The Siege of Shadows: Book one

Fragile Bonds (40)*

The pale light of dawn crept through the windows, soft and hazy, when I stirred again. My body ached, the soreness impossible to ignore, but it wasn't the pain that woke me. It was the faint rustle of movement near the window.

"Kael?" I croaked, my voice hoarse, trembling from more than just sleep.

He turned quickly at the sound, his sharp crimson eyes locking with mine before he crossed the room in a few long strides. I stiffened slightly, but when he knelt beside the bed, the weight of his presence wasn't overwhelming. He was gentle, careful, as if he'd learned to navigate the space between us over the last few weeks.

"Hey," he breathed softly, his voice low and warm, though the sadness in his gaze lingered, like a shadow he couldn't shake. "How are you feeling?"

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat thick. My whole body throbbed, the ache radiating through every inch of me, but the worst of it was the tenderness around my chest. When I glanced down, my breath hitched. The small punctures in my skin from the night before were still bleeding faintly, staining the fragile fabric of my sheer dress.

I turned my face away quickly, shame burning in my cheeks. "It hurts," I whispered, my voice barely audible, the weight of it too much. Despite my best effort to blink away the tears, they pooled at the corners of my eyes.

"I know," he murmured, his voice steady but tinged with regret. He reached for the bedside table, his movements slow, almost hesitant. When his hand closed around the small jar of lavender-colored crème, I flinched slightly, but he didn't move closer. "I wanted to ask before I touched you again. Is it okay?"

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. I knew it wasn't easy for him either—he'd been so patient, never rushing, never pushing.

He sighed softly, his gaze never leaving mine. "We need to clean it first, or you could get an infection."

I nodded again, watching as he rose to his feet and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. I could hear the faint sound of water running, then the soft squeak of a faucet turning off. Moments later, he returned with a damp cloth in hand, his expression still unreadable but soft, careful.

"Sit up, Kitten," he said gently, his tone so soft it felt like a whisper. He crouched beside me, holding the cloth toward me, his eyes flicking briefly to my chest before quickly returning to my face.

I could feel my heart racing, my pulse quickening in the silence that stretched between us. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. His hand hovered just above my skin, waiting for permission.

"It's okay," I whispered, though my voice was shaky.

Kael nodded, and his movements slowed even more, as if every action was calculated to ensure he wasn't pushing me too far. With careful fingers, he untied the delicate fabric of my dress, his touch light, as though even the smallest pressure could make me recoil.

When the fabric fell to my waist, leaving my chest bare, his eyes darkened, not with desire, but with sorrow, regret—something heavier, deeper. "I'm sorry," he murmured, so low it almost didn't reach my ears. His voice was thick with guilt as he reached forward, dabbing at the blood with the cloth.

The sting was unbearable. I sucked in a sharp breath, the pain shooting through me, and instinctively flinched away. His hand was steady against my leg, a grounding pressure that was meant to soothe, but it only made the ache worse, made my pulse race in ways I wasn't prepared for.

"Easy," he said softly, his voice soothing, as though he were speaking to a fragile thing. His thumb rubbed slow, careful circles into my skin, his touch light and deliberate. "I've got you. Just breathe, Rowan."