Chapter 38 | Anna
I couldn’t sleep.
I kept replaying everything on a merciless loop.
I kept thinking about all those stolen private moments that were between us and knowing, deep in my soul, that was how they tried to rip us apart.
They used that information to their advantage.
They learned how we communicated with each other in all those moments—both casual and intimate—and it made me sick to my stomach.
I hated the thought.
He had tempered my impulsiveness with steady logic. Walked me back from the edge of rage without ever making me feel small.
And I thought about that. How I accepted it without argument. He was no longer deciding for me. He was accepting me for what I was—now—and standing with me. Not shielding.
But what he didn’t know—and couldn’t—was that sometimes I wanted to be shielded. Sometimes I wanted to be rescued. Sometimes I wanted him to take the weight from my hands and tell me I didn’t have to carry it alone.
You can do whatever you need to do. And I’ll stand with you.
With me. That’s what he’d said. Because he knew me well enough to know I was never going to sit still for long.
But I was different now. I was no longer the reckless, impulsive person I was six months ago. I was no longer the woman who’d climb the mountain alone and burn myself to the ground.
I also thought about all those times I tried—desperately—to push him away. To outrun what was forming between us. To convince myself that distance was safer than attachment.
And still he stayed.
When I ran, he followed.
And he was still here. Staying. Telling me things like, I’ll stand with you, and you won’t be alone on the other side of it, and I’ll still be here.
There was such a bone deep ache of longing that swept through me, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. The ache lodged there, unrelenting, until it felt like breathing itself depended on him staying.
But the thing was… I didn’t need him to stay. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him with me inside the wreckage of my life.
How do you tell someone your world will never be the same if they disappeared?
I stared at the ceiling a moment longer, then shoved the blankets aside and rose. Staying here with my spiraling thoughts felt like letting the violation win. I was done letting it win.
I crossed the tiny apartment, my steps silent against the worn carpet.
He was where I expected him to be. Near the open balcony. Half in shadow. Watching a city that had no idea what it was standing beside.
Only the streetlight outlined him—still, watchful, endlessly present.
Even though I never slowed, he reached for me.
Like he already knew.
I climbed into his lap. His arm came around me instantly, solid and sure, and I buried my face against his neck. Warm. Familiar. Steady. His scent wrapped around me as the sea breeze rolled in, raising gooseflesh along my arms and legs.
All night, my body had forgotten what safety felt like. Now it remembered.
I was barefoot, in sleep shorts and a tank, aware of how small I felt in his lap.
We sat like that for a long time. Not talking. Being. One hand firm on my back. Steady. Present. The other resting on my thigh. I focused on the rise and fall of his chest. The warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. The city sounds drifting up from the street below.
My mind wandered to other nights, other cities, other versions of us who didn’t yet know what we were becoming.
Finally, I spoke. Quiet. Testing the words.
“Why did you follow me to Hong Kong?” I asked.
It seemed like a lifetime ago.
He stilled for a long breath, then, “You know why.”
I did. He’d been doing it since the beginning. Inserting himself into my life without permission.
I’d pretended not to know why.
But I’d always known.
“Why did you trade the Spear of Destiny for my soul?” he asked.
Oh. That. I thought back on that. My single-mindedness. My determination. Watching the high lord nearly destroy him before I could get my shit together. Then, I didn’t know what drove me. Now, I did.
I told myself it was the right thing to do. That no life was expendable. That I would do whatever it took. Even trade a Holy Relic for his soul. But it wasn’t about that at all.
Now, I understood I was reaching for something impossible—for him. And he was letting me.
“You know why,” I said at last. And then I remembered him barking in my head. “You were so angry.”
“I didn’t want you anywhere near me then.”
An admission I’d never heard.
“Because I knew what was going to happen,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“You were going to give up something you had no right to lose—for me.”
“I made the choice,” I said. “And I’d do it all over again.”
“I know. Because you’re impossible.”
I smiled in the darkness. “You love it.”
A long pause. Then, “I do.”
My smile faded. My breath caught. I stilled. I’d said it once to him. Right before I climbed that mountain. I should have told you the second I knew. Those words. That moment.
And here we were, still dancing around that four-letter-word like it was the plague.
He’d never said it back. And I was okay with that because I understood who he was. What he’d lost. What that loss had carved into him.
“Why are you thinking about this now?” he asked.
“Because you’re still here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I wanted to believe him. I chose to believe him.
I lifted my hand, pressed it against his stubbled cheek.
Prickly against my palm, giving me an awareness that hummed through me.
I pulled him toward me. His mouth yielded to mine.
Slow. Thoughtful. He tasted faintly of whiskey and longing.
A kiss as tender and light as the sea breeze rolling over us.
Stealing my breath. Letting my tired soul melt into him.
His hand tightened on my back a fraction. Enough to make me notice.
No spike. No warning tremor in that cold place in my brain.
Just desire.
Then his mouth left mine and whispered over the sensitive place behind my ear.
“I like kissing you.” I don’t know why I said it. But that no-filter thing sometimes worked against me.
“I like you under me. Unraveling.”
Oh.
Well.
That was unexpected.
And before I could tell my brain to stop, I said, “Then that’s where I need to be.”
His eyes met mine and even in the shadows, I could see they were molten gold.
Which did things to me. Unraveling, he said.
I was unraveling now with a hyperawareness that permeated through me.
His hand on my back. Other hand on my thigh.
Not moving. Resting. Waiting. Like he couldn’t decide if I meant it or not.
I meant it.
I whispered against his lips, “That was an invitation in case you missed it.”
He crushed his mouth against mine with a fierce intensity and for one brief heartbeat, that spike was there.
Pulsing. Pushing to the forefront of my mind.
Burning. Wanting to trigger. I shoved it back down, knowing this was always going to be a fight.
Knowing I was never going to be free. Refusing to let it control me.
And so, I kissed him back with the same intensity.
When his hands slipped into my hair and his mouth assaulted my neck, a broken sound I couldn’t control escaped me.
“I think—we should—” I started, but the words were broken between breaths.
“Yes.”
He moved me off his lap, took my hand—pausing only a moment to secure the doors—and then led me to the bedroom.
The only light was from the streetlamps filtered through the curtains at the one window. The blankets were still rumpled from my previous attempt at sleep. And though we’d done this once before since the alteration, I was still a nervous wreck.
I turned into him, my fingers fumbling with the hem of his shirt. He let me pull it over his head. Then stood there, waiting. Waiting for me to decide my next move. I pressed my palm against his chest. Felt his racing heart. Fast. Like mine.
His hand covered mine.
I didn’t move. I focused my gaze on his hand over mine. Wondering if, once again, I would have to fight this every step of the way like last time.
“You’re trembling.” His voice was low, quiet in the silence of the room.
I was. I knew I was. “I’m—I’m thinking.”
“It’s okay to change your mind.”
“Not about that,” I corrected. “About—” I cut myself off, not wanting to voice the thing aloud.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“I’m afraid of me,” I whispered.
His fingers curved around mine, tightening. And I had to remind myself he was here because he wanted to be. He’d wait, patient as ever, while I struggled with what I knew was to come.
I took a deep breath. Let it out.
“You’re afraid of what can happen,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Only if you let it.”
He was right. I knew he was right. I’d stopped it before. I’d stop it again.
He cupped my face, his thumb tracing the scar on my left cheek. Soft. A whisper of a touch.
“I watched you beat it before,” he said.
I closed my eyes. Let his words settle.
He’d watched me. Seen me at my worst. Trembling, fighting, having to stop and start and breathe through spikes that burned. And he was still here. Still touching me like I was something precious instead of something damaged.
His hands slipped into my hair, pressing a kiss against my temple.
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
I opened my eyes. Met his gaze.
“Then watch me beat it again,” I said.
And that was all I needed to move forward.
I kissed him.
What came next was fumbling and breathless. Clothes shed without ceremony, hands learning what made the other gasp, mouths finding sensitive places that drove thought away.
The programming spiked twice. Both times I breathed through it. Both times he stilled and waited and let me find my way back.
He let me lead. I let him respond. Learned which touches helped and which burned.
And when I came apart in his arms, shaking and breathless and whole, I understood something I hadn’t before.
The programming didn’t have to win. I had to keep fighting it.
And I would. For as many nights as it took.
For him. For us. For me.
Later, we lay side by side in the dark. Him on his back, holding my hand while I curled on my side. And I listened to his even breathing, the rhythm of his essence.
“It hurts you, doesn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
And though he said nothing, he made no movement, I saw the faint flick of a jaw muscle. I didn’t have to hear his thoughts to know what he was thinking.
“Then why—”
“You know why,” I said, cutting him off. And then, I whispered, so soft I wasn’t sure he heard, “I love you.”
Silence. Long enough that I thought he hadn’t heard.
Then his hand squeezed mine.
“I know,” he said.
Not the words I’d said. But close enough.
And in the darkness, I smiled.