21. Shelter from the Storm
21
Shelter from the Storm
Ren
I bolted upright, my heart slamming against my ribs. The nightmare clung to me like a second skin, the images of the flooded city still vivid behind my eyelids. I blinked rapidly, trying to orient myself, but the darkness of my room offered no comfort. The sheets were tangled around my legs, damp with sweat, and I kicked at them frantically, desperate to be free of their suffocating embrace.
My breath came in ragged gasps, and I pressed a trembling hand to my damp forehead. The remnants of the dream lingered, the sound of rushing water and distant screams echoing in my ears. I closed my eyes, trying to will away the sense of dread that settled in the pit of my stomach, but it refused to budge.
A crack of thunder shook the room, making me flinch. I turned my head towards the window, watching as a flash of lightning illuminated the storm-tossed trees outside. The brief flare of light cast eerie shadows across the room, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of Luca, curled up in his bed, still asleep. Not surprising. He’d had an extra cup of calming tea the night before, which meant he could probably sleep through the end of the world.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. The chill sent a shiver up my spine, but it was a welcome sensation, grounding me in reality. I stood, my legs shaky beneath me, and made my way to the window. The glass was cool against my forehead as I leaned against it, watching the rain lash against the pane in silvery sheets.
I knew I should try to go back to sleep, to put the nightmare behind me, but the thought of closing my eyes again filled me with a suffocating sense of dread. I needed... something. Someone.
No, not just someone. I needed Dorian .
Before I could talk myself out of it, I was fumbling for clothes, yanking on the first things my hands touched in the dark.
The rain hit me like a wall, soaking me to the bone in seconds. But I barely noticed, my feet carrying me down the familiar path to Professor Crowe's cottage. The wind howled, whipping my hair around my face, but I pressed on, drawn by an inexplicable need to see Dorian.
The path through the gardens seemed longer than usual, each step weighted by uncertainty and rain-soaked clothes that clung to my skin. Finally, Dorian's cottage emerged from the darkness, its windows dark and shuttered against the storm.
Protection wards pulsed softly around the cottage, responding to my presence even before I knocked. Ever since our intimate connection, Dorian's magic seemed to recognize mine, reaching out like a lover's embrace. Silver threads of power wove through the rain between us, and I could have sworn the storm itself gentled around me, as if the cottage was trying to shelter me from the elements.
I stood before the heavy wooden door, water streaming down my face, my arms wrapped tightly around my trembling body. What was I thinking, coming here in the middle of the night? My hand hovered near the door, then dropped back to my side. Dorian was probably sound asleep, like any sane person would be at this hour. The thought of disturbing his rest made my stomach twist with guilt. But the lingering terror of my nightmare pulsed through me with each crack of thunder, and I couldn't bear to be alone with those images anymore.
Just go back , I told myself. Deal with it on your own. You're not a child anymore.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the cottage, casting strange shadows across the ivy-covered walls. Before I could lose my nerve entirely, I raised my fist and knocked, the sound barely audible over the howling wind. No response. I knocked again, harder this time, hating myself for every rap of my knuckles against the wood.
Long seconds ticked by, marked only by the drumming of rain and my chattering teeth. Just as I was about to turn away, a warm glow flickered to life behind the curtains. My heart lurched as footsteps approached from within.
The door creaked open, and there stood Dorian, sleep-rumpled and squinting in confusion. His auburn hair was mussed on one side, and he wore a faded t-shirt that hung loose on his frame. His eyes widened as he took in my bedraggled state.
“Ren?” His voice was rough with sleep, but concern quickly chased away any trace of annoyance. “Good gods, you're soaked through.” He stepped back, gesturing for me to enter. “Come in, come in. What on earth are you doing out in this weather?”
I hesitated in the entryway, water pooling beneath my feet on the worn floorboards. My teeth were chattering so hard I could barely get words out. “I-I'm sorry, I'm getting everything wet.”
“Don't worry about that,” Dorian said softly, already moving toward the fireplace. With a wave of his hand, flames sprung to life, casting a warm glow across the room. “You need to get warm before you catch your death.”
He disappeared briefly into his bedroom, returning with a thick towel, a pair of soft flannel pajama pants, and one of his oversized sweaters. My stomach clenched. Of course I needed to change. That made sense. But standing here, dripping and shivering, the thought of undressing made my chest tight with anxiety.
Dorian must have read something in my expression because his voice gentled even further. “I can step into the kitchen if you'd like some privacy. Or there's the bathroom.” He set the clothes on the arm of his worn leather chair. “Whatever makes you comfortable, Ren.”
I swallowed hard, touched by his careful consideration even as embarrassment burned in my cheeks. We'd been intimate before, but this felt different somehow. More exposed. “Maybe... maybe just turn around?”
He nodded, immediately turning to face the kitchen and taking a few steps away. “Take your time.”
My frozen fingers fumbled with my sodden shirt. I peeled it off quickly, grateful for the warmth of the fire on my bare skin. The scars on my chest were barely visible in the flickering light as I hurriedly pulled on his sweater. It smelled like him, and the familiar scent helped calm my racing heart a little.
“You can turn around now,” I said quietly once I'd changed completely, bundled in his too-big clothes. When he did, his expression was so soft, so full of gentle concern that my earlier fears began to melt.
I hugged my arms around myself, still shivering despite the warmth of his clothes and the crackling fire. The mark on my forehead pulsed with a dull ache, a constant reminder of everything hanging over us. Of what Alistair intended for me.
“What’s wrong, mo stóirín?” Dorian asked softly, settling beside me on the couch. He didn't touch me, but his presence was steady, grounding.
“A nightmare,” I admitted, and then felt foolish. “But it wasn’t just any nightmare. This one felt so vivid and real. Like I was really there. I dreamt of the sunken city, Dorian. All those spirits, trapped and suffering. Alistair was there, performing the ritual. I could feel what that spirit showed me, all that hunger and desperation, like it was my own. And...” I swallowed hard thinking about the other part of the dream.
“And?” Dorian prompted gently when I fell silent, his eyes soft with concern.
I drew my knees up to my chest, trying to find the right words. “In the dream, I was trapped too, like those spirits. But not in the city. In... in my own body, except it wasn't mine. It was like being back before...” I gestured vaguely at myself, frustrated at my inability to articulate it properly. “It was that same feeling of wrongness, of being trapped in a shape that didn't fit. Like those spirits, denied the chance to become…whatever they’re supposed to be.” The mark on my forehead throbbed again, and I pressed my fingers against it, wondering if it was amplifying these fears, feeding on them. “I know it's different now. I know who I am. But sometimes I still feel…”
“Vulnerable?" Dorian suggested.
I nodded, letting my head rest against the back of the couch as I turned to look at him. The firelight caught the silver in his hair, casting warm shadows across his face. Something in his voice, in the intensity of his gaze, made my breath catch. Without thinking, I reached for him, and he drew me close, one hand cradling the back of my head. I pressed my face into his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.
“I'm scared, Dorian,” I whispered against his skin.
“I know, love, but we’ll figure this out.”
His arms tightened around me, and I melted into the embrace, letting out a shaky breath. The steady thrum of Dorian's heartbeat against my ear grounded me, chasing away the last wisps of the nightmare. I breathed him in and the knot in my chest begin to loosen.
“I'm here,” he murmured, his fingers carding gently through my damp hair. “You're safe, mo stóirín.”
The endearment, spoken in his lilting accent, sent a warm shiver down my spine. I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. The firelight danced in his green eyes, full of such tenderness it made my breath catch.
“Dorian,” I whispered, hardly aware I'd spoken aloud. My hand moved of its own accord, tracing the line of his jaw, the slight stubble rough against my fingertips.
He leaned into the touch, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yes, love?”
The pet name, so casually given, made my heart stutter. I swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of our proximity, of the way his sweater draped over my frame, of the heat of his body seeping into mine.
“I...” I started, then faltered, unsure how to put what I was feeling into words. “Could I sleep here? With you?”
“Of course,” Dorian replied softly, his fingers still threading gently through my hair. “You're always welcome here, Ren.”
I bit my lip, gathering my courage. “I... I didn't mean on the couch,” I clarified, my voice barely above a whisper.
A warm chuckle rumbled through Dorian's chest. “I'm glad for that, actually,” he said, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. “My back was quite sore the last time. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know.”
I couldn't help but smile at that, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. Dorian stood, offering me his hand. “Come on, then,” he said softly. “Let's get you properly settled.”
I took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. The oversized sweater slipped off one shoulder, and I tugged it back into place as we made our way to his bedroom.
Dorian's room was exactly as I remembered it, a cozy haven that felt more like home than anywhere else I'd been. Bookshelves lined the walls, crammed with leather-bound tomes and dog-eared paperbacks alike. A patchwork quilt in shades of green and brown covered the bed. The air smelled of sandalwood and old paper, with just a hint of vanilla and tea, like him.
Bones, Dorian's skeletal canine familiar, lifted his head from his plush bed in the corner, empty eye sockets somehow managing to convey curiosity. His bony tail thumped against the floor in a muted clatter that was oddly endearing. I wiggled my fingers in a little wave, earning another tail wag before Bones settled back down, apparently satisfied that all was well.
Dorian bustled about, pulling back the quilt and plumping pillows with practiced ease. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing to the bed.
I hesitated for a heartbeat before climbing in, sinking into the softness of the mattress. The sheets were cool and crisp against my skin, smelling faintly of lavender. I pulled the quilt up to my chin, watching as Dorian puttered around the room, straightening a stack of papers on his desk and adjusting the curtains. He was stalling, giving me time to situate myself without any pressure. The realization made my heart clench. Gods, Dorian was so sweet, so attentive and thoughtful. How did I ever get so lucky to wind up with someone like him?
Finally, the mattress dipped slightly with his weight, and I caught another whiff of his comforting scent. Dorian reached over to the bedside table, his fingers hovering over the lamp switch.
“Goodnight, Ren,” he murmured.
“Goodnight,” I whispered back, just as the room plunged into shadows.
I lay there, stiff as a board, hyper-aware of Dorian's presence mere inches away. My mind raced, a jumble of conflicting thoughts and desires. Should I move closer? Would that be too forward? What if he didn't want me to? But then, why had he invited me into his bed if not for closeness?
The silence stretched between us, broken only by the muffled patter of rain against the windows and the occasional rumble of distant thunder. I could hear Dorian's steady breathing beside me, feel the warmth radiating from his body. It was maddening, being so close and yet not touching.
Just as I was about to combust from the tension, Dorian's voice cut through the darkness. “Ren?” he said softly. “Would it be alright if I held you?”
“Yes,” I breathed, my heart racing. “Please.”
The mattress shifted as Dorian moved closer, his arm draping gently over my waist. I turned towards him, burrowing into the warmth of his chest. Dorian's fingers traced lazy patterns on my back, and I melted further into his embrace. This felt right, like coming home after a long journey.
As we lay there, my body relaxed, but my mind began to wander. I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if Dorian's hands roamed lower, slipping beneath the hem of his borrowed sweater to caress my skin. What would his lips feel like, trailing kisses down my neck? How would it feel to have his body pressed fully against mine, with nothing between us?
My cheeks burned at the direction of my thoughts, but I couldn't stop them. Dorian was right here, solid and warm and real. What was I waiting for? I trusted him more than anyone else in the world. If there was ever a perfect person for me to experience my first time with, it was Dorian.
I took a deep breath, gathering every ounce of courage I could muster. My heart thundered in my chest as I slowly sat up, the borrowed sweater slipping off one shoulder. Dorian stirred beside me, his brow furrowing in sleepy confusion.
“Ren? Is everything alright?” he murmured, propping himself up on one elbow.
Words failed me, lodged somewhere between my racing heart and my suddenly dry throat. Instead, I met his gaze in the dim light filtering through the curtains. His green eyes, warm and full of concern, gave me the final push I needed.
With trembling fingers, I grasped the hem of the sweater. Time seemed to slow as I pulled it over my head, the soft fabric whispering against my skin. The cool air of the bedroom raised goosebumps along my arms and chest as I let the sweater fall beside me on the bed.
There. I was exposed. Vulnerable in a way I'd never been before, not with anyone.
In the dim light filtering through the curtains, I watched Dorian's face, my heart thundering against my ribs. Time stretched like honey, sweet and thick with possibility. Everything I wanted—everything I feared—balanced on the edge of this moment, this breath, this choice. I had never felt more terrified. I had never felt more free.