“Okay.”
Her eyes flicked open, searching his face. “Really?”
With a gentleness that made her ache, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, then lay back on his bedroll next to her. Not quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
Elora lowered herself beside him. When her hand rested on his arm under the blanket between them, he didn’t move away. He just let it stay there.
Not quite cuddling.
But safe.
Chapter 38
Rell
Rell stared at the dying embers. Sleep wasn't happening. Not when his mind kept circling back to words that had no business hitting him this hard.
I hardly even remember it. I wasn't there.
The way she'd said it—that hollow tone, like she was talking about someone else entirely—made him want to put his fist through something. Preferably someone's face.
Which was stupid. This kind of protective rage? That was for family. For Violette, maybe. Not for clients who'd hired him to get them from point A to point B.
But every time he tried to shove the feeling down, it crawled right back up his throat.
Elora shifted beside him, unconsciously pressing closer until her head found his shoulder. Her breathing was soft, even. No nightmares tonight, no jerking awake with terror carved into her features.
First time for everything.
Her hand rested against his chest, fingers curled loosely in his shirt. He could feel her pulse through her fingertips—steady,calm. Trusting.
Fuck.
This wasn't supposed to happen. He'd been with women before—plenty of them. Had his share of attractions, brief connections that burned hot and faded fast. That was the smart way to do it. Clean. Simple. No complications.
But this? This felt like something else entirely, and he didn't like not understanding it.
Maybe it was the way she'd kissed him—not with practiced seduction, but with that trembling uncertainty that said she was choosing him despite every instinct telling her to run. Maybe it was the purring thing, which was both ridiculous and... well, he wasn't going to examine that too closely.
Or maybe it was the fact that someone had hurt her badly enough to leave her floating outside her own body, and he couldn't stop his mind from cataloging exactly how many ways he could make them pay for it.
Was it someone at the Institute? That son-of-a-bitch Symond? He'd seen the way they looked at each other—all that history, all that venom. Or maybe it was Headmaster Thorn. She’d mentioned him a few times during their journey, how he experimented on her. The details were vague but he at least knew the man thought he could do as he pleased with her body.
Rell's jaw twitched. Whoever it was, they were living on borrowed time.
Professional distance, Lockwood.
Right. Because that was working so well for him.
His fingers moved without permission, ghosting over her hair. She didn't stir, lost in whatever dream had finally granted her peace. Everything about her was a puzzle with pieces that didn't quite fit together.
Escaped ward. Shapeshifter. Alchemist. Survivor.
And now, apparently, the one person who could make him forget why he kept everyone at arm's length.
He'd built his reputation on being precise. A blade in the dark, efficient and detached. Emotions were liabilities. Connections were weaknesses. He'd learned that lesson young and learned it well.
But Elora made him want to throw all of that out the window and do something stupid. Like hunt down whoever had put that haunted look in her eyes. Like promise her things he had no business promising. Like stay instead of walking away when this job was done.
