Airy

Chapter 28

I stumbled and fell to the floor he tried to catch me but I refused his help and ripped my hand off of his grip.

I made my way to the bathroom like a wounded animal, which I literally was.

I held my neck and saw that my top was all red covered in my blood.

I turned the faucet on and started washing my hands and my neck. I saw him hovering behind me, trying to help.

I shook my head and scooted away so I didn't make any contact with him. My vision blurred and I felt dizzy. But the shooting pain was the only sensation I felt.

I wanted to scream and tell him that I hated him but I couldn't. My breath was coming in short pants.

I gave up and he sat me down and took my top off gently, I was left in a bra. I did not care at this point. He got a clean washcloth and started wiping the blood that was still oozing out.

He then grabbed a few big bandaids and plastered them on my neck.

He lifted me gently and carried me to the bed. As soon as he set me down, I stood up and walked straight to the windowsill, sitting there with my gaze fixed outside. I couldn't bring myself to look at him.

"I had to do this," he murmured, his voice trailing off. "You have to understand."

But I didn't care about his explanation—I didn't want to hear it. The pain was slowly fading, but my eyes were still searching for Lucian.

When Damien entered the room, I wanted to tell him I'd seen Lucian outside the window, but he didn't give me the chance.

I was drowning in my own thoughts when Damien silently handed me a shirt.

I took it, barely paying attention, until I realized—it was his shirt. Seriously? I dropped it onto the bed like it burned and headed straight for the closet, grabbing one of my own pajama tops.

As if I'd ever wear his shirt. Please.

Walking out of the closet, I saw Damien at his desk, his head buried in his hands. Ignoring him, I made my way to the only place that brought me any comfort—the windowsill. But as the clouds gathered outside, I couldn't bring myself to look out, afraid of what I might see.

What if Lucian comes for Lily again? Panic seized me. I had been so focused on my own safety, but what if, he was here for her?

I didn't want to, but my feet moved on their own, and suddenly I was standing in front of Damien. His face was a mix of surprise and confusion as he looked up at me.

"I saw Lucian," I whispered.

Damien shot up from his chair like it was on fire.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice tight.

I didn't answer. Instead, I said firmly, "I need to check on Lily."

"You're in no condition to—"

"And whose fault is that?" I cut him off, turning to face him with a hard look.

I went back into the closet, tugging on a turtleneck and swapping my pants in quick, deliberate motions. Without another word, I walked out. Damien's footsteps echoed behind me, but I didn't look back.

I reached Lily's room moments later, and Damien stopped just outside, as if he knew better than to intrude.

"Lily?" I called softly, knocking before I stepped inside.

"Yes," came her reply, her voice quiet but steady.

Relief washed over me as I rushed to her side and wrapped my arms around her in a tight hug. For a moment, I just held her, breathing in her presence. She felt solid, warm. She looked better—more herself. But still, I couldn't shake the fear twisting in my chest.

"You're okay," I whispered, more to convince myself than anything.

Lily gave me a small smile as she pulled back, her eyes searching mine. "Of course I'm okay," she said lightly, but there was a hint of confusion in her voice. She didn't know. She hadn't seen him.

I brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, but my mind kept racing. What if he came back? What if Lucian was lurking, waiting for the right moment? I couldn't let my guard down—not now.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked, trying to sound normal, but my voice faltered. Lily's brow furrowed.

"Yeah, I guess. Why?" She looked at me with that wide-eyed curiosity I both adored and feared. She was still so innocent.

I forced a smile. "No reason. I just... I wanted to check on you, that's all."

But I knew Damien was still outside the door, waiting. He could hear us I'm sure. And the unease in the pit of my stomach wouldn't go away.

I left Lily's room shortly after, feeling her lingering warmth but still unsettled.

Damien, as expected, followed me back to his room in silence. We entered quietly, but before I could retreat any further, he reached out, taking my hand and turning me to face him.

It caught me off guard. I blinked, momentarily frozen by the sudden contact, but I quickly pulled my hand away, stepping back to create space between us.

"I don't want you to hate me, Airy," he said softly, shaking his head. "I did what was necessary."

I crossed my arms, keeping the distance between us, my gaze hard on him. "Necessary for whom?"

"You keep having nightmares," he continued, ignoring the bite in my voice. His eyes flickered with something like pain. "I—I never told you how my mom died. She was killed by rogues."

I blinked, caught off guard. 

"She didn't have a mark," he explained, his voice rough. "Before my father could find her, she was already gone."

A heavy silence fell between us. His words hung in the air, and I could see the weight of that loss etched in his expression, but I didn't move. I couldn't.

"This mark—it'll help me know where you are," Damien said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. "So that doesn't happen to you."

I swallowed, my heart racing. Part of me understood the fear that drove him, but it didn't erase my anger, or the sense of betrayal I felt. I brushed past him, heading to the kitchen, trying to regain control.

He followed close behind. When I reached the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of water, taking a slow sip to steady my nerves.

I turned to face him, wincing as the movement pulled at the tense muscles in my neck. "Every night," I said, my voice trembling slightly, "I keep seeing him from my window... just standing there, looking straight at me."

Damien stepped closer, just a foot away, his breathing slightly heavier.

"Our borders are guarded," he said, shaking his head. "I'm sure you probably saw someone else, or—"

"Or what? You think I'm lying?" I shot back, my frustration bubbling over. "Or imagining it?"

As I moved to step back, he reached out and grabbed my hand. For a moment, we locked eyes, a silent battle between us, until he let go, his hand falling to his side.

"No," he murmured, his tone softer now. "I'm just saying it's impossible for him to be in our territory without being noticed."

All I wanted was to rest. My eyelids felt heavy, exhaustion setting in. I turned and walked to the couch, easing down into it and pressing my fingers to my neck where the turtleneck sweater felt uncomfortably tight. I felt a damp warmth—blood was oozing again.

Damien's expression darkened with shame as he looked down and stepped away. He returned a few moments later with a med kit, fresh bandages, and a new top—this time, one of mine.

Gently, he helped me ease the sweater off, careful around my neck, and rebandaged the wound, his touch lighter than I'd expected.