Chapter 10 Kane
She’s been asleep for nine hours. Nine hours I’ve stayed here, still, unmoving, terrified I’ll disturb her with the slightest shift, a breath too loud.
And I’ll stay here for a thousand more. A million.
Eternity.
If it means I can have her like this.
Ezekial’s office sofa is far from ideal. My back is aching, the leather arm digging into my spine, my legs hanging off the end. But she’s comfortable.
She’s asleep.
And she’s holding me.
So I endure.
I can look at her as much as I want, study the flutter of her lashes, memorise the dainty sprawl of freckles. Watch the soft, steady rise and fall of her chest.
Admire her fingers… clutching at me. At the collar of the hoodie I stole from Ezekial.
The one she wanted. The one I’ll never give back.
She can have it. Anything. Because this? This is more than I ever thought I’d be allowed.
My darkness urges me to follow her into sleep, to take what she’s offering, that impossible warmth and peace. And I want to.
I crave it.
It’s etched in me, the first time she rested on me like this, after her nightmare, how she pulled me into sleep with her. And when I woke, I truly saw her. Finally let myself accept what she was.
But I won’t close my eyes now. Not when I have her like this. As much as I crave sleep—I crave her more.
When Ezekial flits into his office, I ensure my stare speaks a thousand words. I don’t risk speaking to him mentally; if she stirs, this ends, and I’m not ready to lose it.
He barely spares me a glance, his eyes already fixed on the woman in my arms like she’s an illusion, a figment of his imagination. Because how can anything like her exist?
He takes a step closer. I grit my teeth.
My darkness surges, rising between us in a silent barricade. Not threatening. Not yet. Just… clear.
His silver eyes dart to mine, wide and pleading. “Please, brother.” He looks over her again, like he’s drowning in the mere sight of her. “Please. Just let me be near her.”
My stare remains unwavering, unblinking. Then, finally, I let the darkness part.
He exhales, the sound so shaky and hushed with awe it’s barely a breath, then cautiously steps forwards.
And drops to his knees.
His gaze devours her, soaking in every piece, every breath, like it’s the first and last time he’ll see her.
It’s been weeks since he has.
“How long?” he asks.
“Nearly ten hours.” I glance down when her brows suddenly furrow.
The urge to touch her face is surreal. I’ve never wanted to touch someone like this before. Never.
But I know better. She can’t consent like this. Instead, my darkness responds, swaddling her again, urging her to fall back into me, deeper—sink into me, mould into my bones.
Her expression softens.
“You’ve been like this for ten hours?” Ezekial peers up at me, worry shadowing his features. “Use this time to rest, brother. You know that will help her too.”
He’s right.
After sleeping with her the first time, my control of the dark had never been stronger. My mind was so clear. Lately, it’s been so… murky.
But I don’t want to miss this.
Miss her.
“This might be the last time I ever get to hold her like this,” I admit, gaze falling back to her.
This impossible, ethereal being in my arms. On my skin.
“Sleep, brother,” Ezekial urges gently, his pleading now meant for me. “I’ll stay, just until she wakes.”
His permission is the final push I need. I say nothing else as I close my eyes, and finally succumb.
***
She’s waking.
Her soft movements and sounds are all the warning I need, but I keep my eyes shut, unwilling to acknowledge that this would soon be over.
Warmth rushes through me, a feeling, her feelings. I forgot how in tune I became the last time we slept like this, her emotions vibrantly sinking into me, much like now.
And now, she feels… embarrassed.
I want to speak, say something, but I know it will only make it worse. The warmth becomes a heat as she slowly, so carefully, sits up between my legs.
When I think she’s about to stand, to remove all contact, lose my last ever touch—she stills.
With her hands, both hands, upon my chest.
Remember this. Allow her touch to brand my skin. Burn through this pointless fabric.
She doesn’t move. She keeps her palms right there, meaning…
Is she looking at me? Yes. She must be. Which is why when I feel one hand lift, and the slightest touch against my hair, I’m able to prepare myself just enough to not flinch.
She’s touching my hair.
She’s brushing it back with a touch so soft I should barely be able to feel it. But I can.
I feel it everywhere.
And her embarrassment turns into something deeper, heavier.
I can’t allow this.
I kept my eyes closed to stop her feeling worse but now, I’m beginning to feel guilty. As the fingers on my chest begin to trail higher, almost reaching my collarbone, I reach out—
“Fuck!” she squeals, immediately trying to tug her wrist out of my grip, eyes frantic as they search my face.
But I refuse to let go.
She quickly calms herself, her other hand—the one that was just touching my hair, just a few inches from my face, rushes to her chest.
“Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, I was just—I was…”
Say it. Tell me. Please explain what you were just doing to me with those perfect hands.
But it’d be cruel to expect her to answer, or to allow the tense silence to continue.
“How do you feel?” I ask, the rasp in my voice so unfamiliar. How long have we slept?
Her vibrant gaze softens, becoming almost glassy as she studies my face. I haven’t let go of her wrist. I don’t plan to, not until she asks or tries to pull away. But she hasn’t.
She wets her lips and her eyes flicker over me as though wondering exactly what to say.
“So much better,” she sighs, her entire body drooping with relief.
My lip twitches—I think—I can’t help it, and her lips purse together.
“Alright, don’t look so smug.” Her mouth flickers too.
“I’m not smug.”
“Sure you’re not.” She rolls her eyes and I fight away my indecent thoughts. She’s utterly oblivious to how she makes me feel. How her small actions waver my constraint. “Even when you know I only feel better because of you? Because of… this.”
She gently waves her other hand over us. I watch, thrilled that she didn’t try to use the hand with the wrist I’m still grasping.
“You can feel emotions, empath.” Her eyes flare open at me naming her race, but she doesn’t look angry, no... “Do I feel smug?”
I arch a brow, and she immediately narrows her gaze at the challenge.
It takes her a few seconds and I study her face the entire time, utterly fascinated by the way her lips softly part, her burning gaze still a soft glaze.
“No, no you don’t,” she whispers, as if the words are drawn from her by whatever she feels from me.
Her eyes are locked with mine, the vibrant colour a soft, entrancing hue. Then they suddenly widen, as though awoken from a trance, and finally, unfortunately, she pulls just enough that I let go.
“We’ve left Kacey! We need to—”
“Ezekial came. He stayed with them until it was time for Kacey to leave.”
“To leave?” She glances behind her, seeing the district illuminated by the rising sun. “But it’s still morning?”
“Of the next day.”
Her head swivels back to me. “You’re joking. We’ve been here all night?” Her gaze darts over me, my body, my skin on fire from her thorough assessment. “You slept like that!? Why didn’t you just take me back to Kacey’s?”
Why?
Why didn’t I take her back to someone else’s home, somewhere I can’t easily access, and put her into another’s bed? Leave her with a person who isn’t in my most trusted circle? As though removing her from my body was a simple prospect?
Why?
There are too many truthful answers.
Because she’s safer with me. Because I made her sleep. Because I couldn’t let her go. Because in this small moment, she’s mine. Because…
“Because I didn’t want to leave you,” I answer, truthfully.
Because I am telling the truth.
“Oh, well…” Her face does all sorts of entrancing micro-expressions, I try to catalogue them but she’s speaking again. “Thank you for… for letting me rest, and for killing your back in the process.”
Let it snap. I’ll break my spine if it means she’ll stay.
But with that, she begins to stand. All I want to do is find an excuse to have her clinging to me again... but I can’t.
She starts to stretch and I suddenly realise I can’t move, I refuse to move, because I must watch. I have to check she stretches every muscle correctly, causes herself no harm, because I’m an expert in stretching.
When I know I have to stop staring, her skin flushing slightly, I stand.
The pain in my back is immediate but so is my darkness’ response. Like a reward, it heals the ache instantly, reminding me of what it can do when I just give in to my more basic needs. I’m so consumed by that realisation that I hardly notice Jasmine is now watching me as I stretch.
I may decide to take a little longer, especially when I feel her gaze burn into my stomach.
I blame my darkness.
“Are you hungry?” I dare to ask, hoping she doesn’t recoil from me, but needing her to look away from my body before I do something...
“Huh?” Her hazy gaze races to mine. Her cheeks are more flushed, her hair fluffy as she shakes her head. It’s cruel, the way she looks, how innocently appealing she is to me. “A bit, I guess?”
Forcing myself to stop staring, I immediately text Ezekial and demand food.
“Is there a bathroom somewhere?”
“Through there.” I nod towards the door to her left, keeping my gaze lowered until I finish the message. “It’s a meeting room, no one else has access.”
She gives me a quick smile before heading towards it, and rather than watch her slip through the door like a normal person would, I’m filled with an irrational fear that she somehow won’t return.
So I follow.
Her brows furrow slightly, but that soft smile still lingers, almost as if I amuse her. And I seem to like that idea.