Him
TheShadowManlooked down at the woman sleeping on the bed.
A girl who had crashed into his life, a light glow in the dark, thrusting life into his cold, dead heart.
Now a woman who had beaten odds, every single day, and come out rising on the other side, with so much life inside her he wondered how a single being could contain it. It had been that life that had hooked him, the vitality that fed into his void, the absolute to his abyss.
She had told him once, a checklist of all that love was to her, and she had fit every single category for him, all except one.
He had never, not once, put the good of anyone else before his own selfish needs, had never thought he would. But oddly, as he watched her sleep, knowing the demons she fought and the cracks she counted within herself, he felt a compulsion to cover the cracks and seal them shut, until she was back on the road to her healing as she had been. He had seen how well she did when she focused on herself, when outside forces weren't pulling away at her, and he wanted her to find her way back to it.
And he knew what she needed to heal did not align with what he wanted, which was to keep her to himself and not share even a part of her with the world.
He traced her mouth with his thumb, and her lips parted in her sleep.
He wondered if there would ever be an end to this obsession, to this deep, dark need that breathed inside him with her heartbeats. For six years, it had only grown bigger, until it had consumed every single part of him, and he wondered if there was more of him left to consume. It was a marvel, how this tiny girl who had never been on anyone's radar had found herself embraced in the arms of death.
Taking a breath, an odd tightness in his chest, he opened his tablet and the thread of texts he'd sent Morana through changing IP addresses, dropping yet another morsel, a big one, for her to dig. Given her skills, she would probably crack it in two days, trace the file he had waiting for her, and get in touch.
For two more days, he would have his flamma just to himself, before her past came knocking, her brother finally finding her. He hated Tristan Caine just for that. But he would tolerate him, let him have his space in her life, if only for her. Because it would make her whole, make her heal, knowing that love too.
"Dainn?"
The soft, cracking voice brought his eyes back to the only being who mattered to him, the sweet aftertaste of her voice on his tongue.
"Come to bed," she grumbled, still half-asleep, and fuck if the tightness in his chest didn't intensify. He had once stood on cold streets, searching for warmth until the frost froze his heart. Even after he built himself the warmest of houses, the cold never left. Not until her, not until the only person who cared for him, cared that he wasn't sleeping, cared that he wasn't warm.
Following her soft request, he climbed back to his side, and felt her wrap herself around him, no hesitation in the way she clung to his body, pressed herself into his side, her face in the crook of his neck. She touched him like he wasn't an abhorrence to humanity, like he mattered, she always had. It had surprised him at first, the way she freely gave her touches to him, and he hadn't known how to react, not until he had begun listening to some deep-rooted instinct that knew exactly how to respond to this woman.
Listening to the same instinct, he wrapped his arm around her, holding her close.
"Dainn?"
Fuck, her voice still made his body vibrate with sensations.
"I love you."
He closed his eyes for a split second at those words, the tightness in his chest moving, roiling, until it was weighing him so heavy he couldn't breathe. Just for a split second, before he turned, gazing down at the woman he would wreck everything for, seeing her soft face and beautiful smile and sleepy eyes.
He wasn't a believer, but she was his miracle.
He didn't know if what happened inside him where she was concerned was love. It felt wrong to say that. Love was light, love was beautiful, love was pure. What he felt was dark, obsessive, deviant, and utterly possessive. He would kill for her, as he always had, and he would die for her, if need be. He would slay her demons and give her the sword to slay them if she wanted. He would hold her close and protect her from anything wanting to tarnish her being.
She completed parts of him that had been jagged and raw, fitting inside them with softness and fluidity, soothing some latent beast within him.
Where she loved him with all her light, he possessed her with all his shadows.
That's why she was his.
As he braced himself for the two days he had before their world changed, he held her, knowing that despite whatever came their way, he was never, ever letting her go.
And if anyone tried… it would be the end.
***