Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
The fragile joy
sapphire
I opened my eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light. Gone was the white, the rolling hills, and the man with the tender smile. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a sleep that left me feeling so rested.
The dream had gone, leaving my body heavy and real again. No more weightless drifting—just bone, breath, and the steady thud of a heartbeat through a house that hummed with silence, far from Oscuro’s noise.
Confusion blurred at the edges of my thoughts. Where was I?
Gradually, I found the courage to pull a hand from beneath the warmth of the grey woollen blanket. My fingers brushed the leather fabric of the lounge I was lying on. It held the faint aroma of something fresh . . . pine perhaps?
Recognition burrowed into my thoughts. Pine. Red wings. Green eyes. Nik.
Instincts took over before reason could catch up, and I sat up straight, clutching the blanket closer. The ache in my body was a reminder that I was still breathing. Cool air, cleaner—too clean for Oscuro. It was also pleasantly warm, rather than the suffocating heat I’d been enduring.
Memories of being swept up into strong arms surfaced.
I remembered being pulled against his broad chest, feeling the fast thump of his heart pressed on my cheek.
He’d come for me . . . in Oscuro. I knew I was no longer there.
My gaze drifted to the window, where sunlight spilled through the glass panes in shimmering bands, gilding the room in a warmth I'd never felt. The very air seemed touched by gold.
I was in Lucius . . . the kingdom of light.
But where was Nik?
Glancing around, I took in the space. Sturdy furniture, simple and masculine. A soft, olive-green rug on the floor, and a few scattered cushions. Everything was too neat, as though someone only cleaned because they didn’t know what else to do with their hands.
A low bookshelf lined one wall, with a neat row of picture frames on top.
On the floor near the table—closer to what I could only assume was the kitchen—sat a wooden box.
Its lid was half-open, the faint glint of fishing line, hooks and little pots of paint catching the sunlight pouring through the window beside me.
The house looked lived in, but not exactly warm.
It was the kind of space kept in order by someone who spent more time alone than not.
For the second time in a week, I’d woken up in someone’s house.
My thoughts travelled back to Abby. The last thing I remembered was that insolent man barrelling his way into her shop, smashing glass bottles on the ground and raging.
I hoped she was alright. Surely Nik wouldn’t have left her there if she’d been in danger.
I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else suffering because of me.
I was grateful for the respite Abby had offered.
Curiosity had me easing my aching body from the lounge. I stood, my stiff joints clicking in protest from being left unused. I smoothed my hands over the wrinkles in my dress—the same dress I’d been wearing ever since Victoria gave it to me.
Small pieces of gratitude fell into place one at a time for the women who’d offered kindness in the midst of such harshness. Without Abby and Victoria perhaps I’d be True Dead.
Realisation struck me like a blow; I might never see Victoria again. Or Esse. Or Snake. I shoved the hope of that reality far away; disappointment was more my friend than hope ever was.
The room's quiet hum pressed around me, no other voices, no footsteps. I was alone. With cautious steps, my feet carried me around the space. I carefully moved so my wings didn’t knock anything over. I hadn’t quite grown used to them yet.
Certain details caught my attention: the light brown leather jacket hanging on a door knob, and a few daggers laid carelessly on the round coffee table next to the lounge. The sight of them didn’t scare me, but I wondered if I should stash one away somewhere—just in case.
I needed to be alert, even if Abby said I could trust Nik.
Up against the wall in the corner of the room was another wooden box.
I peered over the edge of it, finding chisels used for wood carving.
That would explain the wooden figurines of animals lining the top of the fireplace mantle and possibly the knives on the table.
Each item felt too personal, too real, and perhaps I shouldn’t be touching any of it.
A small pile of books sat on the bookshelf, like they’d been read but not returned to their rightful place. I brushed my fingers over the cover of the top one. It was titled; ‘A guide to fly fishing’, it seemed as though Nik had more than one hobby.
My gaze caught on a frame—a picture of him with a woman. She had chestnut hair, and eyes the colour of spring meadows. I picked it up, studying it closer, noting the huge grin on his face, the ease in his stance, one arm draped around her shoulders. The woman was beautiful, stunning even.
Something in my chest twisted. Was she a lover, perhaps? Maybe even his wife? Wouldn’t surprise me to find that he already had someone special in his life.
A sound broke through the quiet—soft, but enough to splinter the fragile calm. The click of a door opening. The groan of a floorboard. The faint scuff of bare feet against timber.
The air shifted. Heavy, tighter. My stomach dropped before my mind could catch up. Instinct roared to life. Someone’s here.
I spun around fast, heart hammering so hard it hurt—then I froze.
Nik stood a few feet away from me; a towel hung low on his hips, damp copper hair clinging to his temples. Drops of water slid down his chest and caught the light, tracing the sharp lines of muscle before vanishing into the fabric at his waist.
His eyes were wide, taking in the sight of me wandering around his house. My breath snagged in my throat. Every muscle locked ready to run, fight, survive. Even my mind screamed at me. Don’t move. Don’t trust.
He took one slow breath, watching me carefully. The warmth in his eyes wasn’t danger, but my body didn’t know the difference anymore.
I stepped back. Then again. The edge of the coffee table met the backs of my legs, stopping me short. My eyes darted from him to any escape route I could find, my pulse racing wild and uneven.
He didn’t move closer. Just stood there, water still dripping onto the floor. “You’re awake?”
Silence stretched between us, loud and heavy. It took all my energy to slowly nod. His shoulders dropped slightly, still not making any attempts to move from the spot. My palms were sweaty from gripping the sides of my skirts. What was I supposed to do?
“How are you feeling?” Nik asked softly.
He was being gentle and I didn’t know what to do with that. I know I’d asked Abby to send for him, but it was a moment of delusion. I didn’t think he would actually come. Now I was here in his home, completely out of my comfort zone.
I swallowed down the lump in my throat and forced words from my mouth. “A little weak, but I’ll be alright.”
He nodded once, slowly taking steps towards the two rooms to my left. “I’ll change and then show you around the house.”
My gaze fell to the floor at last as he walked off, disappearing into the room furthest from me. I’d definitely been staring at his chest. But hating men never stopped me from noticing when one looked like him.
In the quiet once again, I sat back down on the lounge, tucking my hands into my lap. My wings folded around me instinctively, a shield I hadn’t consciously raised. I frowned. That’s the first time they’ve ever acted on their own.
In truth, I still had no idea what to do with them.
It wasn’t long before the bedroom door creaked open and Nik sauntered back into the room. He’d traded the towel for light grey trousers and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. The top few buttons hung loose, offering a glimpse of tanned, sculpted skin.
“Umm . . . can I get you anything?” he asked.
Our eyes met, and my throat went dry. Back in The Grey, I’d always avoided looking at him too long—too directly. Staring could be mistaken for interest. Interest could be mistaken for permission.
But the way he looked at me now wasn’t predatory. It wasn’t possessive. He truly wanted to know if I needed anything.
“I could do with some water,” I managed.
“Of course,” he said quickly, heading towards the kitchen.
I watched him from the safety of the lounge, my wings still curled tight around me.
He returned, holding out the glass. As I reached for it, my fingers brushed his.
Warm skin, calloused but still soft. The contact was too real, too safe.
And my body didn’t know how to read safe anymore.
A flicker of heat shot through my hand, and I looked up to meet his emerald gaze.
He was smiling softly. Not romantic, just real.
“Thank you,” I murmured, taking a sip. I expected it to taste horrid, like it had in Oscuro, but I was mistaken. I took another mouthful, letting the cool, fresh water slip down my ragged throat. It was a soothing balm, and I welcomed it.
He cleared his throat and took a step back.
“My room’s just down there.” He gestured around the room, his movements slow and careful.
“The spare’s across from it. That one’s yours, if you want it.
The washroom’s next to the kitchen, and there’s a balcony out those glass doors.
Storage is downstairs, but it’s mostly full of fishing gear. ”
His voice filled the silence—steady, unhurried. The more he talked, the stranger it felt. No shouting. No commands. No threat disguised as kindness. I heard everything he said, but caught on to his words about the spare room. Mine? Nothing was ever mine without payment.
I couldn’t help waiting for the catch.
“Oh, and there’s this.” He fished around in his trouser pocket and then placed a small silver key down on the coffee table. “That’s for the spare room, so you feel safe.”
Safe.
There was that word again.