I shove the blankets off me and rush for the door, desperate to escape the tight grip around my chest, making it hard to breathe. When I open my door, my foot catches on something, and I stumble, barely catching myself before I fall.
The black spots in my vision fade, but I must still be dreaming, because Dean is sitting outside my room, staring up at me, worry etched across his face.
What is he doing here?
“You’re bleeding. Why are you bleeding?”
Dean throws the blanket off his shoulders and starts to stand, but something in me reacts first.
I don’t know what takes over me, but before he can move, I drop to the floor beside him. It takes me a full ten seconds to realize how close we are. Our shoulders are nearly touching, my hip pressed against his.
What the fuck am I doing? Why did I sit down? I should’ve run to my safe place and stayed there until the urge to claw my skin off passed.
Dean stiffens. I brace for him to pull away, but he doesn’t.
My heart stops hammering in my chest the second I touch him. Now I can’t move away even if I wanted to. Maybe I can pretend I don’t know what I’m doing because my head isn’t working right.
He turns his head slowly, brows pulling together in horror as he takes in the reminders Tiberius left behind.
“Nightmares don’t leave marks on your neck, Hazel.”
I drop my gaze to my hands, twisting my fingers together.
“Hazel, this isn’t a fucking game anymore!” He snarls. “Why didn’t you tell me the Shrimp King can hurt you like this?”
It takes me a second to realize he means Tiberius, and then I start laughing. A chuckle breaks loose, spiraling into full-blown hysterics until I’m howling like a madwoman.
There’s an ache in my stomach, but unlike the dread I feel with Tiberius, it’s from laughing too hard. Only Dean could do this.
By the time my laughter fades, the tightness in my chest loosens enough for a full breath.
If anyone asked me why I did what I did next, I wouldn’t have a straight answer. The urge to lay all my worries at his feet is so strong it nearly swallows me, and when my head rests on his shoulder, the world finally stops spinning.
A warm current washes over me, blooming in my chest. I press my cheek against his shoulder, the sparks reaching the cold, distant corners of my heart.
And I don’t stop there because apparently, I haven’t embarrassed myself enough. I shift closer until I’m tucked against him, my head resting over his chest.
The steady thud of his heart drowns everything else. I close my eyes, erasing the version of him Tiberius tried to show me and replacing it with Dean’s warmth.
I’ll probably regret this tomorrow, but the warmth, the safety of being near my mate, is calling to me like a siren song. If this is how my kind lures their prey, no wonder they never miss.
Everyone thinks I hate being touched, but I never crave comfort or affection because I don’t know what it feels like. But if it’s similar to this, then I get why people are so obsessed.
This is what I was afraid of… falling apart in someone’s arms. Why would anyone want to gather my broken pieces if it meant cutting themselves just to hold me together?
Dean doesn’t move a muscle, like he’s afraid to, and the silence makes me notice something else.
“Dean?”
“Hmm?”
“Why aren’t you breathing?”
“I’m scared you’ll realize how close we are and leave.”
I smile into his neck, my lips brushing his skin, and I swear his heart stutters.
“I won’t.”
