Chapter 42
Rell
Rell shouldered his door open, lantern light from the hallway spilling across the floor.
The exhaustion from the rescue mission clung to him heavier than his leather coat.
The air smelled of faint herbs—Elora’s scent, always a mix of wild earth and something sweeter, like crushed leaves after rain.
He shrugged off his coat and dropped it over the chair by the wardrobe.
When he turned toward the bed, he expected the usual sight: a massive black furry blob curled at the foot, wings pulled in, taking up whatever space she wanted.
But there she was, human and small, tucked into a tight ball on his side of the bed.
Rell’s lungs seized, momentarily forgetting how to draw air.
He hadn’t seen her like this since the woods.
Human while she slept. Completely unguarded.
He stood there longer than he should have.
The woven leaves and vines of her attire from Al’tera twisted against her skin, scratching at her sides where they rode up.
Her legs stretched bare and exposed, pale thighs curving softly in the low light, drawing his gaze despite himself.
He thought, with a clarity that unsettled him, that one of his shirts would be more comfortable on her.
He swallowed, forcing his eyes up to her face instead.
Peaceful. No tight lines creasing her forehead, no wrinkles between her brows.
He stood there long enough that the lantern light in the hallway shifted as someone passed.
Her lips were slightly parted. He could see the faint pulse in her throat.
He had memorized, without meaning to, the exact rhythm of her breathing—the small hitch at the top of each inhale, the way the exhale came out slower than it went in—and standing here now, he realized he was waiting.
Waiting for that peaceful state to turn to horror.
She always slept shifted. Always. Said it kept the nightmares away.
It never bothered him; hell, he’d take the large, winged kitten any day, grateful she chose his room over anywhere else in this sprawling hive of curious hoodlums. Meant she trusted him, at least a little, enough to let her guard down in his space.
He wanted to pull her close. Tuck her in against him until she stopped being something he had to worry about and started being something he didn’t have to be afraid to lose.
The ghost of Gerard, Thorn, the nightmares, whatever else still had its hooks in her—he wanted to put himself between her and all of it.
His pulse was loud in his ears. The room had gotten smaller somehow, and he stood there watching her breathe like an idiot.
He sighed. Long and quiet and a bit defeated.
Because he couldn’t do any of it. Couldn’t pull her close, couldn’t tuck her in, couldn’t make himself the barrier between her and everything that haunted her.
She hadn’t asked for any of that. She’d asked for space—his space, specifically—and he’d given it.
That was the deal. That was the only deal she’d agreed to.
He turned away from the bed before he did something stupid. The bathroom door groaned softly on its hinges, and he eased it shut behind him, careful not to let it latch.
The basin was still half-full from earlier, water gone lukewarm.
He cupped his hands and splashed his face once, the water dripping off his jaw and running down his neck beneath his collar.
He held his wet palms against his closed eyes for a beat.
Twenty-four hours. The explosion. Tracking down Symond.
Finding Elora in that tower, covered in blood and too still for someone who had just done what she’d done. The cool water helped.
A small sound cut through the silence.
Rell’s hands dropped from his face, water running down his wrists. He stood perfectly still, listening.
A whimper. Soft and broken. The sound traveled through the thin door separating them.
Rell’s heart clenched. He wiped his face on the towel and pushed the door open. She’d shifted on the bed, curled tighter, knees drawn up. Seems like the nightmares finally caught up to her.
“Elora.” He crossed the room and crouched down beside the bed.
She hadn’t woken at his voice. Her breathing had gone short and uneven, fingers twisted into the sheets.
Her lips were moving—something he couldn’t make out, some private terror working itself out behind her eyes.
A thin line of sweat ran from her temple down toward her jaw.
Her whimpers grew louder, more desperate. A tear slipped down her cheek, catching the dim light. Gods, he hated this. Watching her fight something he couldn’t get his hands on.
“Elora.” He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly over her shoulder. The sheets were damp where she’d twisted them in her fists. He hesitated only a moment before placing his palm gently on her shoulder, giving a small shake.
She didn’t wake.
Her breathing grew more ragged, her body tensing beneath his touch. Another whimper, this one catching at the end into something that wasn’t quite a sob but was close enough.
“Elora, wake up.” He shook her again, firmer this time.
She jerked awake, eyes wild for a second—golden slits in the dark, totally unfocused.
She didn’t know where she was, who she was, or what world she’d landed in.
Her body didn’t wait for her brain to catch up.
She locked onto him and, her lips peeled back from her teeth—a warning and a plea all at once.
He threw his hands up, fingers splayed like, “Chill.” “Hey—Elora. It’s me. You’re safe. You’re in my room.”
Nope. She recoiled so hard her back cracked the headboard against the wall.
Her nails shot out, curving into deadly points. She snarled, pure animal instinct.
She looked terrified. Of him. He shot his palms up higher. “Easy,” he said, like trying to calm a wounded wolf.
For a moment he braced for her to lunge—bite, scratch, anything to shake the nightmare.
He wasn’t scared he’d get hurt; he knew she’d hate herself if she did.
But she didn’t attack. Her claws slid back in, her hands dropped limp to the mattress, and she let out a series of shaky, hiccupping breaths.
He sat on the edge of the bed, slow and careful. “You’re okay, Elora. I promise. You’re awake now.” He wanted to reach out, put his palm on her hand, but he stayed still. He’d lost count of how many times he’d almost done it, then held back.
Tears welled up, glistening in the dim light.
“You’re alright,” he repeated. “It’s over.”
She shook her head, a tight, miserable jerk. Hands flew up to hide her face behind tangled hair. He caught a hushed, shaky whisper: “Sorry… didn’t mean—” and then it was muffled.
She sank back into the pillows, threw an arm over her eyes, chest hitching once before she froze, fighting to keep from breaking down.
His heart twisted—she’d sooner bite her own tongue than cry in front of him.
He swallowed hard, wanting to say anything that might stop the tears—or at least let her know he wasn’t judging.
“You want me to go?” he asked.
She shook her head, arm still over her face. “No. Stay.”
He settled fully on the bed, back against the headboard next to her.
He let the silence sit for a beat. The lantern in the hallway flickered, throwing a long shadow across the wall. Her breathing had evened out some, but her arm hadn’t moved from her eyes.
“Did you mean to sleep human?” he asked.
A slow shake of her head.
He wanted to ask what she’d been dreaming about.
The words sat right behind his teeth. The look on her face when she’d come out of it—that animal panic, that flinch away from his hand—told him everything and nothing at the same time.
Whatever it was, it was still close. Still breathing down her neck.
He swallowed the question back down. She didn’t owe him her nightmares.
Instead, he sat there, doing nothing useful, watching the rise and fall of her ribs through the thin weave of her Al’teran getup. Her pulse still hammered at her throat. He could see it from here, fast and shallow.
Then she moved her arm. Dropped it to her side and turned her head on the pillow to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, still wet, and they searched his face for something he couldn’t name. He held still under it. Let her look.
She did something he never expected.
She turned. Shifted her whole body on the mattress, the sheets whispering under her, and laid her head down on his chest.
Rell stopped breathing.
Her hair fell across his collarbone in dark waves. He could feel the heat of her through his shirt, the small weight of her settling against him. His heart did something stupid and loud against his ribs, and he was suddenly, acutely aware that she could probably feel it.
He moved his arm slow. Slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted.
He laid it across her back, fingers barely grazing the curve of her spine through the leaves and vines.
She didn’t pull away. He let his hand settle.
Then, because he didn’t know what else to do with it, he started rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades. Light. Careful.
She made a small sound against his chest. Not a word.
Closer to a sigh. The kind of exhale that meant a body had finally decided to stop holding itself up.
She settled deeper into him, her knees drawing up a little, one hand coming to rest flat against his sternum.
Her fingers were cold. He could feel each one through the fabric.
The room was quiet except for her breathing and his and the distant sound of the Hive settling in for the night somewhere below them.
“Are you gonna try sleeping human again?” he asked. His voice came out rough. He tried to smooth it. “Tonight, I mean.”
“No.” Her answer was muffled against his shirt. “I just need a second.”