Chapter 47 – COSIMA
COSIMA
I'm floating.
No… not floating. Cradled.
Strong arms hold me against a bare chest, warmth seeping into my skin despite the cold that's settled deep in my bones. I can feel movement, the rhythm of walking, but when I look around, nothing seems to move at all.
Where the hell am I?
The space stretches infinite and intimate at the same time.
Walls of pearl and starlight curve overhead like the inside of a massive shell.
Or a moon. The thought feels right somehow, even if I don't understand why.
Everything glows with soft silver light that doesn't hurt my eyes, and white flowers scatter across the ground beneath us.
Even then, I can't tell if my feet are touching anything solid.
For all I know, I could be underwater.
My head feels stuffed with cotton. Memories slide away when I try to grasp them, leaving only impressions. Pain. Blood. Screaming. The details blur together into a watercolor mess that makes my skull ache.
"Where..." My voice comes out thin, paper-thin, like speaking might tear me in half.
"Safe."
The word in Vrissian is a soft, deep rumble that vibrates through his chest and into mine. Rich as dark honey poured over gravel, smooth and sensual despite the underlying growl, as if the voice is coming from the throat of a beast.
I tilt my head back, trying to see who's holding me.
Oh.
My breath catches.
He's… beautiful. Beautiful in the way sacred things are beautiful—sharp and perfect and somehow untouchable even though he's touching me right now.
Long white hair falls just past his broad shoulders, framing a face with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. His skin is unmarked, perfect. And his eyes… gods, his eyes are the brightest blue I've ever seen. Summer sky reflected in clear water.
I know him.
The certainty hits my chest violently. I know this alpha. Have known him longer than I've known anything else. My soul recognizes him even if my scrambled brain can't place the details.
"I've seen you before," I murmur in Vrissian, studying his face. "Haven't I?"
He doesn't say anything, but sadness softens those impossibly blue eyes and he shifts his hold on me slightly, adjusting so I'm more comfortable against him.
Maybe I've seen him in my dreams. The lines blur together, refusing to separate into clear memories.
I'm dying.
Understanding settles over me with strange detachment, like observing someone else's tragedy. I should be scared. Should be fighting, clawing my way back to consciousness. But wrapped in these strong arms, cradled against his chest, I can't quite muster the appropriate panic.
Maybe I'm already dead.
"Am I dead?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"No." The answer comes swift and absolute, a low growl that scrapes the air between us. "I won't let you die."
I almost laugh, but it comes out as a weak huff. "That confident, huh? What are you, some kind of miracle worker?"
"I'll find a way," he rumbles, his jaw ticking. "Azarel… he was going to mark you to save you. They can't tell you…" His voice falters, trails off. "I can't let him."
The conviction in his voice makes my chest tight. This beautiful stranger—no, not a stranger, never a stranger—speaks like he'd tear down the heavens themselves to keep me alive.
But who are "they"?
And who the hell is Azarel?
I roll the name around in my head, trying to make it stick to something concrete. Nothing surfaces except a vague sense of... anger? Betrayal? The emotions exist without context, free-floating fury that has nowhere to land.
"I don't know who that is," I admit.
The alpha holding me goes very still. Those blue eyes search my face with sudden intensity, like he's worried. I reach up, my hand feeling heavy and disconnected from my body, and thread my fingers through his white hair. It's soft as spun silk.
His eyes flutter closed at the touch and he leans into my palm like a giant cat seeking affection. The gesture fills my chest with warmth that pushes back against the cold trying to claim me.
This alpha—whoever he is, whatever he is—belongs to me.
Not in the sense of ownership. In the sense of recognition. Like finding a piece of yourself you didn't know was missing.
"Are you my protector?" I ask.
"Always," he rumbles against my skin.
A soft smile tugs at my lips. "Good boy," I purr, stroking his hair, and he nuzzles into my palm with his own low rumbling growl of a purr.
I cup his face in both hands, turning him to look at me fully. His full lips part slightly as he gazes at me like I hung the damn moon in the sky. This alpha is so beautiful, it makes my throat tight.
Perfect features, perfect bone structure, perfect everything.
He's… entrancing.
"You're the most beautiful alpha I've ever seen."
He looks away immediately, discomfort flickering across his expression. Like the compliment hurts him.
"Don't," he says quietly.
"Don't what? Tell the truth?"
"I'm not—" He cuts himself off, jaw tightening with pain. "You shouldn't say that. I'm disgusting."
The self-loathing in his voice both breaks my heart and makes no fucking sense.
Here he is, a man who must be the most beautiful person alive, and he thinks he’s disgusting?
I stare at this perfect face, searching for whatever flaw he thinks he has. There's nothing. Not a single imperfection I can see.
But it's about more than that, too. It’s the way my spirit is so settled in his presence. It’s the low, rumbling hum in his chest that feels like a song I’ve known my entire life. He feels like coming home to a place I’ve never been.
If I am dying, this is heaven.
"I don't understand," I whisper. "How could you possibly think that?"
He doesn't respond. He still can't look at me.
My certainty comes from somewhere deeper than memory. "I don't know who you are," I say softly. "I don't remember your name or how we met. But I know you're mine. You could never be disgusting to me, for any reason. Not ever."
He makes a soft, pained growling sound and pulls me closer, burying his face in my hair like he's trying to hide in it. The sudden motion makes me dizzy all of a sudden, and my hands slide down from his face, falling limply to his broad shoulders.
The side of my neck near the crook of my shoulder feels… weird. There's a strange, tingling energy blanketing it, and beneath that, it's cold and numb. Like a cut from a too-sharp knife that doesn't hurt, but you know it should, and that makes it feel worse somehow.
"I don't feel good," I manage to say.
He makes a sound—not quite a growl—and crushes me against him. Not painful, but secure. Unbreakable. Like he's trying to fuse us together through sheer force of will.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in a scent I can almost taste. Clean and sharp and right, like a winter storm. The kind that keeps you from leaving your house so you huddle up by the fire with hot chocolate and warm blankets, safe from the howling wind outside.
I could stay right here in this alpha's arms forever.
But everything's going red around the edges. Not scary red. Just... distant. Like the world's slowly being painted over with watercolor, bleeding from silver to crimson in gentle gradations. The white flowers beneath us begin to darken, petals curling inward.
He holds me tighter.
Tighter.
So tight I can feel his heartbeat against my ribs, strong and steady and alive.
I should be afraid. Should be fighting this slide into darkness. But wrapped in these arms, held against this chest, fear can't quite take root.
If I'm dying, at least I'm dying somewhere that feels like home.
The red deepens.
His grip becomes desperate, crushing, like he's trying to physically anchor me to existence through contact alone.
"Don't leave," he rumbles softly into my hair. Not a command. A plea. "Please don't leave me."
I want to tell him I'm not going anywhere. Want to promise I'll stay. But words won't form anymore, slipping away like water through my fingers.
The world goes completely red.