembles between us.
“Okay,” I reply.
And I tell myself it’s because I am far too weak to fight with him. I’m far too beaten down to remain stubborn and sleep on the cold hard floor without a blanket. But right now, I can admit to myself that Niklaus is more than just physical warmth in this intimate dwelling of hell on earth. He’s a piece of home I’ve brought with me. He’s a bit of comfort in this nightmare.
I curl against the man I once hated more than anything.
I fall asleep in the arms of the man who is now my refuge in this asylum.
41. The Disciple of Silver
Sapphire
I wake to Niklaus strokingmy hair. The tickling sensation feels so nice, I smile and hum as chills sprinkle across my upper back. It’s hard to tell if he’s fiddling with my hair in his sleep or not. His fingers are precise and tender as they’re utterly careful not to comb through the tangles and hurt me. A feathery light touch that sends my mind drifting in and out of euphoric sleep.
I pay close attention to the soothing rhythm of his breath. His heartbeat that thuds against my cheek. The permeating heat of his skin that forms a protective cocoon around me.
It could be the middle of the night or early morning. There would be no way to tell without windows. But I feel well-rested. Or at least, as well rested as I can be on the asylum floor, in shackles, starved, and suffering the aftereffects of extensive electroconvulsive therapy.
“I don’t want to wake up,” I whisper, unwilling to open my eyes and possibly remember what happened last night. Another memory gap. It’s there somewhere under the surface of my scattered, worn-down thoughts. But just out of reach. Like a dream that begins to slip away from recognition after you finally wake up.
“I know,” Niklaus responds in a hoarse morning voice. “We can stay asleep.”
But he isn’t fooling me. I can sense his lingering discomfort from this position. We’re lying on the cold hard floor. Our backs are stiff and aching. Necks rigid. Muscles taut. I thought the mattress in my room was uncomfortable, but its firm build is nothing compared to this. Though he won’t admit that he’s in agony, will he?
