Immortal?

Atticus lay sprawled on his back. A horrific gash carved into his pulsing neck, and a terrifying scarlet liquid gushed onto his coat and soaked into the soil and leaves surrounding him. He twitched and shuddered jerkily in an inhuman way, as if he were being electrocuted.
The blade-wielding man vanished into the air, and Clara let out a wailing cry. She jumped from her hiding place and bolted to him. Dropping helplessly to her knees, she repeated his name, keening.
At that moment, a single flame had been snuffed out. Atticus's body was still, his whole torso red stained. Clara's heart was pounding in her chest, but it felt so desperately empty. Her thoughts were silent. She clutched Atticus's cold, clammy hand, shaking her head and subconsciously repeating his name in a whimper.
'How could this happen?' One single line of thought echoed.
     Clara held his hand closer, hopelessly fighting to hold on to some lasting fragment of his life.  She wept shamelessly.
     'He was so young...  He was here one moment ago...  Why did I not do something?' The thoughts piled up, getting louder and louder, drawing more tears to her eyes.  Repetitions of a shining blade slicing him beneath his chin haunted her.
     "Oh, Lord..," Clara muttered, bowing her head.  "Dear Lord, please take him.  Bring him back to his home.  Let this be the last thing he suffers."  She choked back another sob.  "Please, please, please let him in, Lord.  Take him away from this wretched place."  Her voice quivered with anguish as more tears streaked in a steady stream down her pale cheeks.
     Her hand twitched unconsciously.  Again.  Again.  She looked at her hands still clasping Atticus's.  Again.  She realized it wasn't her hand twitching. 
"Hello." Atticus's fingers closed around hers.
Alarmed, Clara looked to his face. His keen, hazel eyes were questioning her and his lips were once again contorted into his wry smile.
     An shock wave of emotions overtook her.  Her eyes grew wide.
"You- You're- You're... alive?!"
'A dream, perhaps?'
"Surprised?"
No, it can't be a dream.  There was no denying Atticus's voice.  It was breathy and exhausted, but unmistakable with his dulcet timbre. Clara burst into overjoyed tears. She didn't understand or care how he was still there, but it didn't matter.
Atticus looked curiously at his hand cradled in hers then up at her.
"What's this?"
Clara laughed, releasing his hand so she could dry her eyes.
Atticus propped himself up on his elbows.
     "Does this mean you missed me?"
Despite his teasing, she nodded truthfully, far too gleeful to speak.
     "Why is that?"  He cocked his head.
"Well, normally when my people's throats are slit and we die we don't come back."
"Then I guess you should know my people don't die."
"Are you saying... You're—"
"Immortal?  Yes."
     Clara was speechless.
     'Of course he's immortal!  Why did that come as a surprise to me?'  She felt somewhat silly.  'The boy can disappear and reappear in a new location on demand without a second thought, and there is no way he would let someone take his life like that without a fight.'  Why did she ever doubt in the first place?  'Actually, never mind.  I had every right to be shocked and grieved.  Whether or not I knew he would come back matters not since either way I had to watch him die.'
     She swatted his arm.
     "Ow!"
     "You scared me!"
     "Oh come on!"
     "You come on!  You should be shamed of yourself, making me sit there and watch you bleed to death."
     "What did you want me to do?!  Turn around and say, 'Hey, just so you know, I'm immortal'?  He'd have killed you too, and for you it would really be the end."
     "No, but maybe a little 'Just-So-You-Know' would have been greatly appreciated."
     "Like you would have cared before now."
     "Says who?"
     "Says me.  Remember?  The person you've been spending all your time with since you came here."
     "Don't start assuming you know me.  Besides, I don't always exactly choose to spend time with you."
     "Yes you do."
     "Not the first day!"
     "Well—"
     "They day you-"
     "-Saved your life?"
     "-Kidnapped me!"
     "I did not kidnap you, drama queen."
     "You took me without consent."
     "TO YOUR ROOM!"
     "STILL!"
     The two looked everywhere but each other's direction, huffing simultaneously.
     Some birds tweeted excitedly to one another.  A squirrel rustled in the dry leaves.  Wind brushed through the treetops.
"But I don't understand. Look at you! Your still bleeding out!"
     Instead of engaging in her emphatic tone, Atticus remained composed.  He sat himself upright, cross legged in front of her, and spoke quietly.
"Here."
     He extended a hand to her.  It was smeared with dirt and blood, knuckles red and bruised, mud caked beneath his nails and in his cuticles, and he wore dark grey, fingerless gloves that were fraying at the seams.  Clara reluctantly laid her clean, pale, slender hand in his.
     With a gentle grip, he raised her hand to his wound.
     'What?'
     Atticus tenderly pressed her hand on the gash and held it in place.
     Clara cringed, and turned her head away.
     "No," he protested softly.  "Look."
     Clara gasped.  The wound was mending itself.  Like a tapestry, his skin wove back together until all that remained was a weld marking the trail of the blade.
     Atticus smiled and pulled her hand away.  It was covered in blood.
"Sorry about that!  Now," he stood up.  "shall we be on our way?"
     He helped her get to her feet.  She was unsteady.
     Atticus began walking her back to the estate.
"How did..?"
     He looked back.
"Hm?"
"Your neck... How did I heal you?"
"Well I laid your hand directly onto the wound and-"
"I know that! But how... How did I heal you?"
     She caught him smirk.
"Because you love me."
     Her jaw dropped with an audible sound of disbelief.  Her heartbeat raced tenfold.
"Pardon me?!"
"It's the truth."
"Oh no no no. Now, I knew you are an uncouth little harrier, but you have no right whatsoever to presume anything about me!"
     He lifted his hands in surrender, smiling.
"Look, it's a simple fact, darling. That's just how it works."
"What do you mean that's 'just how it works'?"
     'Just when I think he's being a gentleman...' she thought, disenchanted.
"Hey, you love me, that's the reality," he said casually.  "And because you love me, you wield the power to resurrect me from death and restore me to full life."
     'If not, he would be dead,' she thought comically to herself, then something clicked.  'If I didn't love him, he would be dead...  And he didn't put up a fight...'
"And you knew that?"
She stopped walking. Atticus turned around.
"There's no point in covering it up now. I'm here, aren't I?"
Something still didn't make sense.
"But... why me?"
She couldn't possibly be the only one who loves him.
"Because..." his voice trailed away.
"Well?"
Atticus heaved in a great breath then turned and continued walking.
Clara rolled her eyes. So she loved him. That didn't mean she wouldn't get annoyed with him. A lot.
"Come now, there has got to be an underlying reason why I of all people have the ability to save you— and only you." She was slightly winded from jogging trying to keep up with his long strides. The corset didn't help as usual.
He hung his head. Silence.
Clara stomped to a stop, commanding his attention cooperation.
"I'm waiting."
He stopped in place and sighed rolling his head back. Finally he turned around.
"Okay, well you see that I and my people are immortal."
"Unfortunately."
"Very funny," he smiled apathetically. "Anyway, that doesn't mean we can't die. There is— like every seemingly good thing in this world— a catch. The only way to live after death is if someone loves you— misses you."
"And what differentiates this person from anyone else? Because surely there must be a great many who might miss you."
"They have to be loved back."
"So you're saying..."
"I love you, Clara Lasswell."