Chapter 55
Chapter Fifty-Five
Emilia
Zac?” I call out, rapping the back of my knuckles against the bedroom door. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
I enter and find Zac sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes rising to meet mine.
“Sorry, I just need to grab some pyjamas,” I say, edging towards the wardrobe.
“Don’t apologise,” he says. “It’s your room.”
“Not really, though, is it?” I reply, tugging the cupboard open and glancing over my shoulder.
His brow lifts. “You changed your mind about this marriage?”
“Not at all. You?”
He smirks, lazy but knowing. “Nah.”
“Well then,” I manage, trying to sound casual, but because my throat’s dry, it comes out raspy and hoarse.
He leans forward, amber flecks in his eyes catching in the yellow light bulb. “Emilia, you should sleep in here tonight.”
“Zac, you’re healing,” I say quickly. “And that sofa isn’t going to—”
“I’m not saying I’ll take the couch.”
I freeze. “What?”
“It’s a double bed, Em.” His voice drops an octave. My gut tightens, and something deep in my chest flutters.
“It’s… You need space right now. To heal—”
“I’m not as fragile as you make me out to be,” he cuts me off. Then, slowly, he leans back before reaching for the hem of his top and pulling it over his head, chucking it towards the basket in the corner of the room.
Well, hell. This just got a whole lot harder.
He shifts back, leaning against the headboard, and rearranging the pillows behind him.
I swallow. His skin is mottled with fading yellow and green bruises, and dried wounds.
Some are still red and raw, but… he’s alive, already so much stronger than he was eleven days ago.
Every tattoo, every faint line of muscle, every rib visible through his skin…
it’s all proof that he survived it. That he’s here.
The air between us hums, but I’m not sure he notices it.
“You… I…”
“If you don’t sleep in this bed, then nor will I.”
“Zac!” I exclaim, tossing my hands into the air.
He shrugs. “It’s fucking ridiculous, Emilia. You’re getting hardly any sleep down there, and I know it’s not just because of me. That sofa is disgustingly springy; I used to wake up with one digging into every damn bone.”
I frown. “I might hurt you.”
Zac smirks, one brow raised. “Isn’t that what you want? Somewhere deep down?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course not.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“You’re incorrigible,” I retort.
“Don’t even know what that means, blondie,” he says. “Get your fucking pyjamas on and get into bed.”
I should argue. I want to argue.
But the sight of his torso has all rational thoughts quickly blurring into nothing, and his arguments wear me down, eliminating any fight I have left.
“Fine,” I snap.
Turning away, I leave the room, blue satin in hand. I wasn’t expecting to have to wear these in front of him, but it’s too late now. I’m not about to pick out something new to make him think that I’m contemplating my options for him.
I tug the satin top and shorts on before ripping out my hair tie and leaving my hair free. My clothes are balled up, clutched in my hands as I head back into the bedroom. Flickers and flutters swirl in my stomach, and I fight the temptation to turn on my heel to sprint down the stairs.
Instead, I lift my chin, ignoring the bed and heading straight for the corner of the room, grabbing his top from where it landed beside the basket before dumping all the laundry into it.
Straightening, I turn to face him. He’s looking down at one of his wrists. His eyes flick up, casual at first, but then they find me.
And he freezes.
His lips part, but no words come out. His gaze lingers just a heartbeat too long below my collarbone, at the thin strap that slips off my shoulder, and the small of my stomach that peeks out below the fabric.
His jaw tenses, throat bobbing as he swallows.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The air grows heavier and hotter.
I can feel his stare, caressing my skin and penetrating so deep that I forget how to breathe.
When his eyes meet mine, they’re darker, pupils blown. Unashamedly, they drop once more. Slowly, heart racing, I approach the bed.
“What’s that?” he suddenly exclaims, moving faster than I can react and tearing down the bed, legs swinging off the end and feet hitting the floor.
Before I can step away, his hands wind around my waist, pulling me between his knees.
A startled gasp escapes my lips, wide eyed as I glance down at him.
His eyes are fixed on my thigh.
Fuck. I forgot about that.
“Emilia!”
“I—”
“How many are there?” he snaps, gaze blazing as it meets mine.
I swallow, my eyes flicking down to where he holds my thigh. “That’s the only other one,” I manage quietly. His head dips as his right hand grips my thigh, roughly angling it towards him. The aggressive, almost possessive touch feels like everything I’ve been craving since he was imprisoned.
“Built from the fire within,” Zac reads quietly. Lifting his head, he cocks a brow at me.
“I make my own decisions,” I say softly. “No one is taking that away from me.”
A grin lighter than I’ve seen in days pulls across his lips. His hands drop from my leg and waist, leaving an instant chill in their wake.
“I think I’ve learnt that the hard way,” he murmurs.
I can’t fight the short burst of laughter that spills through my lips. He shifts back, up the bed, until his head rests on the pillow. Ignoring the way my heart patters, I move to the other side before sitting beside him, lifting my legs onto the duvet; it’s far too hot to sleep beneath.
Slowly, I shift down, lying beside him, and steal a glance at him. His eyes are back on my thigh.
“You really hate them?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper. Zac’s eyes flick up, and he frowns. “My tattoos.”
He scoffs. “Hate them? Fuck no. Absolute opposite.” His voice drops. The words hit harder than I expect them to, air catching in my lungs. “They’re just… dangerous. I wish it didn’t mean you’d been dragged into all of this.”
“Oh.”
“You thought I hated them?”
I nod, and he exhales through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Look at me, Emilia. I’m covered.”
He gestures to his chest, and I can’t help it, my eyes follow over the broad span of him, the bruises, the ink, the tension that lines his stomach.
But then my gaze zeroes in on the bird. The phoenix.
Its wings stretch wide across half of his upper torso, black lines mottled with green and blue and yellow from the skin beneath. The flames coil up around its body as it’s reborn, fierce and alive and so goddamn strong.
My breath stutters as Riley’s words flicker through my mind. He said it would remind him every day that he was stronger than they thought. I swallow at the reality of that. At the way he’s having to prove himself all over again, to rise from the hell they put him through.
Zac catches my gaze, and something in his expression shifts to something dark, and not in the way I want. His hands lift, resting across his chest before he rolls to face me.
“You don’t have to hide yourself from me,” I say softly.
“I want you to stop looking at me like I’m going to fucking break.”
“You might,” I retort, shifting onto my elbows. “Zac, what you went through—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snaps, tone blunt and harsh.
“Okay,” I answer, easing back down beside him, eyes still fixed on his. They’re heavy and haunted, and all I want to do is take his pain away, to make him feel better, to pull him back to who he was before.
But I know better.
He can’t go back there. But he’s not going to admit that or even acknowledge it. In his eyes, he needs to be the Zac Hastings from two months ago, always unbreakable and untouchable.
And I… I just need to distract him.
The silence stretches, tense and uneasy, until my mouth moves before my brain can stop it.
“I can’t believe you slept with Anna,” I blurt.
“What?”
“She’s such a bitch.”
He huffs out a laugh. “She’s alright. Deep down.”
My chest tightens. “Good to know.”
“Hey,” he murmurs. “Look at me.” His hand lifts, brushing along my cheek and tilting my head until I’m forced to face him. “There’s nothing going on between me and her.”
“I don’t care.”
His brow quirks, slow and amused, and his hand drops to the bed. “Really? Is that because you spend your days fucking lip locked with Raymond?”
I stiffen. “His name is Rayden.”
“Couldn’t care less,” he says roughly. Tingles spread across my stomach.
I swallow, words coming out before I can stop them. “I… I don’t kiss Rayden.” My throat tightens, and my heart pounds, but I keep my eyes on his. “Or anyone.” His brow furrows. “Not since before the war, at least. And… one momentary lapse after.”
He leans slightly closer. “Why?”
I shrug, shifting onto my side to face him fully. “It’s too personal. Makes things mean more than they should.”
His expression glowers. “But you fuck them?”
“That’s just a bit of fun.”
He inhales, and his eyes flicker to my lips. “If you don’t think kissing is fun, you’ve been with the wrong people, blondie.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
It spreads fast, up to the tips of my ears and down my neck before settling somewhere low in my chest where my pulse answers, pounding fast. I hate that he makes me react this way so easily with just a look or a stupid, fucking comment.
My lips part, but I quickly force them closed, swallowing as I hold his gaze. His eyes linger there, as though imagining how it would be to prove me wrong.
His gaze drifts, trailing down to where my top’s balled together, struggling to contain my ample chest. My stomach flips as my entire body urges me to move closer, to give into the intensity, the raw pull of him.
Then his jaw tightens, and he looks away, flipping onto his back, as if I’m too much for him to deal with. Something he doesn’t want to deal with.
His hand reaches for the bedside table, switching off the lamp. Darkness swallows the room, but the moon gleams through the open curtains, leaving us illuminated by a low, ethereal, silver glow that’s almost out of this world.
“Night,” he says, voice hoarse.