"Every time, I try to reach her. Pull her out." His fingers dug into my skin hard enough to bruise, anchoring himself in the present while the past tried to drag him under. "But I can't move. Can't save her. Just like before."
His breathing came in ragged gasps, his entire body vibrating with repressed anguish. The wall he'd built around this memory was crumbling, decades of contained grief pouring through the cracks.
"She called for me," he whispered, voice so broken I barely recognized it. "When they took her. She called my name, over and over. I still hear it. Every night. Every fucking night for twenty-six years."
I held him as his body shook with silent sobs, absorbing the tremors of grief decades in the making. His hands clutched at me like I was the only solid thing in a world dissolving around him.
"I should have saved her," he whispered.
"You were six years old," I reminded him. "A child."
"When Prometheus found me in the ruins, I knew. I knew he was a bad man. He smelled like money and blood. Like them. The people who took her. But I didn’t care. I was so angry. So lost. All I wanted was a chance to hurt someone. To make the world pay for what happened. He told me he could make it happen. That I’d never be weak again. But he was wrong, Vincent. Every time I close my eyes, I’m that weak little boy again, helpless to stop them. I can’t save her. I could never save her.”
I cradled him against me. "What happened to Ana wasn't your fault," I whispered, stroking his hair. "But your love for her is still saving people. It saved me."
He went still in my arms. "What do you mean?"
"The boy who couldn't save his sister grew into a man who chose to save a stranger instead of killing him." I pressed my lips to his forehead. "You're not helpless, Luka. You're the strongest person I've ever known."
His breathing steadied gradually, but doubt lingered in his voice. "I couldn't protect her."
"You protect me now," I said simply. "I feel safe with you. Always have, even when I shouldn't."
I felt the shift in his body, muscles relaxing under the weight of trust freely given.
"Rest now, Luka.”
“Can’t,” he murmured. “Need to…I have to…”
“This is how relationships work. When one of us needs to rest, the other stands guard. Tonight is my turn. It doesn't make you weak to let me hold you tonight. You’ve been strong. Now, trust me to be strong too."
His grip on me loosened from desperate to something more deliberate. He nuzzled against my chest, breath warm against my skin. "I think I'm falling in love with you," he whispered, so quietly I almost missed it. "Never thought I could."
My heart expanded in my chest, almost painful in its fullness. I tilted his face up to mine.
"That's the best thing anyone's ever said to me. I'm all in, Luka. Have been since that first therapy session. You don't scare me. Not your past, not your feelings."
His eyes, bright even in the darkness, searched mine. What he found there made him smile.
I kissed the top of his head. "Get some sleep. I’ll watch over you tonight so you can protect me tomorrow."
He nodded against my chest, and I felt him finally surrender, his face buried against my neck. The predator at rest, but no less powerful for it.
I woke with Vincent'sscent filling my nose.
He was curled against me, one arm thrown across my chest, face buried in the crook of my neck. His steady breathing brushed warm against my collarbone, each exhale a reminder of last night.
I think I'm falling in love with you.
Holy fucking shit. I'd actually said that out loud. Not just thought it in the privacy of my own disaster brain, but vocalized it with my actual mouth like some lovesick teenager writing bad poetry. And worse was Vincent's response, the gentle acceptance, the reciprocation that terrified me more than facing a firing squad naked.
That's the best thing anyone's ever said to me. I'm all in, Luka.
My throat closed like I was being strangled by invisible hands. My skin went clammy despite the furnace of Vincent's body pressed against mine. What the actual fuck had I done? Love was nothing but a liability, a weakness enemies exploited, a guarantee of inevitable betrayal. In twenty-six years as Prometheus's attack dog, I'd learned exactly one truth about connection: it always, always ended withsomeone bleeding out on the floor. Usually not me, but this time? All bets were off.
Prometheus' words slithered through my mind like toxic sludge, poisoning everything they touched. He'd been right about so many things. What if he was right about this too? Once Vincent no longer needed my murderous skill set, once the danger passed, would he look at me and finally see the monster beneath the fuckable packaging?
Vincent stirred against me, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks before opening. Those dark eyes found mine, warming as his lips curved into a smile so genuine it fucking hurt.
