17. James/ Rafael
James/ Rafael
JAMES
Several hours later, I sat beside the bed in Beau’s spare room, the blanket on Rafael’s chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.
My hands were scrubbed raw, skin pink and raw from washing again and again, like I could erase the blood. His blood.
But I couldn’t get the scent out of my nose, couldn’t scrub away the memory of his body slumping into mine, heavy and limp and far too still.
Beau and Cass had patched him up the best they could. The wolves had brought salves and poultices, whispered instructions, quiet reassurances that weren’t meant to soothe me but him.
They’d all worked together without a word of complaint, driven by something unspoken. Protectiveness, maybe. Shock.
Callum’s jaw had been clenched tight the whole time. Beau’s hands never stopped moving. And I’d just sat there, useless, watching them all try to keep him breathing.
Now the worst of it had passed. Rafael was stable. Alive. I hadn’t moved from his side.
He lay shirtless, bruised and bandaged, the sharp cut of his collarbone now darkened with splotches of violet and red.
His side was wrapped in gauze stained with pink where it pressed against one of the deeper wounds. His shoulder had been popped back into place. He was a mess, but he was here.
I could still hear the rasp of his breathing when he’d tried to shield me. The crack of his ribs when they’d kicked him.
That animal sound in his throat when he went down. The kind of sound that didn’t leave your head, even when the room was silent.
Beau had brought me tea hours ago. I let it go cold on the nightstand. I hadn’t touched it.
Callum had come in once, quiet and grim, placed a steady hand on my shoulder. I didn’t respond. Didn’t speak.
I just kept watching Rafael breathe, like if I looked away for too long he might stop.
It wasn’t until near dawn that Rafael stirred. He groaned low and ragged, his lashes fluttering against the swell of bruising along his temple.
“James…?”
I leaned forward so fast the chair legs scraped against the hardwood. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
His eyes cracked open, dazed and glassy. But when they found mine, I saw something sharp behind the pain. Something real. Something stubborn.
“You okay?” he rasped.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’re the one who almost bled out and you’re asking about me?”
His lips curved. Barely. A weak attempt at a smile. “Just making sure.”
“You’re insane,” I whispered, reaching up to brush a curl back from his forehead. “You know that, right?”
“Probably,” he murmured, voice thin. “Still mad?”
“I’m not mad,” I said softly. “I’m terrified.”
He winced, trying to shift. I moved quickly, pressing a hand to his shoulder to keep him still. “Don’t. You need to rest.”
His hand caught my wrist with surprising strength. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
My chest tightened. “What?”
“I know that look,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Whatever’s going through your head right now. Don’t. Don’t go picking fights or storming off trying to fix this alone.”
“I’m not—”
“James.”
His grip tightened, just enough to make me pause.
“I mean it,” he said, eyes locking with mine. “Don’t be reckless. You’re not alone anymore. I know you think carrying this alone keeps people safe, but it doesn’t. Let me help. Let them help. Promise me.”
I hesitated. My mouth said the right thing. “Okay, I promise.”
But inside, something had already splintered. Because I had to do something. I couldn’t sit still and wait for someone else I loved to get hurt.
I couldn’t watch the people I care about bleed just because I was too scared to take a risk. This wasn’t over. Not even close.
And if Avery had made one thing clear, it was that he had no intention of backing down.
“I mean it,” Rafael whispered again, his voice cracking at the edges. “Don’t shut me out.”
“I won’t,” I lied. “Not anymore.”
His eyes lingered on mine, like he was trying to read the truth under my skin. But pain was dragging him back under. He didn’t have the strength to argue.
“Good,” he breathed, and let go of my wrist, eyes fluttering shut again.
His breathing evened out, chest rising and falling in soft, slow waves. He’d drifted back to sleep, and I sat there, still and quiet, watching the man I loved slip back into unconsciousness.
And I made a decision. I would end this. I couldn’t watch someone else get dragged into the fire because of me. Not Callum. Not Beau. Not Rafael. I wouldn’t survive it.
He thought I was reckless before? He hadn’t seen anything yet.
They came for Rafael because they knew it would get to me. Because I was their weak link. They thought they could bleed him and scare me into submission.
But all they did was show me how far I was willing to go.
I’d played nice long enough. Paid my dues. Tried to keep the peace. No more.I looked at Rafael one more time, sleeping beneath layers of bandages and pain. My throat burned.
He told me not to be reckless. And maybe I’d regret that promise.
But if it meant keeping him safe? If it meant no one else would bleed for my mistakes? I’d break that promise a hundred times over.
* * *
RAFAEL
Three days. That’s how long it’d been since the attack behind the alley. Since I felt James trembling beneath my hands, his voice cracking as he begged me to hold on.
I lived. Barely.
I was up now, stitched together by Cass and patched with wolf healing salves that smelled like peppermint and burned like hell. My ribs still ached when I breathed too deep.
My shoulder twinged with every movement. But none of it hurt as much as the way James looked at me now.
He stood by the window in Beau’s spare room, arms folded tight like he was holding himself together with sheer will alone.
Morning sun washed across his face, catching the bruised shadows under his eyes. He hadn’t slept. Not much. I knew because I hadn’t either.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said finally.
That sent a chill down my spine.
James thinking usually led to something harmless. Some harebrained idea to feed everyone cupcakes or reorganize the spice rack alphabetically.
But this wasn’t that voice. This was cold. Careful. Like he’d already made a decision and was trying to soften the blow.
I sat a little straighter despite the ache in my ribs. My fingers dug into the blanket pooled over my lap. James still didn’t look at me.
“I’ve been going over everything,” he said quietly. “What happened. What it means. And I think I have to step back. From… from us.”
I stopped breathing.
The air in the room stilled. Even the hum of the fan above seemed to fade into the background.
My heart kicked once, hard, like it was trying to restart itself.
“I don’t—” I cleared my throat, pain flaring in my chest. “You want to end this?”
“No,” he said quickly, but not reassuringly. “Not end. Just pause. Or… I don’t know. I need time.”
He turned to face me finally, and I wished he hadn’t. Because his eyes were glassy with unshed tears, and his expression was one of quiet devastation. Like this was hurting him just as much.
“I can’t do this,” he said. “Not while people are getting hurt. Not while you’re getting hurt because of me.”
My stomach turned to stone.
“You think I regret protecting you?” I asked. “James, I’d do it again. I will do it again.”
“That’s exactly what scares me,” James whispered.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “We promised each other we’d do this together. No more running, no more going it alone. Remember?”
“I remember,” he said quietly, eyes darting away. “But I might break that promise.”
The words hit like a punch to the ribs, soft but deadly. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my bear from rising with a growl of protest.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t say that.”
James looked at me then, guilt and fear swirling in his gaze. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Rafael. But if keeping you safe means walking away, maybe that’s what I have to do.”
All I could do was stare at him, that awful, heavy silence sitting like a weight on my chest.
He took a few steps forward and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, hands clasped between his knees.
“I’ve spent the last three days watching you bleed. Watching you sleep with pain written all over your face. And I can’t—” He broke off, dragged in a shaky breath. “I can’t be the reason for that.”
“You’re not,” I said fiercely, leaning forward despite the pull in my side. “Avery is. Those bastards he sent are. This is not your fault.”
His jaw clenched, his hands tightening. “It feels like my fault. If I hadn’t—if my brother hadn’t—none of this would’ve happened.”
I hated how deep that guilt ran in him. Like some old scar that wouldn’t stop aching. He carried it in every glance, every stiff movement, every time he flinched away from being comforted.
“James,” I said, softer now. “Look at me.”
He did.
“I don’t care what mess you think you’re in. I’m not walking away. I chose this. I chose you,” I told him.
His mouth twisted, like he wanted to believe me but didn’t know how.
“I love you,” I said, quiet and honest. “I’ve loved you since the first time you muttered something under your breath and blushed when I caught you.”
His breath hitched.
“I know it’s messy. I know it’s dangerous. But don’t you dare try to protect me by cutting me out.”
He stood abruptly, walking back to the window. His fists pressed to the sill, shoulders tight with tension.
“I’m scared,” he whispered.
The words hung between us like a wound left open.
“I know,” I said. “Me too.”
“I keep seeing you on the ground,” he admitted. “Your blood on my hands. I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe without that image hitting me like a wave.”
He turned again, and this time there were tears on his cheeks. No pretending now.
“I’m not strong like you, Rafael.”
“You are,” I said without hesitation. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
He didn’t respond, just wrapped his arms around himself like he could keep from falling apart if he just held tight enough.
I shifted on the bed, grimacing with the effort, and managed to swing my legs over the edge.
“Come here,” I said.
He hesitated.
“Please,” I added.
He stepped into my arms slowly, almost like he was afraid touching me would hurt.
But the second I pulled him close, he collapsed into me, arms around my waist, head tucked under my chin.
I buried my face in his hair and held him as tightly as I could.
“If you need to take time,” I murmured, “I won’t stop you. I won’t make this harder. But I need you to know… every second we’re apart is going to hurt worse than anything those shifters did.”
He clung to me.
“I don’t want to walk away,” he said hoarsely. “But I don’t know how to protect you either.”
“That’s not your job,” I whispered. “You’re not supposed to protect me, James. We protect each other.”
He nodded slowly, the movement brushing against my collarbone. We stayed like that for a long time.
The sun crept higher outside, casting warm golden light across the rumpled blankets, the still-steaming mug of untouched tea on the bedside table, the faint bloodstains still smudged on my sleeve.
Eventually, his breathing evened out. He didn’t pull away. Neither did I.