Chapter 91 – Azaria #2
Quinton stood in the doorway. He looked wrecked, pale and hollow-eyed. His knuckles were split and bloodied, fresh cuts across his hands like he’d been hitting something. Our eyes met. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Neither did I.
Dain glanced between us, then carefully released my hand and stood. “I’ll give you two a minute,” he said quietly.
He crossed to the door, paused beside Quinton, and rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. Then he left. The door clicked shut.
Quinton didn’t say anything. He stayed in the doorway, staring at me like the sight of me had knocked the words clean out of him. His blood magic surged under his skin, held in check by sheer force, but I could still feel it reaching for me, coiled tight with desperation.
Then he moved. Crossed the room in three strides and dropped to his knees beside the bed. His hands came up, trembling, like he wanted to touch me but didn’t know if he was allowed.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “Azaria, I’m so fucking sorry?—”
“Quin—“
“I should’ve been there. I should’ve—“ His voice cracked. “I felt you vanish and I couldn’t—I couldn’t get to you fast enough. When I found you?—”
He stopped. Swallowed hard.
“There was so much blood,” he whispered. “I thought I was too late.”
His head dropped forward, eyes squeezed shut, shoulders shaking hard enough to unsettle me. I had never seen him like this. Quinton Thornvale did not fall apart. He endured, he bled, and he kept going anyway.
But right now?
Right now, he was breaking in front of me.
“I’ve never been this scared in my life,” he said, voice raw. “Never felt like this. Like I couldn’t breathe. Like nothing mattered if you weren’t?—“
He stopped again. Couldn’t finish. My chest ached. I leaned forward despite the pull across my ribs. Pain flared hot, stealing my breath for a second, but I didn’t care. My hand found his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands gently.
“You found me,” I said softly, stroking my fingers through his hair.
His breath hitched.
“You healed me.”
I kept my touch slow and steady. His hands came up, gripping the edge of the bed like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“I’m alive.”
Stroke.
A sound tore out of him—half sob, half exhale—and his forehead pressed against the mattress beside my hip. I kept stroking his hair. Slow. Steady. Grounding. “I’m here,” I murmured. “I’m all right.”
“You almost weren’t,” he said, muffled against the blanket.
“But I am.”
He went silent, breathing hard. After a moment, he lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed and devastated. “Dain told us,” he said quietly. “About Torven. About what he—“ His jaw clenched. “About what he made you do.”
I nodded slowly. “I know.”
“You were seventeen.”
The words came out flat. I didn’t respond. There was nothing to say.
“I was fighting for Dravareth,” he continued, voice thick. “While you were—“ He stopped. Shook his head. “I should’ve known. I should’ve?—“
“You couldn’t have known,” I said firmly. “No one could.”
His fists clenched on the bed.
“I felt it,” he said. “When I healed you. Something inside you—wrong and twisted. And I didn’t understand what it was.” He looked up at me, eyes dark and broken. “But now I do.”
My ribs ached. Breathing hurt, but I kept my hand in his hair. “You need to rest,” I said quietly.
He blinked. “What?”
“You’re exhausted. You’ve been running on empty since you found me.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“Azaria—“
“Quin.” I cupped his face with my hand, thumb brushing along his jaw. Pain shot through my side with the movement. I ignored it. “You need to rest.”
He shook his head stubbornly. “I’m not leaving you.”
“I’m not asking you to leave. I’m asking you to take care of yourself.”
“I don’t need?—“
“I love you.”
The words came out quiet but steady. His eyes went wide. His breath stopped. His magic flared inside me, like it recognized the words before he did.
“You don’t have to say anything back,” I continued, holding his gaze. “I just needed you to know.”
He stared at me, frozen in place. Then the door opened. Myrin stepped inside, moving quietly. She’d been standing outside, listening. She crossed to us and crouched beside Quinton, voice low and gentle. “She’s fine,” Myrin said. “She’ll live. You did everything you could.”
Quinton didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
“But right now,” Myrin continued, softer, “you need to calm down. You’re leaking magic, Quinton. And if you don’t get it under control, you’re going to hurt her.”
That broke through. His head snapped toward Myrin, horror flashing across his face. “What?”
“Your blood magic is unstable,” she said calmly. “You’re too emotional, too drained. It’s responding to your distress. And it’s pressing against her injuries.”
I felt it from the moment he stepped into the room.
Quinton’s face went pale. “I didn’t—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to?—“
“I know,” Myrin said. “But you need to rest. Now.”
He looked at me, stricken.
“Please,” I said quietly. “For me.”
He exhaled shakily. Nodded once. “All right.”
But he didn’t leave. Instead, he pushed himself up from his knees with slow, exhausted movements, dragged the chair closer to the bed, and sat down heavily with his elbows braced on his knees.
“I’m staying,” he said, voice rough but final.
I didn’t argue. Myrin gave me an amused look, then stood and moved toward the door.
“Get some sleep, both of you,” she said. “I’ll check on you in a few hours.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Quinton leaned back and closed his eyes, looking suddenly as tired as I knew he was. When his hand found mine and threaded our fingers together, I watched the strain begin to ease from his breathing and his shoulders.
“Quin,” I said softly.
“Mm?”
“Thank you.”
His eyes opened enough to look at me. “For what?”
“For staying.”
A faint, tired smile tugged at his mouth. “Always.”
His eyes closed again. And within minutes, he was asleep.
I let myself relax back into the pillows, my own exhaustion pulling at me. But before I drifted off, I whispered into the quiet, “I meant it.”
He didn’t hear me. But that was all right.
He would. Eventually.