Right.
“I need warm water and cloths to clean him.”
Stave nods. “I’ll get it.” He starts to leave and stops, turns around. “Please thank Elmore for me. Eryx means more to our world than he realizes.”
His gaze settles on Eryx briefly; then he inhales sharply. “The cloths and water. I’ll be right back.”
While Stave’s gone, I pull the covers up to Eryx’s waist and study him. It’s the first I’ve been able to look at him without bracing.
His jaw is sharp. His nose has a bump that suggests it’s been broken before. The color is returning to his cheeks and his lips—soft, perfect—make me want to kiss him again.
That kiss—my body heats just thinking about it. How he told me to repeat that he’s beautiful.
I trace my finger along his jaw, memorizing the sharp line, the bump on his nose. “Did no one ever tell you that you're beautiful?” I whisper.
My throat tightens. He needed to hear it so badly he made me say it twice. While bleeding. While dying. How long has he believed he's a monster? “You might have darkness, husband”—the word catches in my throat—“but that doesn't mean it has to swallow you.”
From the doorway Stave clears his throat. I whip toward him, my neck flushing from embarrassment.
“The cloths and water.”
“Thank you.” I take them from him. “I’ll tend to Eryx. Please, um…”
Stave nods. “I’ll make sure the manor is locked down, and I’ll call in extra security.”
My chest loosens. “Thank you.”
I place the supplies on the nightstand and drop one of the cloths into the water, then wring it out.
“Mistress?”
Stave hovers in the doorway.
“Yes?”
A slight smile flickers on his mouth. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I return the smile. “Me too.”
And then he leaves me to clean and care for my husband.
Eryx
Someone’s hand is squeezing mine. It’s warm, solid, encouraging.
Chelsea.
I lie there, afraid to open my eyes. What if I'm still dreaming?
Then everything slams into me—the dream, Helena's threat, the monster, Chelsea screaming.
The kiss.
Her lips. Her taste. The way she melted into me. How she said I was beautiful. How I needed to hear it again—more than air, more than survival.
Nightmare hums, pleased with itself.
You're awake,I think with relief.
