Chapter 12 Jace #2
He nodded faintly against the pillow, a shaky sound escaping him—something halfway between a sob and a breath of relief.
I gently tugged the hem of his shirt higher so I could check every mark across his back. The skin was angry and swollen, but clean.
“You’re going to be okay,” I promised, tracing around one of the swollen edges, careful not to touch the wound itself. “It looks clean. Sister Dahlia did a good job.”
He sniffed softly. “It burns.”
“I know.” My voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”
He turned his face toward me again, eyes red-rimmed. “I think my heart hurts more though.”
“Has he done this before?” I asked.
“No,” he whispered. “Never. It makes me so confused. And—and Silas didn’t even t-touch himself. He only thought about it. I don’t understand…”
Malachi was devolving, getting careless.
Whether or not he’d been behind the disappearance of a few of his followers, he’d at least kept his more egregious crimes under wraps.
To go as far as brutally harm his own son in front of everyone—a son who he touted as his cult’s savior—was reckless and more than alarming.
I lifted one of his hands, pressing my lips to his shaking knuckles. “Neither of you deserved that cruelty.”
His mouth trembled. “Jace?” he whispered.
“Yeah, baby?”
His next breath shuddered so violently my entire chest ached watching it. “Can you… stay?” He blinked up at me, tears gathering again. “Just for tonight? I-I don’t want to fall asleep alone. I don’t want to wake up and think you weren’t really here.”
God.
“You’d have to fight me for me to even consider leaving,” I said immediately. “And I think we both know who would win.”
A soft giggle left him, making me melt. I pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, then stood up just long enough to toe off my shoes and shrug out of my shirt, tossing it to the floor.
I eased myself onto the bed beside him, careful to not brush against his wounds.
The second I lay down, he blushed and pressed into my side. I lifted my arm to make room for him, my fingers skimming his shoulder.
His breath hitched. “Father would be so mad if he saw this,” he confessed, a nervous edge to his voice.
I gently pushed him closer to my chest and said, “Don’t think about him. There’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing, I promise.”
“But—but what if he comes in?”
“Then I’ll handle him. He won’t lay another finger on you.”
Elior let out a soft, broken sigh and melted against me.
I held him, listening to the slow shift of his breath, the small tremors fading bit by bit. After a few minutes, his hand lifted and cautiously lay on my chest.
My brows rose in curiosity as he whispered, “Is it okay to touch you?”
“Baby, it’ll never not be okay.”
His face flushed and he ducked his head, but kept his hand splayed over my heart.
“You’re so warm,” he murmured.
“Yeah?”
“And I—I can feel your heart beat.”
I watched him adoringly as he looked at his hand in awe as it rose and fell in time with my chest.
I stayed awake long after his breathing evened out, keeping vigil like some primitive instinct had kicked in and lodged itself deep in my marrow.
No one was going to hurt him again.
Not Malachi.
Not the congregation.
Not even the nightmares he’d carry from tonight.
My fingers stroked his hair, slow and gentle, scratching his scalp lightly.
Elior, without even meaning to, had altered the chemical makeup of my brain. At least that felt like the only explanation for the unfamiliar feeling welling up inside of me.
I’d felt desire, sure.
Violent, overwhelming desire that demolished my carefully trained restraint anytime Elior so much as looked at me with those big angelic eyes. Desire that made me want to touch, and taste, and claim.
But this…
This was different.
This wasn’t the ravenous craving that had driven me to consume him last night, hands and mouth unbearably hungry for him and his pleasure.
This was something soft.
Warm.
My fingers carded through his hair again, and his whole body relaxed like he’d been waiting for that touch even in sleep. I’d never felt that before—someone trusting me enough to melt under my hand.
Someone who looked at me like I was something good.
No one had ever needed me gently.
They’d needed me competent, strong, or brutal, but never soft.
I didn’t know how to be soft. Until now. Until him.
My throat tightened as I looked down at him—this boy who could barely breathe without wincing, who’d cried into my chest like he’d forgotten I’d violated him just a day ago, who’d whispered for my comfort like he trusted me to provide it.
Elior didn’t know what he did to me.
He didn’t know how his tears ignited something so damn protective inside me.
He didn’t know how his smile—God, that impossibly pure fucking smile—made me feel like every ugly part of me was being rewritten.
He didn’t know that when he blushed, I wanted to shield him from the entire world and ruin him in the same breath.
I’d never wanted to take care of someone before.
I’d never wanted to be the reason they felt safe.
I’d never wanted to keep someone smiling, keep them warm, keep them happy, keep them fed and healthy, but I wanted that with him.
Every swollen line on his back made me want to coddle him until he forgot the meaning of pain altogether.
Every little sound he made, every soft confession, lit up that terrifying mix inside me of affection, devotion, and possession.
Christ, I didn’t even recognize myself anymore.
There was now the Jace before Elior, and the Jace after Elior.
I wasn’t sure which was more dangerous.
But looking at him—tear-streaked, hurting, but finally, finally resting—I knew with absolute certainty that I was going to save him from this hellish existence he was trapped in.
I wanted him like he was a part of me I’d lost once and finally found again.
My chest rose and fell against his hand, still resting over my heart. He’d said he could feel my heartbeat. If he knew what stirred inside that heartbeat—how fiercely, how completely he already owned me—he’d probably be terrified.
“I’ve got you, cherub,” I murmured under my breath, the words barely audible.