Page 16 of Claimed By the Damned
Then, because he’shim, he smirks. “Or, you know, give me a heads-up. I love a good chase.”
I don't know whether to punch him or cry. Maybe both.
But I do neither.
I just stand there, trapped in the terrifying knowledge that no matter how far I run, Kolya will always be one step behind.
A door creaks behind us. Footsteps, slow and steady. Ethan.
He takes one look at my feet swimming in his shoes, my shaking form, my wide eyes—and sighs. "Come on, Angel. Let's get you back to bed."
I don’t move. I can’t. But then Ethan steps closer, his hand brushing against mine, warm and steady. "You're safe, Lila. You're not alone anymore."
My throat tightens. Exhaustion crashes over me, the weight I'd held back. Ethan doesn’t push. He just waits.
And somehow, that’s what makes me cave.
I let him guide me inside, his arm around my shoulders. Ryker follows, his presence a silent storm behind me. He doesn't crowd me, but I feel his focus like a physical shield.
Ethan pulls back the blankets and nudges me toward the bed. As I move numbly towards it, Ryker steps forward, gesturing towards my feet.
"Hold up," he murmurs, his voice low. Before I can react, he crouches down, his large hands surprisingly deft as he tugs off the oversized sneakers. He glances up at me, a ghost of his earlier smirk returning. "Gonna leave these right here," he says, placing them neatly at the foot of the bed frame, "you know, just in case you feel the sudden urge for another late-night jog."
Despite the situation, a tiny huff escapes me—maybe exhaustion, maybe amusement at the absurdity.
Ethan watches the exchange, then gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Sleep, Angel. We’ll figure everything out in the morning." He backs away, heading towards the door and pausing to look back at Ryker with that silent question. Ryker gives the minute nod, and Ethan leaves, pulling the door almost closed behind him, leaving just a sliver of hallway light.
I don’t argue. I sink into the mattress, the adrenaline drain leaving me freezing, the weight of the night pressing down. My teeth start to chatter, uncontrollable shivers racking my body from the shock and sudden release of tension.
Ryker lingers near the foot of the bed, watching me, his usual smirk gone, replaced by something serious, almost hesitant.
"Hey," he says, his voice low, surprisingly gentle. "Mind if I… stick around? Just 'til you fall asleep. Make sure you're good."
I nod mutely, pulling the blankets tighter, but it does little against the bone-deep chill.
He moves carefully, sitting on the bed near the edge, close but not touching, his heavy presence a strange sort of anchor in the spinning room. He just watches me shiver.
After a moment, he clears his throat. "Okay, look, you're shaking like a leaf. Would it... would it help if I...? Just to warm you up?" He shifts slightly, gesturing vaguely. "Strictly staying on top ofthe blankets," he adds quickly, as if needing to reassure both of us.
My first instinct is to flinch away, to say no. Years of unwanted touch scream at me. But I'mso cold. And beneath the brash exterior, his offer feels... careful. Tentative. After a long pause, where the only sound is my chattering teeth, I give another small, jerky nod and say "okay".
He moves slowly, deliberately, easing himself onto the bed more, beside me, lying on his side facing me, still fully clothed,on topof the covers as promised. Then, carefully, he reaches out, sliding one strong arm around my shoulders, pulling me gently against his chest.
His body is a furnace. Solid muscle and radiating heat seep through the blankets, through my borrowed clothes, chasing away the chill. I stiffen for a second, every instinct screaming danger, but exhaustion wins. Hesitantly, I let my head rest against the hard plane of his chest, hearing the steady, slow beat of his heart beneath my ear. His arm tightens almost imperceptibly, a silent promise of protection.
The shivering starts to subside, replaced by the overwhelming warmth and the surprising comfort of his solid presence. His scent, uniquely Ryker, faintly smelling of the outdoors, gun oil, and sheer force of will—surrounds me.
As my eyes drift shut, his quiet murmur reaches me, rough but steady. "Gotcha, Baby Girl. Just rest."
And in the circle of his arms, as the darkness settles around me like a comforting shroud instead of a threat, I can’t hold back any longer. The tension snaps, and I finally let myself sink into Ryker's strength, safe in the knowledge that I don’t have to fight alone anymore. I sleep.
Chapter 7: Fragile Things Break Easy
Ethan
Ten days. Ten days since Lila, bruised and terrified, collapsed into Ryker's arms on our doorstep, finding herself reluctantly embraced by the wary, protective circle of Wicked Sanctuary.
The initial "one week" agreement came and went quietly. No one pushed, and maybe more surprisingly, Lila doesn't bolt. Checking on her each morning is now part of the rhythm of the house, a silent assessment of whether the night brought nightmares or peace.
