I hate that it affects me. Hate the heat that curled through my stomach when he looked at me like that. I'm supposed to be angry.
I am angry. Both things can be true.
"You're awake," he says.
"Obviously."
He closes the door behind him and stands there, hands at his sides. Not approaching. Giving me space. Or maybe just afraid to come closer.
"How do you feel?" he asks.
"Healed. Mostly."
"Good. That's... good."
The silence stretches between us. He's the one who came here, but he doesn't seem to know what to say. I watch him struggle with it, this vampire who always has a plan, always knows the right move. Right now, he looks lost.
Part of me wants to help him. The part that remembers his face when he found me, the raw terror in his eyes, the way he whisperedI thought I'd lost youlike the words were being torn out of him. The part that remembers his letters, preserved for centuries, and the grief in his voice when he talked about his men.The part that leaned into his touch in that firelit study and wanted more.
But then I remember the rest of it.
He takes a breath. "I came to apologize."
"Did you."
"What I did was wrong. Using you as bait without telling you, without giving you the choice, it was a betrayal of your trust. I knew the risks, and I didn't warn you. I told myself it was strategy, that your reactions needed to be genuine, that the tactical advantage outweighed…" He stops. Shakes his head. "None of that matters. I was wrong. I'm sorry."
Something shifts in my chest. He means it. I can hear it in his voice, see it in the way he's standing, not defensive, not making excuses. Just owning what he did.
He takes a step closer. Not much, just enough that I can see the details I was trying to ignore. The tension in his jaw. The way his hands flex at his sides like he wants to reach for me, but doesn't dare. The exhaustion carved into his features, deeper than one day could account for.
"I should have told you," he says quietly. "I should have trusted you with the truth and let you decide. Instead, I made the choice for you, and you almost died because of it. I'll carry that for the rest of my existence."
I want to stay angry. Want to hold onto the betrayal like armor. But looking at him now, seeing the weight of what he's carrying, I feel something loosen in my chest.
Maybe we can get past this. Maybe.
"There's something else," he says.
The loosening stops. "What?"
"I've taken you off field operations. Until further notice."
The words don't register at first. "What?"
"No more missions outside the compound. No donor vetting, no intelligence gathering, no…"
"You benched me."
"I'm keeping you safe."
"Youbenchedme." I tighten my hands into fists. The softening I felt moments ago hardens into something sharp and brittle. "I just proved I could hold my own against six attackers. I kept them busy long enough for backup to arrive. And your response is to sideline me?"
"My response is to make sure you're never in that position again."
"That's not your decision to make!"
"It is, actually." His voice is calm. Controlled. The voice of someone who's used to giving orders and having them followed. "I'm responsible for everyone in this compound. That includes you."
