It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. He just holds me. The warmth of his body seeps into mine, stilling the tremors.
But the touch isn’t all him.
Some of it … I think it’s his shadows.
They’re gentle. Almost hesitant. Scared I’ll pull back. Scared I’ll tell them to stop.
My skin prickles as cool tendrils curl against the nape of my neck, twining through my hair. One shyly taps against my wrist before retreating, startled by how easily I flinch.
They shouldn’t feel like comfort. But they do.
When Ezra exhales, the presence lingers for just a moment longer, like the memory of cold fingertips on skin.
I know it’s wrong to need this—to want touch after what Jameson did to me. But Ezra saved me. He’s the only reason I’m here. He would never hurt me.
An hour later, I’ve cried myself hollow. My eyes throb behind swollen lids, and my lashes, stiff with salt, drag like sandpaper every time I blink.
As I lift my head from Ezra’s shoulder, I notice Louie peeking out from behind the chair. When I softly call her name, Lou hesitantly approaches. Her head is down, and her ears are flattened. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my fierce guard dog is … afraid.
I peel myself out of Ezra’s arms—and, God fucking help me, his lap. He doesn’t stop me, but I feel the reluctance in his hands as they drift away.
I slide to the floor beside Louie, fingers buried in her fur as his shadows crowd close, clinging like faithful pups—refusing to follow when he lets me go. One lingers at my hip, hesitating before it snaps back into him with a sharp flick.
Was it … annoyed? Upset?
I’m not sure. I don’t understand them yet.
But they stayed with me.
They didn’t pull away until I did.
I run my hand over her fur again, slower this time. She’s familiar in a way that nothing else is right now.
“Hey, Lulu. It’s okay. There’s no way you could have gotten out. I heard you barking and digging at the door. Thank you for trying to save me.”
Stupid tears pool in my eyes again as I remember my dog’s desperate cries—and that fading, ridiculous thought about who would care for my giant fur baby after I died.
Ezra rises from the floor and approaches my reading chair, which someone repositioned to face my couch. He crosses his legs and folds his hands gently in his lap, offering a small, sadsmile before shifting his gaze downward. Louie softly whines, then rounds the coffee table to sit beside Ezra.
I drag myself off the floor and collapse onto the couch, burning what little strength I have left. Every joint, every muscle, screams with pain.
“I-I think I’m okay now.”
I’m not, but I don’t really know what else to say. Maybe if I keep saying it, it’ll eventually be true.
“Was there someone else here right before I woke up? I thought I heard a woman? Hm, maybe it was a dream, now that I think about it. Magic, spells, hellfire, hellhounds. Christ, Aurora. Lay off the fantasy books, right?”
A shadow drifts toward me, barely touching—a feathery whisper at my ankle.
Then another.
I should be asking questions. But the shadows move like they’ve followed me across lifetimes, waiting for this one.
So I let them stay. The shadows make more sense than anything else right now.
Ezra’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring just enough to give him away. His eyes flick between me and the twitching shadows at his thigh, his expression twisting with disgust.
“What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you lot?” he mutters, brushing them off his arms with a rough flick of his fingers.
