Chapter 20
ELIZA
Iwake to the sound of rain against windows and Declan's heartbeat beneath my ear.
For a moment, I don't know where I am. Then awareness floods back in pieces: the Fomori, the seals, walking into chaos itself. Declan's power flowing through me. Finn's dragon magic. The corruption trying to unmake me from the inside out.
My body aches. Everything aches. But I'm alive.
The mate bond pulses between us, and I feel Declan's consciousness snap to full alertness the instant mine does. His arm tightens around me, careful of my injuries but unmistakably possessive.
"Eliza." My name is a prayer on his lips. His voice is rough.
I try to sit up. My body protests violently, and Declan's there immediately, supporting me, arranging pillows behind my back with shaking hands. I'm in his bed at Wolfstone. The massive windows show grey sky and storm-tossed ocean. How long have I been unconscious?
"Four days." Declan answers my unspoken question. He's kneeling beside the bed now, eye level with me, and I can see the toll those four days took. Dark circles under his eyes. His jaw shadowed with several days' worth of stubble. His shirt rumpled like he's been sleeping in it.
If he's been sleeping at all.
"You haven't left." It's not a question. I can feel it through the bond, the echo of his vigil. Four days of refusing to leave my side, of watching me breathe, of waiting for me to wake.
"Couldn't." His hand finds mine, laces our fingers together. "The pack tried to make me eat. Had to practically force food down my throat. Jax threatened to knock me unconscious and drag me to my own bed." A ghost of a smile. "Told him I was already in my own bed."
The bond between us feels different. Stronger. Like it was tempered in the fire of what we survived, forged into something unbreakable. I can feel more through it now—not just his emotions, but deeper things. The steady rhythm of his power, fully restored. The absolute certainty of his love.
"I'm okay," I whisper.
"You died." Emotion roughens his voice. "Twice.
Your heart stopped twice while we were getting you back here.
Grayson had to use some kind of ocean magic to restart it the second time.
I felt it through the bond, felt you slipping away, and I couldn't..." He stops, swallows hard.
"I couldn't lose you. Not after everything. Not ever."
I pull his hand to my chest, right over my heart. Let him feel the steady beat, the proof that I'm here and alive and his. "You won't. We're bound to this now, remember? Guardians of the seals. That means we're in this for the long haul."
We sit in silence for a while, just breathing, feeling the bond settle into this new configuration. Stronger. Deeper. Permanent in ways that go beyond the mate bond itself. We're woven into the fabric of the seals now, our lives tied to keeping the Fomori caged. It should feel like a burden.
It doesn't. It feels right.
"I need a bath," I finally say. Everything hurts, and I can smell blood and corruption and fear on my skin. "I need to wash this off me."
Declan's on his feet immediately. "I'll draw you a bath."
"Declan, I can...”
"Please." His eyes meet mine, and the raw need in them stops my protest. "Let me take care of you. I need to. I need to do something besides watch you breathe and pray you wake up."
I nod.
He lifts me as carefully as if I'm made of glass.
I'm not that fragile, not anymore. My body is already healing, wolf metabolism and storm blood working overtime to repair the damage the Fomori did.
But I don't protest. I let him carry me to the bathroom, let him settle me on the counter while he runs the water in the massive clawfoot tub.
The bathroom is all stone and glass, with windows overlooking the ocean. Steam rises as the tub fills. Declan tests the temperature obsessively, adding cold when it's too hot, adjusting until it's perfect.
When he helps me out of the nightgown someone dressed me in, his breath catches.
I'm a mess underneath. Bruises in various stages of healing, some yellow-green, others still purple-black.
Thin scars where my skin split under the Fomori's corruption.
Burns from the tendrils that tried to unmake me, angry and red against my pale skin.
"Jesus Christ." Declan's voice is barely audible. His fingers ghost over a particularly nasty burn on my ribs, not quite touching. "What it did to you..."
"Is already healing." I catch his hand, press it flat against the burn. "Feel that? It's warm. That's my body repairing itself. The fact that I'm healing at all is a miracle. Another week or two and most of these will have faded."
"I'll remember every one." His thumb traces the edge of the burn with devastating gentleness. "I'll remember what you looked like when I caught you. What you felt like through the bond when that thing was tearing you apart."
"Then we match." I touch his face, trace the line of his jaw. "Because I'll never forget how your strength kept me whole. How your will held me when I should have shattered. How your power flowed through me like lightning."
He leans into my touch, turns his head to press a kiss to my palm. Then he lifts me again, so gentle, and lowers me into the water.
The heat hits every ache, every bruise, every healing wound. I gasp, and Declan freezes.
"Too hot?"
"Just right." I sink deeper, let the warmth soak into my bones.
He settles on the floor beside the tub, one hand trailing in the water, maintaining contact. Like he can't bear not to touch me. I understand. I feel the same pull, the need to stay connected, to prove to ourselves that we're both here and alive.
"You scared me," he says quietly. "When you walked toward that thing. When you stepped into it. I felt the corruption eating you alive, and I couldn't stop it. Couldn't do anything except try to keep your mind from shattering and pray it was enough."
"It was enough." I catch his hand in the water, squeeze. "You kept me whole. Your strength, your will. I would have died without that. Without you."
"We did it as a team."
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning. Not just the battle. Everything. The future stretching out ahead of us, bound by more than just the mate bond now.
Declan picks up soap, starts washing my back. He's careful around my injuries, thorough everywhere else. The washcloth moves in slow circles, and I feel the tension start to bleed out of my muscles. His touch is reverent, gentle, washing away not just the physical grime but something deeper.
He works methodically. My shoulders. Down my spine. Along my sides, careful of the burns. When he reaches for my arm, lifting it from the water to soap from wrist to shoulder, I watch his face. The concentration there. The tenderness. Like I'm something precious that might break.
His hands slide down to wash my legs, and the simple intimacy of it—the care, the reverence—makes my throat tight.
"I thought I lost you," he murmurs, voice breaking.
I turn in the water to face him. His eyes and face are haggard. My fierce Storm Alpha, who shows weakness to no one, has been watching over me for four days.
I pull him toward me, and he comes willingly, leaning over the edge of the tub. I frame his face with wet hands, water dripping down his jaw. "I'm here. Not going anywhere."
Then I kiss him. Softly at first, just a brush of lips. Then deeper. Pouring everything I can't say into it. Love and gratitude and the fierce joy of being alive.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, Declan's eyes have darkened. Heat floods the bond between us, want and need spiraling up fast.
"Get in here," I whisper.
He doesn't need to be told twice. He stands, strips off his shirt in one smooth motion.
My eyes trace the lines of his body—the broad shoulders, the defined chest and abs, the way his jeans hang low on his hips.
He kicks them off along with his briefs, and then he's stepping into the tub with me, completely bare.
Water sloshes over the sides as he settles in. He doesn't care. He just reaches for me, pulls me against his chest, and wraps his arms around me like he's never letting go.
"I need to feel you," he says roughly. "Need to know you're real. That you're here. That we survived this."
I turn in his arms, straddling his lap. My thighs bracket his hips in the warm water. Every point of contact sends heat through me. His chest against mine. His hands spanning my waist. The hard length of him pressed between us.
The mate bond flares hot, amplifying every sensation. His desire feeds mine. My need fuels his. It's a feedback loop that leaves us both gasping.
I rock my hips slightly, watching his eyes darken further. His grip on my waist tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to ground us both. To remind us this is real. We're alive. We survived.
Then his mouth finds mine again, and this kiss is different. Hungry. Desperate. His tongue sweeps in to claim mine, and I open for him, letting him take what he needs. What we both need.
His hands map my body like he's memorizing it. Sliding up my sides, careful of my injuries. Cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing over nipples that harden instantly at his touch. I arch into his hands, gasping against his mouth, and feel his answering groan vibrate through his chest.
"Eliza." My name is a plea and a prayer. "Tell me if I hurt you. If anything...”
"You won't." I cut him off with another kiss. "I need this. Need you."
I reach between us, wrap my hand around the hard length of him. He's hot and thick in my palm, and when I stroke slowly from base to tip, his hips jerk involuntarily. His head falls back against the rim of the tub, exposing the long line of his throat.
"God," he groans. "Eliza, if you keep doing that...”
"Then what?" I stroke him again, watching his face. The pleasure there. The need. "What will you do?"