Page 109 of The Vespertine Treaty

I couldn't take it anymore.

The silence was louder than the thunder. It was suffocating me. I needed him. I didn't need the Prince of Death. I didn't need the protector. I needed Cain.

"Come here," I said.

My voice was stronger today. The bruises on my face had faded to a sickly yellow, thanks to the salves Silas provided, but the hollow ache in my chest was growing.

Cain didn't turn from the window. "Go to sleep, Ophelia."

"No," I said, sitting up. "I am tired of sleeping. I am tired of you sitting in that chair like a gargoyle. If you are going to sleep in the same room every night, might as well sleep on the bed. It’s big enough for both of us."

He turned then. Slowly. The lightning illuminated his face, and I gasped.

He looked wrecked. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a stubble of beard shadowed his jaw. But it was his eyes... they were wild. Tormented.

"The bed?" he repeated, a dark, humourless laugh escaping him. He stood up, swaying slightly. "You want me in your bed?"

“Technically, it’s your bed, and I want you near me," I clarified, clutching the duvet. "I want you to hold me. Like you did in the carriage. Like you did in the bath. Like you do every time you think I am asleep.”

“I do not. The carriage was necessity," he snarled, walking toward the bed. He stopped at the foot of it, gripping the wooden post until I heard the wood groan. "The bath was about survival. This? This is madness."

"Why?" I demanded, anger flaring to mask the hurt. "Why is it madness? I am your wife!"

"You are a victim!" he roared.

The sound silenced the thunder.

He breathed heavily, his chest heaving. "You are a victim of males like me. Males who take. Males who break things."

He leaned forward, his eyes burning into mine.

"Do you know what it takes for me to sit in that chair?" he hissed. "Do you know how hard it is to hear you breathing and not cross this room? Every instinct I have tells me to claim you. To wrap myself around you so tight that the world forgets you exist."

He looked at his hands, disgusted.

"But I look at you... and I see the bruises. I see the fear in your eyes when I move too fast. And I realise..." His voice broke. "I realise that I am just another version of Malathor. Just maybe with better manners."

"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "You are nothing like him. You saved me."

"I failed you!" he shouted, striking his chest. "I let him take you! And now... now you look at me like I'm your saviour, but I am the reason you were in that cell, Ophelia! My enemies. My world. My darkness."

He grabbed the bottle of brandy from the table and hurled it into the fireplace. It shattered, the alcohol flaring up in a burst of blue flame.

"I will not touch you," he said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet resolve. "I will not taint you further."

"So you will just destroy yourself instead?" I asked, tears streaming down my face. "You will drink yourself into oblivion? You will rot in that chair while I lay here alone? I can feel your Void, Cain. It’s disintegrating. You need me.“

He looked at me, and the pain in his expression was so raw it felt like he had physically struck me.

"Yes," he said.

He walked to the door, his hand hovering over the handle. He didn't look back.

"I would carve out my own heart and feed it to the Void before I let it use my hands to hurt you ever again," he said, his voice trembling. "I am the match, Ophelia. And you are dry tinder. If I get too close... you don't get warm. You burn."

"I don't care if I burn!" I screamed at his back. "I would rather burn with you than freeze alone!"

He paused. For a second, I thought he would turn. I thought he would come back and consume me like the fire he claimed to be.