Zion: Mostly Cami.
Cami: I don’t really do conditions, but I’m happy to read it.
Zion: Other than food, water, and twice-daily bathroom breaks, ignore the woman in the stall beside Seamus.
As suspected, I’m met with silence, likely because Cami is either thinking up an appropriate response or her response is so long it takes her an age to type it all out.
Kaian:
Cami: Zion Cruz, what the hell have you done now?
This is a fair statement coming from Camilla McDonough. She has spent enough time with me over the years to know the kind of trouble I may get up to, but this is definitely the first time it consisted of what would appear to be me ladynapping a woman and holding her hostage alongside a horse.
Zion: It’s for her own good, I swear.
Kaian: Yeah, that line is not going to help you at all.
Zion: Trust me on this
Cami: I trust you, but also, you’re kind of an asshole
Zion: Fair. When can you be here?
Cami: Early. Sleep while you can.
I don’t bother replying, relatively certain she has already abandoned her phone and is well on her way to finalizing plans to be here in a few short hours.
As much as I didn’t want to involve anyone, having Cami tending to Seamus and Vivian puts my mind at ease. Cami will undoubtedly stick her nose exactly where it doesn’t belong and most likely create complications for me later on when I have to turn Vivian over to whomever is going to be in charge of inflicting a punishment on her.
My jaw tightens, my teeth grinding together, and, once again, I shake my head in an attempt to rid myself of the foreign heat boiling up inside me.
Knowing time is running short, I turn off the main lights, fully intent on making my way to the loft and my bed, but a glance toward the stable door has me hesitating.
Having slept in that same stall a few times myself, I know it’s not an entirely uncomfortable experience. But still, she may get cold. Or thirsty. And the last thing I need is her causing a fuss in the wee hours of the morning and disturbing his royal highness, Seamus.
Annoyed that I feel the need, I grab a bottle of water and a blanket, then head back toward the stable, quietly sliding the door open and creeping toward where I left her. She’s settled in the corner, lying on her side, curled into herself. I remove the lock, managing to slide the door open without disturbing her. I walk into the stall, pausing to say hello to Seamus, who’s eyeing me curiously through the bars, before turning my attention back to Vivian.
I watch her closely for a few moments, my hand rubbing over my sternum, hoping to ease the fiery ache there. If I were a smart man, I would snatch her up and bring her directly to a dungeon and be done with the entire mess.
But I’m not a smart man because, instead, I place the bottle of water near the wall beside her, then unfold the blanket and settle it over her sleeping form.
Turning to leave, a sudden pressure on my ankle stops me. I glance down, frowning at her hand, then turning my frown to her face, surprised to see she still appears to be deeply asleep. I slide my foot away, but she’s now gripping the back of my pant leg, her arm extending as I attempt to free myself.
Her grip slips, but instead of her hand falling away, her fingertips brush over the skin of my lower leg, right where my sock ends. My frown deepens, and I stand there frozen to the spot, grateful there are no witnesses to my complete insanity while also annoyed I have no one to help me figure it out. I don’t even have my phone.
I’ve always known something like this was possible—this deep feeling of familiarity and intense need. I’d heard rumors of protectors being eternally linked to possible commanders of darkness. Still, the idea that this other half would be completely ignorant to their destiny is difficult to navigate. Like everything within time, there are rules; rules that bend time and rules that shatter time.
Of all the rules, the most forbidden to bend is revealing someone’s truth to them. Attempting to force someone onto a new plane of truth only makes the revelation more traumatic, and, in some cases, can have dire consequences. The natural order must be followed, no matter how tedious and inconvenient it may be.
Knowing I won’t get any rest if I attempt to leave, I slide down the wall until I sit beside her, the top of her head brushing the side of my thigh. As if she senses the heat of my presence, she mutters incoherently, squirming closer until she settles with her head in my lap. My arm rests naturally over her shoulders, my free hand palm up on top of my thighs.
Fuck.
Sighing heavily, I rest my head back against the rough wooden wall, my eyes closing as I attempt to force myself torelax, pushing down the veritable inferno that churns inside me, having no freaking idea what it means or how to make it stop.
Then her hand brushes against my hand, her fingertips gliding along my fingers until her palm is pressed against mine.
And that sudden inferno, that white-hot sickness in my guts, it slowly quiets, ebbs off, until it’s naught more than a gentle warmth behind my sternum.
