Page 39 of The Fractured Veil

I attempted a shaky smile. "I'm fine, feeling much better."

Nox stared, his face unreadable, then raised an eyebrow, silently calling me out on my lie. "Fine? Really?" he said, his tone dripping with disbelief. He took a step closer, his eyes locking on mine, their weight piercing through every flimsy excuse. "You're pale as a ghost, shaking just from standing, and you think you're 'fine'?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words caught in my throat. I wanted to insist I was okay, that I didn't need coddling, but the exhaustion dragging at my limbs and the fear still clinging to me betrayed me. I looked away, my grip tightening on the banister as I tried to steady myself. The floor seemed to sway beneath my feet.

"Thalia," Nox's voice softened, almost pleading. He reached out, his hand resting gently on my arm—his touch warm and steady—sending a strange shiver through me. "You don't have to pretend with me. I know you're not fine. You went through hell. Just... let me help you."

His words unleashed a torrent of emotions. Memories of a childhood spent fending for myself in Nyvorthia—where trust was a fragile illusion—rose to the surface. I'd learned early that people always left, that I'd always disappointed. Relying on anyone had only ever brought pain; a pain so sharp that it had become the cornerstone of my existence. I hated feeling weak. Hated the vulnerability that now clung to me like a second skin. Hated needing anyone. It went against every carefully constructed wall, every defense mechanism I had built around myself, brick by painful brick. But looking up at him, seeing the genuine concern etched into his features, made something inside me falter.

I let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. "Okay," I sighed, my voice barely audible. "I'm trying here." I added a touch of defensiveness clinging to the words.

A hint of a smile played at the corners of Nox's lips. He moved closer, his arm wrapping around my waist, supporting me as I leaned into him. "I know you are," he murmured, his voice filled with a surprising warmth.

I stared at him, bewildered by his sudden shift in demeanor. "I don't get you," I sighed, shaking my head as he began guiding me back towards the room, his arm securely around me. One minute he was practically snarling at me, the next he was gentle and caring. My head hurt even more from trying to understand him than from my actual injuries.

He chuckled softly at my words, the sound almost comforting in the dim hallway. Each step was slow and careful, his presence a steadying force against the inner turmoil that still raged within me. "Yeah, I don't get me either sometimes," he replied, a faint hint of amusement in his voice. There was a genuine quality to his confession, an openness that surprised me. His guard was down, and for a fleeting moment, I felt like I was glimpsing the real Nox.

As we reached the doorway, I glanced up at him. There was something in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. It made my chest ache.

"Thank you," I whispered as we reached the bed, my legs giving out beneath me as I sank onto the mattress. He leaned in, adjusting the blankets around my shoulders, his gaze holding mine.

"Get some rest, Thalia," he said, his voice low and calm, the undertone of worry still present. "I'll be here if you need anything."

I nodded, my eyes growing heavy as exhaustion threatened to pull me under yet again. I watched him add more wood to the fire, the flames casting more shadows on the walls, before he turned towards the door, his silhouette framed by the flickering glow.

A wave of fear washed over me at the thought of being alone. The darkness still lingered—the nightmare too recent, too real. "Stay," I mumbled, the word barely audible as sleep tugged at my consciousness.

Nox paused, his hand resting on the doorframe. He hesitated for a moment, as if considering my request. Then he nodded, walking back towards the bed. I felt the mattress shift as he sat on the other side, his back against the headboard, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames.

I let my eyes drift shut, the warmth of the fire and Nox's steady presence lulling me into a sense of security. The last thing I saw was Nox—his features soft in the glow of the fire, his gaze fixed on the flames.

Chapter18

Thalia’s POV

My throat felt like the desert, dry and scratchy, and my head throbbed faintly as I forced my heavy eyelids open. The ache wasn't as bad as before, a dull thrumming rather than a sharp, stabbing pain, and my entire body felt lighter. I blinked against the soft light filtering into the room, my vision blurry and unfocused as I struggled to make sense of what I was seeing.

Legs.Long, muscular legs clad in dark denim.

I squinted, trying to determine if I was still caught in some strange, hazy dream. My mind felt sluggish, like it was wading through thick molasses.

Yep, definitely legs. And really nice ones at that.

It took me a moment—a slow, dawning realization—to understand that I was staring directly at someone's thighs, my gaze fixed on the toned muscles beneath the fabric. I blinked again, my sleepy mind finally beginning to catch up with my senses. A small, confused smile tugged at my lips as I tilted my head back, my gaze traveling slowly upward—taking in the broad shoulders, the strong arms, and finally, the sleeping face of Nox. His dark hair was tousled, falling across his forehead, and his long lashes rested against his cheeks. He looked peaceful, almost serene. Completely different to the usual brooding intensity he carried.

He was still sitting up, his head leaning back against the headboard, an arm resting possessively on my waist, his presence somehow both protective and gentle. The usual tension that radiated off him was gone, a tension I was only now realizing I'd grown accustomed to. He looked so relaxed, so at ease, despite the slight scowl that seemed permanently etched on his features—a scowl that usually spoke of guarded emotions but now seemed softened by sleep. His breaths were steady, his chest rising and falling with a calmness that was almost hypnotic, making me want to relax even more, to burrow into his warmth and let the peace of the moment wash over me.

His dark curls—usually hidden beneath a hood—framed his face, some falling across his forehead in a way that softened his usual sharp demeanor, giving him an almost boyish charm. The morning light peeking through the window highlighted the angles of his face—the strong line of his jaw, the high cheekbones, and the faint stubble that dusted his skin, a testament to the fact that even in sleep, he held an air of rugged masculinity. There was something almost fragile about him like this—the way the shadows danced across his features, accentuating his beauty in a way I hadn't fully appreciated before. A beauty that was usually overshadowed by his intensity.

His lips were slightly parted, and even with the hint of a scowl, held a vulnerability I rarely saw. It made him seem almost approachable. It was like all the walls he constantly kept up had fallen away in sleep, leaving behind only the raw version of himself, the version he protected from the world. The sight made my heart tighten in my chest, a strange mixture of tenderness and protectiveness washing over me. I found myself studying the way his lashes rested against his cheeks, long and dark, the delicate curve of his cheekbones. I had never been this close to him before—never had the chance to truly observe him.

I had to bite back a giggle at the insanity of the situation—waking up to find myself practically using him as a pillow, my head nestled against his side, his steady breathing a soothing rhythm in my ear. I was staring at the long lines of his legs like some kind of confused child. But within the amusement, there was also something comforting about it—something that made the fear and pain of the last few days feel a little more distant.

I shifted slightly, trying not to wake him, but his arm tightened around my waist instinctively, pulling me closer. A soft gasp escaped my lips at the sudden movement, but it was quickly swallowed by the quiet of the room. I froze, my gaze flicking back to his face, expecting to see his emerald eyes, but he didn't wake. Instead, his face seemed to relax just a little more, the usual scowl easing as he let out a soft sigh. The tension that always seemed to radiate from him was gone, replaced by something close to peace. It was a side of him I'd never seen, and it made something flutter in my stomach.

A strange mixture of affection moved through me, a touch of something that felt dangerous. I didn't know what any of this meant—why he was here, why he was being so gentle with me after weeks of hostility, or why seeing him like this made my chest feel so tight.

I shouldn't be here with him, resting my head on his lap, watching him sleep. It felt illegal. Forbidden. Like I was trespassing on sacred ground.

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