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His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck. His fingers thread through my hair, and I feel the heat of him everywhere we’re connected.
“Can you stand?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Let me help.”
He slips both arms around me. Lifts me like I weigh nothing. I sag against his chest, too exhausted to be embarrassed, and let him carry me the rest of the way down the hall.
My bedroom is dark. He doesn’t turn on the light. Just lowers me onto the bed, arranging me against the pillows with hands that are impossibly gentle for something that can swallow men whole.
Then he steps back, and the loss of contact makes the hunger flare again.
But it’s not just the hunger.
I watch him retreat to the edge of the room, his silhouette dark against the window. He’s giving me space. Doing what he thinks is right. And something in my chest cracks open.
He came when I needed him. Not because he had to. Not because of some bond or ancient magic forcing his hand. He felt me struggling and he chose to come. Just like he chose to stay in that alley. Just like he chose to carry me upstairs instead of leaving me on the kitchen floor.
Every choice he’s made has been to protect me. Protect us.
And I’ve been treating this like a transaction. Like he’s some kind of supernatural life support I’m tethered to against my will. But he’s not. He’s a person or whatever the equivalent is who keeps showing up. Who keeps caring even when I push him away.
“Malak.” My voice is steadier now. Not desperate. Certain.
He turns, backlit by the streetlamp, and I can’t see his expression but I can feel his tension.
“I know what I’m asking for,” I say. “Not just the feeding. Not just survival.” I push myself up on my elbows despite the weakness. “I’m asking you to stay. Really stay. Not just downstairs in the office or hidden in the attic. Here. With me.”
The silence stretches. I can hear my own heartbeat, and feel the baby’s pulse.
“This isn’t just about keeping me alive anymore,” I continue. The words are coming from somewhere deeper now, somewhere I didn’t know existed until this moment. “For the first time in three years, I don’t feel hollow. And it’s not because of the magic or the bond or whatever this is.” I press my hand to my chest, right over my heart. “It’s because you see me. The real me. Not the widow, not the struggling baker, not the broken thing trying to hold it together. You see who I actually am.”
He takes a step closer. Then another.
“I’ve been alone for so long,” I whisper. “Even when Dan was alive, I was alone. Going through the motions. Pretending. But with you...” I trail off, searching for the right words. “With you, I’m not pretending. I’m not hiding. And that terrifies me. But I don’t want to go back to being numb.”
He’s at the bedside now, close enough to touch but not touching.
“You’re not obligated to stay,” I say. “I know that’s what you think. That you’re trapped here because of what we created. But I’m not asking the guardian to stay. I’m not asking the daemon or the shadow-born or whatever label you hide behind.” I reach up, slowly, giving him time to pull away. My hand finds his, fingers threading through his. “I’m asking you. Malak. To choose to be here. With me.”
His hand tightens around mine.
“Not because I’m dying,” I add softly. “But because I’m finally living.”
He sits on the edge of the bed. Doesn’t lie down. Just stays there with his hand on my stomach, and I can feel the warmth starting to build. Not just surface heat. Something deeper. Something that sinks into the place where the baby grows.
The pulse responds. Intensifies. Like it’s drinking him in.
“What do you need?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” The frustration bleeds into my voice. “Everything feels wrong. I’m starving but food doesn’t help. I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep. Nothing works anymore.”
“Because you’re not human anymore.” His thumb traces a slow circle over the curve. “Not entirely. You’re carrying something that feeds on essence, not calories. It needs what I am.”
“Then give it to me.”
“It’s not that simple.”
