Chapter 23 #2
I want to speak, to reach for him, but my body feels like it’s being dragged down with wet stones.
I manage a breath. “What happened?”
He closes his eyes, forehead pressing to mine. “That veylr?n drugged you again,” his voice is a barely contained snarl. “He shot you with a dart, right before we—”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but my body remembers: The bond. The heat. His mouth.
My cheeks flush, and my eyes fall to the blanket. That’s when I notice the faint shimmer on my chest—a cool dampness, tinged with the strong scent of copper. I blink down at it. There’s a symbol drawn in blood across my sternum.
“What… is this?”
Andrik follows my gaze. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. His claws tighten against the blankets.
“A vow,” he says quietly. “An old one. A rite to keep you safe while you slept.”
He flexes his hand absently. His palm is blistered, raw, and the skin is split open in the faint shape of a circle. “It’s part of the rite,” he adds, as he tries to hide his hand from me. “The sigil burns into the one who casts it.”
“Kept me safe while I was asleep? Did you need to go somewhere?”
“I never left,” he says. “I haven’t closed my eyes. I won’t until I know you’re safe.”
My breath hiccups. “Andrik.”
His gaze flicks up to mine. He looks absolutely feral, his beautiful white fur stained with blood. Eyes bloodshot and glazed over like a creature on edge. His hair falls in wild tangles around his face.
“You scared me, Lumi,” he says. “More than anything else ever has.”
I reach for his wrist with weak fingers, tracing the underside where his pulse hammers. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” he whispers. “But I will never forgive myself for letting this happen.”
His other hand comes up, brushing strands of my hair from my cheek.
My voice is barely more than a rasp, “Andrik.. we need to talk—”
I hesitate as I try to swallow; that’s all it takes.
He goes completely, terrifyingly still, before I can even finish my sentence, he pulls back.
His expression shifts like a storm front rolling in—panic, guilt, heartbreak.
‘“No,” he says softly, then louder, “No—Lumi, please don’t.”
He grips onto my thigh so hard it hurts, but I’ll never tell him that. That would kill him.
I wince internally, but I don't make a sound.
“Don’t what?” I rasp, confused.
He shakes his head desperately. “If you’re going to say it—if you’re going to leave—don’t. Don’t say it.”
My heart lurches. Leave? Why would I leave?
“Andrik—”
“I’ll fix it. I’ll do better,” he blurts out, breath hitching. “Whatever I broke, whatever I did—I’ll fix it. Just don’t leave. Please, Sael?n, I can’t—”
He realizes how tight he’s holding onto me, and his hands fall away. He digs his claws into his palms before reaching up and roughly forcing them through the tangles.
His antlers gouge the wall as he staggers back. He drops to his knees like he can’t hold his own weight.
“I’ve waited lifetimes for you,” he breathes, rocking slightly, “I failed. I’ve already lost you once. I know I did. I lost you, Lumi. I don’t remember all of it, but I feel it in my bones.”
He presses his forehead to my hip, curling in on himself like he’s praying.
“Don’t go,” he whispers. “Not because of him. Not because I wasn’t enough to keep you safe. I’ll hunt him to the ends of the earth, I swear it. I’ll burn down whatever god created him, I’ll—”
My fingers thread into his hair. “Andrik, I wasn’t going to leave you,” I whisper. He blinks at me like he’s confused by my words.
“I mean, we need to talk about him. About what happened. About what we need to do next.”
He crawls back onto the bed and sinks his head into my lap.
“Don’t do that to me,” he says hoarsely. “Don’t say it like that. I thought I was going to lose you all over again.”
I brush my fingers through his hair, my heart cracks wide open.
“I’m sorry, my throat is so dry.”
He nods into my body, whispering something over and over again that I can’t make out.
“I’m still learning how to be loved, Lumi. Don’t give up on me yet.” He doesn’t look up.
“It’s not your fault. I pushed you,” I whisper. “I begged you. You tried to hold back, and I—I didn’t want to wait anymore.”
His hands tremble where they’re wrapped around my hips. He starts to speak, but I cut him off.
“You warned me so many times, Andrik,” I whisper. “You were trying to protect me, like you always do.”
He finally lifts his head, and his eyes flick to mine, tears threatening to fall. “And still I failed.”
“You didn’t fail.” I drag in a breath. “You rescued me and took care of me all night. You always take care of me.”
He shakes his head in disbelief.
I lift my hand, fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. His stubble scratches against my skin. “I wanted you,” I murmur. “Still do.”
He exhales shakily, forehead dropping back into my lap. “You don’t know what it did to me—watching you go limp in my arms. After everything—”
Silence stretches between us. Only the wind outside speaks, brushing against the walls like it’s seeking a way inside.
“I chose you, Andrik,” I whisper into his hair. “You didn’t steal anything. You didn’t rush me. You held back when I begged you not to. You weren’t reckless, you were trying to take care of me.”
His head shakes against my lap like he’s disagreeing. Like he can’t accept it.
“I begged you,” I remind him, smoothing the blood-matted strands of fur away from his brow.
His fingers dig into the blanket again like he’s fighting with himself. I cover his hands with mine.
“I wouldn’t change it, Andrik,” I say softly. “ You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t fail. You saved me. I feel safer with you than I’ve ever felt in my life.”
He finally lifts his head, and God, those eyes. Wild and glassy and rimmed with red.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he says. “To hold something like you without breaking it.”
“You already are,” I whisper.
Minutes pass, maybe hours, before his hands lift hesitantly, landing over my heart, so gently I barely feel it. His palm shakes where it rests against my bare skin, over the blood-dried vow he drew onto my breastbone.
He’s fixated on it. I know he’s probably thinking about the moments leading up to him having to draw this on me.
I lean down, pressing my forehead to his. “Velorin,” I whisper.
He shudders.
I say it again, slower, “Velorin, Andrik. I am safe with you, always.”
His bottom lip quivers, so I press a kiss to his temple.
“I don’t deserve you,” he rasps.
I kiss the corner of his lips. “Tough luck,” I whisper, curling my fingers into his curls, “I’m not going anywhere.”
His breathing finally starts to even out.
His head stays tucked into my lap, heavy and warm. His arm wraps loosely around my waist, claws sheathed now, fingers twitching like he’s still trying to hold on even as he drifts.
I sit there, spine crooked, hips aching, legs numb—but I don’t move a muscle.
My hand trails through his hair, slow and light, untangling a few knots. His antlers glint in the firelight, and I realize I’ve never really taken them in like this.
At the tapered ends, delicate shards of pale blue crystal shimmer like frozen starlight. They hum faintly with his pulse, casting tiny glimmers across my skin.
The vow still glows softly on my chest, pale blue-gold lines that hum when his skin brushes mine.
He mumbles something in Vraks?n. I don’t catch it, but it makes me feel warm, and something in my chest hums in acknowledgment. I smile and keep stroking his hair until his body fully sinks against mine,
The fire is warm, the storm hushes to a whisper, and I feel completely content. The last thought I have before sleep takes me is simple:
We’ll find a way together.