Chapter 34
The Closet
The chamber is quiet when night closes in. I sit at the vanity, drawing the brush slowly through my hair, the steady motion meant to calm the restlessness that has not left me since morning. The fire burns low behind me, its warmth softer now, no longer demanding attention, only existing.
The door opens. When I turn, the breath leaves me. Colsar fills the doorway, and I almost do not recognize him.
He looks whole. The wounds are gone. His skin is flushed, sweat still clinging to him, his hair damp and pushed back from his face. Something in him feels stronger. Alive.
“How?” I ask, the word softer than I intend.
He smiles faintly. “The siakar form helps me heal. Not completely. But enough. That, and the run.”
I watch him as he moves past me, as though I need to confirm he is real. He disappears briefly into the bathing space. Water sounds, low and steady, steam beginning to rise, curling into the air. I turn back to the mirror, forcing my focus, drawing the brush through my hair again, slower this time.
This is what I wanted. Him here. Alive. Strong. So why does something in me feel unsteady? The water stills. A moment later, he steps back into the room. A towel hangs low at his waist, his skin still damp, heat rising from him in a way that fills the space between us before he even moves.
I stand. I do not take more than a step before he is there. The movement is too fast to follow. My back meets the wall, the breath catching in my chest as his body presses close, one arm braced beside my head, the other settling at my waist. The heat of him is immediate, overwhelming.
His mouth brushes my ear. “Tell me you missed me,” he murmurs, voice low, roughened by something deeper than exhaustion. “The way I missed you.”
Desire coils low in my stomach. And then—
It fractures. The wall is still there, but the voice is not his.
The hands are not his. The press of him is not Colsar.
I duck under his arm before I can think, the movement sharp, sudden.
I move quickly, crossing the room, pushing into the small closet before the panic can settle into something worse.
The door shuts behind me. I drop to the floor, pulling my knees in as much as my body allows, arms wrapping around them, holding myself together as my hands begin to shake.
Breathe.
The air does not come. I am not there, I remind myself. He is not him.
I am not—
The door opens, light spilling in. Colsar stands there for a moment, taking me in. Then he lowers himself beside me, slow, careful.
“What happened, Asha Bear?” he asks quietly.
I look away. “It does not matter,” I say, though my voice betrays me. “I am sorry. I should not have pulled away from you.”
Silence lingers.
Then I close my eyes. I cannot keep it. “I need to tell you something,” I say, quieter now. “Even if you… see me differently after.”
I force the words forward. “I have a cousin. Not by blood.”
My throat tightens. “His name is Hurstinal.”
I draw in a breath. “I woke one morning in my nightgown.”
Colsar goes still beside me. “He was already there.”
The memory presses in, heavy and suffocating.“He pinned me against the wall. Held a knife to my stomach.” My hand drifts instinctively to it. “He told me you had abandoned me.”
My breath falters, but I continue. “He said he was going to take me. In a way that would hurt. In a way that would make you not want me anymore.”
Silence.
“He used his power,” I say, quieter now. “Made it hard to move. Hard to think.”
My fingers tighten against my arms.
“I couldn’t fight him the way I should have.”
“He grabbed me. Touched my breast. Started pulling at my nightgown.”
I feel Colsar tremble beside me. “And so I did the only thing I could think of.”
I draw in a breath. “I told him I wanted him.”
The silence sharpens. “He loosened his grip.”
My voice steadies. “I put my hand down his pants.”
A pause. "Then—"
“I ripped them off."
“I had him dragged into the square, then had the hand he touched me with chopped off.
For a moment, nothing moves.
Then—
“You…” Colsar exhales sharply, then laughs. It is sudden, almost disbelieving. “You ripped them off,” he says again, shaking his head, a grin breaking through despite everything. “You actually—”
He drags a hand over his face, a low sound escaping him, something caught between amusement and awe. “That is fucking incredible.”
His eyes flick back to mine, something hotter there now. Admiration. “You let him think he had you,” he says, voice dropping. “And then you took him apart.”
His thumb brushes once against my shoulder.
"It was...strangely satisfying," I admit. "Now I understand why you enjoy...dismemberment."
A faint, dangerous smile lingers. “That’s my wife.”
The words settle between us, heavy and certain.
Then the shift comes. The humor doesn’t vanish, but something darker moves beneath it, pulling it down into something steadier.
His grip tightens. “I should have been there.”
Quieter now. Rougher. “He should never have gotten close enough to touch you.”
His jaw sets, the tension in him sharpening, contained rather than explosive. “I don’t care what you did to him after,” he continues, voice low, controlled. “He should not have had the chance to lay a hand on you at all.”
“But you handled it.”
“You survived it. And you made him pay for it.”
His hand lifts, slower now, giving me space before settling lightly along my jaw. “And I am not disgusted,” he adds, quieter.
His thumb brushes my cheek.
“If anything…”
A faint smile returns to his mouth, darker now. “I want you more for it.”
A pause.
“And still very much yours.”
I move before I can second-guess it, my arms sliding around his neck as I draw myself closer, needing the contact more than I can explain.
His hands are still on me when I move, and this time I don’t think about it.
I don’t slow myself down or try to measure the moment.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into me, pressing close like I need to prove he’s real, like I need to feel something solid under my hands. “I want to tell you something else.”
His grip tightens immediately, his attention sharpening in a way I feel more than see. “Say it.”
I draw in a breath, but it comes uneven. “I want to be close to you. In that way.” My fingers curl at the back of his neck. “But I am terrified.”
He doesn’t interrupt, so I keep going.
“The thought that you might be dead… or that you had abandoned me…” My voice thins, but I force it through anyway. “That pain nearly broke me.”
My hands are shaking now, and I hate it.
“To survive it, I had to pull away from you. From everything I felt for you. I had to make it smaller or I wouldn’t have made it through.”
I swallow, forcing myself to keep looking at him. “And now you’re here.” My grip tightens. “And I can’t do that anymore.”
That’s the truth of it.
“I am consumed by you again,” I say, quieter now, the weight of it settling in my chest. “And I am scared of losing you.”
He moves. He lifts me like the decision has already been made, like there was never another option, and carries me out of the closet without breaking the space between us. The room opens around us again, but I barely register it before he sets me down on the bed.
His hands don’t leave me. They slide to my thighs, parting them just enough to keep me from folding in on myself, to keep me open under him.
“We don’t have to do anything,” he says, but his voice has changed, lower now, rougher, something heavier threading beneath the words. “I can lie here with you. I can hold you. That’s enough.”
His hand comes up, closing around my jaw, firm. “Unless you want more.”
My breath catches, but I don’t look away.
“I do.”
That is all he needs. His mouth comes down on mine, not careful now, not measured the way it was before. There is still restraint in him, but it’s thinner now, stretched by everything I’ve given him, by everything he’s holding back.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, like he likes it.
I am, but I don’t pull away. My hands tighten at the back of his neck instead, holding him there.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.