8. Daphne Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation
eight
Daphne: Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation
Time stopped when I fell death-deep into Lyla’s bleary eyes, watching them fill with salty water.
These men were her sanctuary. And while I didn’t know Lyla’s story specifically, I understood she came from the Brimstone district, which meant drugs and sex for the upper fucks who owned the tech empire.
A sun walker might scrunch their nose at the way she nearly pissed herself on the stairwell, but for someone whose eyes began in darkness, she knew what it meant when Wolfe said he would throw her into a world without his protection.
It meant pain.
The thing about reality is that it no longer matters when you are starving and wandering the streets at night with no certainty you’ll make it to dawn. For Lyla, being queen of the Black Wings meant she had finally found stability inside a world that had none.
“Please,” the word fell between us in slow motion. “I’ve known you forever. You’re kind, pragmatic, and a little unhinged. You drink your whiskey straight and never apologize. And you fucking love Threx, which…” she shivered. “No one could ever do. You are a masterclass in humanity.”
“Careful,” Wolfe said low, when my pulse spiked.
“No, I just meant that he is scary, and you aren’t afraid of anything. Trust me, Daphne. I know where the men in this house's loyalties lie.”
I swallowed my pride.
“You earned that, Daph. I am not trying to take it away.”
“Lyla,” Wolfe’s disgust dripped off everything, and I shivered.
“Daphne, please.”
My eyes fell shut, clamping down on a thousand truths. I would leave tonight for a warm bed and a career, but she wouldn’t. There was no promise for her beyond this very moment.
“You can stay,” I said, dropping my gaze to the floor before Wolfe could see what would come next. You’d think doing the right thing would make me feel better, but if I were being honest, it only made me smaller.
So, fucking small.
“Shit,” she breathed in a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Daphne. I get why everyone loves you.”
“Go away, Lyla,” Wolfe breathed against me, and she turned, nearly running when his eyes locked into mine. “If you so much as flinch when I touch you or seem distant, she’s fucking out. Do you understand?”
I nodded, peering into the chasm he had put between us.
“You can’t play the martyr forever; eventually, all that darkness is going to catch up with you, Daphne.”
I said nothing.
“Now, what do you need in the utility room?” Wolfe glanced at the door and then back at me.
Shit, I had almost forgotten.
“Luggage.” The word made him shift, causing the muscles in his forearms to twitch. “I was offered an internship in Maine,” I blurted, wishing someone would turn the air on.
“As in the other side of the country, Maine?” Wolfe eyed me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s only for two months.”
“Two fucking months!” Terror hit his eyes, but it wasn’t for him. This was a different kind of fear. “Have you told Threx?”
My eyes swept left, and he growled.
“Fucking hell, Daphne,” he peeled himself away, shooting me a look that I felt in my stomach. “Please tell me you weren’t about to fly to the other side of the goddamn country without telling him to his face that you are leaving.” He edged closer, leaning into my breath.
“What are you talking about?” I met his gaze, noticing the hint of embarrassment smoldering beneath my words.
Wolfe laughed, nearly putting his fist through the door. “You barely survived the last time you two were apart. What was it… Six days before, you did not leave his room for a month?”
Of course, he would count.
I tugged at the oversized hoodie that was crawling up my neck and gave him a look.
“The only way you could ever pull this off is to disappear without having to see the look on his face when you break him.”
“You know what?” I shook my head. “Why don’t you go play with your new queen? I’ve got it from here. Thanks.”
“Daph,” he ignored the snipe. “I am in awe of what you’ve accomplished, but you have no fucking clue who Threx becomes when he does not have access to you. Or what you’re like.”
I crossed my arms. “Me? What is that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Daph. There is not a man on this floor who has not heard him sing you down from panic attacks, or watch him pull you back from the abyss that is your mind. You can’t just pretend that you’re going to be magically okay without him.”
“Yeah, well,” I bit my lip so hard I nearly drew blood. “I also can’t simply sit here and never fucking move.”
“I know,” he swallowed, reaching for the closet and unlocking it slowly.
I sat in silence when he pulled out two pieces of luggage.
“Do they both have wheels?” I questioned, eyeing the green one.
“Yes. Because it is not 1983. When was the last time you flew, Daphne?”
“Never,” I said, mostly to myself, peering out the window off to the side.
“You’ve got money?” he asked, and I shrugged.
“Celeste said the internship was fully covered,” I sighed. “So, I will probably be fine.”
Wolfe rolled his eyes and moved aside a strip of slanted wallpaper at the back of the closet, revealing one of many safes hidden throughout the place. I made a face when he dropped two stacks of cash into my bag.
“What are you doing? I don’t want that.” I swatted his hand away from the zipper, but he only scowled.
“Consider it part of your inheritance.” Wolfe paused. “When are you leaving?” The question sounded heavier than anything else he’d said to me.
Because this time it was for me.
Maybe putting some distance between me and the fact that he chose Lyla might help numb it all the way.
“Tomorrow morning,” I mumbled into my hands. “If I go.”
“Fuck, Daph.” He shook his head and hauled me into his chest.
I tried not to tense, but the roll of my shoulders gave me away.
“You’re going to have to give me time,” my voice cracked.
“What, like two months?”
I peered up at him, realizing how much I would miss him.
“I love you,” I admitted, because there was nothing left to say. I couldn’t keep him, and I could not let him go.
“You’ve never said that to me before.” His brow lifted. “Why say it now?”
“Because I lost you today.” A tear slid down my cheek as I looked away. “And now there is nothing left to lose.”
Wolfe’s lips twitched, the storm in his body pulling at the gravity in the room.
“The only way you lose me,” Wolfe tilted my chin until our eyes met, “is if I am dead. And even then, I fucking doubt it. Threx might own your soul, Daph, but I have your body, and I’m keeping it for fucking ever.
” His hot lips brushed my forehead before he padded away in damnable strides.
“Enjoy your trip and call me the moment you land. And Daphne,” he said, turning at the end of the hall, “tell Threx.”
But I didn’t want to. It took me one second to text Celeste that I was in and three more to buckle in the hallway.
Suddenly, I couldn’t take another step.
In defeat, I rolled the luggage into Thay’s bedroom, shutting the door behind me with a familiar thud.
The room was small, with a single window and a full bed tucked into the corner, taking up most of the space.
Various doodles and sketches were pinned to the walls, and I dragged a finger over the newest one of me sitting on a ledge overlooking the city, before turning to reach for the pale blue dress I’d left hanging in his closet.
It reminded me of Wendy Darling, and the irony of lost boys made the sheer fabric feel almost inevitable. But anything was better than the kill sweats I was wearing, stained with placenta and random splotches of blood.
I stripped off my clothes and fed them into the incinerator hatch. Every member had one, and aside from the few T-shirts stowed in the single drawer of their nightstand, they never wore the same thing twice.
Rubbing my eyes, I glanced at Thay’s shower until I was standing under the hot stream with my forehead pressed against the dark tile.
Everything inside me hurt. My muscles. My thoughts.
That line at the center of your knee that dies when men put their mouths on it.
I wished I could peel back my skin and let the heat sink deeper, but there was no magic left in the Underworld, only black death and the promise of alcohol.
Bang.
I didn’t flinch when the door slammed shut or when the sound of Thay’s steps crossed the bathroom floor, every bit of him was my favorite song, and I leaned into the music when he dropped his clothes without a word and stepped in behind me after killing the lights.
This man loved to shower in the dark, craving any sensory deprivation that made him invisible.
I let out a breath when the cage of his chest pressed against my spine, five points of pressure digging into my curves as he drew me back into him.
“Mmmh,” he sighed, inhaling my scent until I burned in his lungs.
I leaned into every edge and plane I had carved for myself, into the familiarity of his body fitted to mine.
We never spoke about these moments, about the way his cock stayed hard against my ass or how his hands mapped me by instinct alone.
We didn’t name it. We only folded together until everything fell into place.
Thay reached over the lip of the shower for the bar of amber soap I hid there and dragged it slowly along my throat, under my chin, lathering my skin, my pulse, my existence.
A sound slipped out of me before I was able to stop it when his hands traveled lower, skimming my chest, until both of his soapy palms closed around my breasts.
I fluttered as he kneaded, rolling my nipples beneath his thumbs in quiet circles.
Sometimes showers were like this: intimate and nonverbal. Other times, it was simply a matter of hygiene.
Thay’s fingertips drifted down, sudsy and warm over my stomach until they reached my thighs in a slow, deliberate circle. I sank into the sensation, feeling raw and overworked, as his fingers pushed all the uneven pieces back into place.
This was one way he mended me. Attention. Touch. Remembering.
Gently, he dropped to his knees, massaging the soap down my hips, dropping lower until his massive hands swept to my ankles in a breathless stroke.
My body complied when he turned me, pressing my shoulders to the tile while he looked up at me through the steam.
I searched his steely eyes, threading my fingers through his soaked strands, pulling him into my stomach, feeling the rest of him wrap around me in a bruising hug.
I knew what he needed, but I couldn’t give it to him in the shower.
Reaching over, I turned off the faucet and lifted him to his feet.
Thay’s wet hand found mine as I led him out, past the crumpled clothes on the floor, to his bed.
Grabbing a random T-shirt, I blotted the water from his chest, taking my time as I moved over him.
His body was the very definition of melodrama.
Dark and imposing. A trigger waiting to be pulled.
I smiled into the quiet and drew him down with me onto the mattress, opening my legs so he could crawl between them, guiding his ear to the steady beat of my heart.
“Fuck,” he groaned, breathing me in like a dying man as I absorbed the trauma from his body.
I felt it immediately, the tension locked into his shoulders and hips, every bit of last night roping around his neck.
I pressed him closer, reminding his body how to breathe, holding him there until he found a steady rhythm with me.
And once he did, I didn’t think about the way his naked flesh melded into mine, or the way my frame caged him completely.
I ran my fingers through the fine hairs along his hairline until his breath evened out, until the patterns lulled everything inside me that had been screaming.
For now, Maine could wait.
The world could burn.
Nothing mattered because within him, I was home.
I held him until the yellow light of Seattle drifted and sleep claimed us both.
Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation.