My instinct kicked in—the same one that had carried her through nightmares, across cold floors, to balconies and couches and anywhere she needed to feel safe. I reached for her, arms sliding around her waist to lift her, to hold her until whatever storm was brewing passed like it always did.
But she pulled back.
Not playfully. Not teasing. She actually pulled away from my touch.
My hands froze mid-air. My eyes snapped open wide.
What the hell is happening?
"Alena?" I said, voice low, careful, like I was talking someone off a ledge.
I reached again, slower this time, just wanting to touch her cheek, to ground her, to ground us.
She flinched. Pulled back again.
The bed tilted under me.
My heart slammed against my ribs—violent, frantic. Terror clawed up my throat, cold and vicious.
Was she regretting this? Regretting us?
No. Damn no. Not happening.
I pulled her to me before she could retreat further—firm but gentle, hands spanning her waist, thumbs stroking circles over her hipbones. Grounding. Claiming.
"Hey," I said, voice dropping low, steady. The same tone I used when she was drowning in nightmares. "Look at me, baby."
Her eyes met mine—wild, afraid, beautiful.
"You're panicking," I said, not a question. "I can feel it. But you don't get to run from this. From us."
She opened her mouth to protest, but I kept going, pulling her flush against me, one hand sliding into her hair, the other gripping her hip possessively.
"I know you're scared. I'm fucking terrified too." My voice dropped lower, rougher. "But that?" I gestured vaguely toward the bed, the dresser, the evidence of what we'd just done. "That wasn't a mistake. That was seventeen years of truth finally breaking free. And I'm not letting you convince yourself otherwise."
Her breath hitched, eyes wide.
"You're mine now, Alena." The words came out fierce, final, like a vow I was branding into both of us. "Mine. Not just tonight. Not just until morning. Forever. And I'm yours—I've always been yours. That's not negotiable. That's not something we're taking back or pretending didn't happen."
The words came out rougher than I meant, but I didn't take them back. Couldn't. Because they were true, and if she thought for one second I was going to let her convince herself this was nothing, she was out of her fucking mind.
I cupped her face, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "We're not going back. We can't. And I don't want to."
She stared at me, lips trembling, and I saw the war raging behind her eyes—fear battling hope, doubt wrestling belief.
"But what if—" she started.
"No what-ifs." I cut her off gently, pressing my forehead to hers. "We figure it out. Together. Like we always do. But you don't get to run from me. Not now. Not ever."
Her hands came up to grip my wrists, holding on like I was the only solid thing in her world. Maybe I was.
She nodded finally, and I felt the tension drain from her shoulders.
Relief flooded through me so hard my heart almost stopped.
Then reality hit me like a freight train.
Shit.
