Chapter 22
Slade
I watched her for a long time. I had taken up position in the plush armchair by the fire and it had given me a direct view of the door and the bed. She lay under the covers surrounded by her halo of black hair. Her skin was as pale as the sheets, and she shifted restlessly while she slept.
Something brushed my leg and I looked down in surprise to see a silky black cat by my legs.
“How did you get in here?” I asked.
The cat didn’t reply of course. I brushed my hands along the silky soft fur. I would never admit it to Leo but I liked cats. They were my favourite animal.
The fact that there was one in the room with us worried me though. I stood to check the windows were closed and the door was locked.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. That little guy keeps appearing and disappearing on a regular basis.” Elira said from the bed, her voice tired.
“This isn’t a regular cat.” I guessed.
I heard her chuckle. “I don’t think so, no.” She sat up on the bed and I saw the covers fall around her waist. She was in a simple oversized shirt, one that looked similar to one Leo wore.
She caught the look and laughed softly. “Oh, this?” She tugged the hem a little. “Leo dropped it off and asked me to sleep in it. Said it’d be more comfortable than the gowns.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s kind of weird.”
I snorted, amused despite myself. Typical lion. He wanted her scent on it—claiming her in the only way he could.
“Yeah,” I muttered, settling back into the chair. “Weird.”
After a short silence, I spoke again “You still having trouble sleeping?”
She sighed and rubbed her face. “Always.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess I am not as used to sleeping alone, you know? Finn and I used to always curl together for warmth on the streets. And in this bed? The space just seems extra big where he should be.”
“You miss him.”
“Every day. All the time.” Her fingers twisted in the sheets.
“He wasn’t the one who hurt you?” I asked, carefully. I already knew the answer—but I needed her to say it.
Her eyes cut to me, sharp and sudden. “Gods, no. Finn would never hurt me. He never even raised his voice.”
I nodded, jaw tight. “Then who?”
“Slade.”
“Who?” I asked again, slower this time. No edge, but no softness either.
She sighed, then narrowed her eyes slightly. “If we’re going to have this conversation, could you come sit over here? I’m tired of yelling across the room.”
I hesitated. Still, I stood, walked over, and paused beside the bed.
She patted the mattress next to her, a tired smirk tugging at her lips. “Right here, grumpy bear.”
The nickname shouldn't have landed the way it did—but it did.
I sat down, careful not to crowd her, but close enough that I could feel the warmth of her beside me.
“Talk or listen?” I asked.
Her smile faded. “Both,” she said.
I leaned back into the soft mountain of pillows while she stayed upright beside me, fidgeting with the edge of the sheet like it could anchor her.
“Finn and I… we’d been living on the streets for years. You know how it is out there. It’s brutal. Cold. Unforgiving. When you don’t have money or power, you have to fight for everything you get.”
“I get it,” I said quietly. “Go on.”
She gave me a sidelong glance, searching for judgment. When she found none, she continued.
“In the Southside slums, there’s a woman who calls herself Mother Ashford.”
I stiffened. That name I knew.
She caught my reaction. “So, you’ve heard of her.”
“Slumlord,” I muttered. “Nasty piece of work.”
Elira nodded. “Yeah. It was one of those winters where there was just… nothing. No work. No food. People hiding in their homes, afraid to breathe too loud. We were starving, and Finn was already weak. So, I went to her.”
I didn’t interrupt. Just waited.
“At first, the jobs were small—petty theft, courier runs. She’s got her claws in half the underground trade in that part of the city. With my speed and size, I made a perfect runner. In and out, fast. I never questioned it.”
Her voice dropped, going rough at the edges.
“But then six months ago, she sent me to pick up a shipment from another dealer—Silas. Turned out it was a setup. His men jumped me. Beat me. I managed to get away, but the drugs were gone.”
She went quiet for a second. I didn’t push. I could feel the storm coming.
“I thought she was kind,” Elira said after a moment, her voice shaking. “You’d laugh if you saw her—silver hair, warm smile, dresses with little embroidered flowers. She looked like someone’s grandmother. That’s how she gets you.”
Her hands clenched in the sheets.
“When I came back empty-handed, she didn’t yell. Didn’t threaten. Just looked at me and said, ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. You’ll just have to pay for the loss, that’s all.’ Like I could pull coin from thin air.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“She smiled while they dragged me in front of her crew,” she said, the words sharp now. “Stripped my shirt. Tied me to a post. And whipped me. No warning. No pause.”
My fists clenched. “Why didn’t you phase out?”
She looked at me then—tired, bitter. “In front of a room full of slimeballs and lowlifes? If they’d seen what I could do, they would’ve dragged me to the nearest bounty office and sold me to the king themselves. I’d have been strung up before sunset.”
A beat of silence stretched between us. Then, without really thinking about it, I made a decision.
I pulled up the back of my shirt.
“What are you—?” She sat up sharply. The moment she saw, she froze, her breath catching.
Her hand hovered near my back, like she wanted to reach out but didn’t dare.
The scars that crossed my skin were brutal — deep, pale lines overlapping again and again, a map of violence I hadn’t asked for. Each one a sentence passed by a man who had called himself my father.
“What happened?” she whispered.
“My old man was a cruel bastard. And I often disappointed him.” My voice was flat, empty. “You see scars. I see memories that never stop bleeding.”
Her throat worked like she was swallowing glass. “Slade—”
I let my shirt fall and met her gaze.
“Don’t be ashamed of surviving, spitfire,” I said. “It’s okay to feel the pain. It just makes you stronger, in the end.”
Tears glittered in her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly, brushing her knuckles across her cheeks like she was furious at herself for feeling.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For listening. For... trusting me.” She shifted on the bed, lying down to face me, and without a second thought, I mirrored her. We stared at each other across the few inches of space between us, the fire casting warm shadows over her face.
“You’re not as scary as I thought you were, Grumpy Bear,” she said with a faint smirk.
I snorted. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.” I sighed and went to sit up, but she reached over and stopped me.
“No. Will you … will you stay here?” She asked. I could see the fear in those deep blue eyes.
“Here?” I asked, gesturing to the bed.
She pulled back the blankets. “It’s such a big bed. You won’t even notice I’m here.”
I watched her closely for a moment and nodded. “Ok.” I said, my voice quiet. I eased my way under the covers beside her.
The relief in her eyes was tangible. She yawned loudly. “Thank you,” she whispered again, her eyes closing.
“Get some sleep. I’ll be here.” I said.
As she drifted off, I felt her body relax and calm beside me. I reached over and stroked her hair from her face.
She was beautiful.
Gods, what have I gotten myself into.