I'd known men like that, too. Men who sought out bruises not for the story but for the quiet that came after. Men who needed someone to break them to feel whole. Who couldn't feel anything unless it hurt first.
He thinks I saw him.
I did.
Not the way he thinks, though. Or maybe exactly how he thinks.
The clock on the mantel ticked past midnight. Then one. The fire needed tending, but I couldn't make myself move. Not with him there, curled up like he belonged.
Outside, the storm began to ease, and the howling subsided to a low moan like the cabin itself was exhaling.
I set my glass down, the clink loud in the quiet room. Noah didn't stir. His breathing had settled into the rhythm of sleep, each exhale slightly parted his lips.
Before I realized what I was doing, I stood. I walked across the room until I loomed over him, close enough to see the slight twitches of his eyelids in deep sleep. I told myself I was only checking on him. Making sure he was really asleep and not faking.
But that would be a lie.
Deep sleep transformed him. He appeared vulnerable in a way that twisted something in my chest. It wasn't the same man who'd faced me at my door with steel in his eyes. Now, he was someone I could hurt without trying.
I crouched beside him, my knees cracking in the silence. His breath brushed my face, warm with life. My hand hovered inches from his skin—not to comfort, but to possess. To mark. The urge frightened me more than his presence ever could.
Up close, I found what I was looking for—the faint scar at his temple from my hit. Barely visible now, a silver ghost. Mysignature. My claim. I'd put it there, and some sick part of me felt pride seeing it healed but not gone.
Noah's eyelids fluttered but didn't open. Then his lips parted, and he whispered, "Micah..."
The sound of my name made me freeze.
"Micah..." he breathed again, fingers uncurling slightly from the blanket.
Every muscle in my body is locked tight. Blood rushed in my ears, drowning out the storm.
He was dreaming about me.
What was I in his dreams? Was I the monster who broke him? Or something he welcomed?
Why would he dream of me? To ask again why I did it? To relive the moment metal and bone collided?
Or did he dream of being broken again? Did he want it?
The questions flooded my mind, spiraling my thoughts into darkness. I watched his face, peaceful despite the name on his lips. My name.
What if he thinks this is love?
The idea was so twisted and backward that it made my stomach turn. Love wasn't born from violence. It didn't start with shattering someone against boards, leaving blood on the ice and careers hanging in the balance. Only someone damaged could mistake that kind of destruction for connection.
But there he was, whispering my name in his dreams.
And I crouched beside him in the dark, unable to look away.
I suddenly jerked away from him like I'd touched a live wire, nearly stumbling in my haste to put distance between us. My hand knocked against the coffee table, sending my empty glass rolling. It didn't break, only thumped softly against a rag rug. Noah didn't move.
The clatter broke the spell inside me. Whatever madness had possessed me to get so close and watch him like a predatorwaiting for the perfect moment receded into the shadows where it belonged.
I retreated to my chair, sinking into the leather that had molded to my body over months of solitude. My whiskey-blurred head swam, but not enough to drown the thoughts I couldn't escape.
The fire had burned low, embers pulsing weakly beneath a layer of ash. Without the flames, shadows crawled up the wall like living things, stretching toward the ceiling. The wind settled into a low, persistent moan.
I curled in on myself, knees drawn to my chest like I used to do as a kid when I was afraid. My eyes remained open, fixed on Noah's sleeping form. Sleep was unlikely for me. Not with him so close.
