Page 104 of Claimed By the Damned

Understanding dawns in his eyes. There's no hesitation. "Of course, Little One." He stands and offers me his hand, his grip warm and steady. "Come, I'll walk with you."

Moving slowly, every muscle aching from the tension and the ordeal, I gratefully slip my hand into his. His solid presence is a comfort as we walk the short distance down the hall. The door to the room serving as Ethan's infirmary is slightly ajar, soft beeping sounds filtering out. Bastian pushes it open wider.

Ethan lies unnaturally still amidst a network of wires and monitors, bandages stark white against the angry bruising already forming around the stitches on his forehead. His left arm is immobilized in a heavy cast, propped on a pillow, and a thick dressing covers the wound on his side. His face is pale, peaceful only because of the heavy sedation. Theo sits in a chair pulled close to the bed, his head bowed, one hand resting near hisbrother's. He looks up as we enter, eyes red-rimmed but giving me a small, weary nod of acknowledgment.

Bastian guides me to the other side of the bed. I sink tentatively onto the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle anything. My hand reaches out, trembling, to gently cover Ethan's free hand. His skin feels cool beneath my touch.

"Ethan," I whisper, leaning closer, tears blurring my vision. "Oh, Ethan. You scared us so much." I squeeze his hand gently, wishing he could squeeze back. "I'm so glad you're alive. Please wake up soon. We need you.Ineed you." My voice cracks. "I love you."

I sit there for a few moments, just watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, listening to the rhythmic beeps of the machines that signal he's still here, still fighting. Theo remains silent, giving me the space. The air is thick with worry, but also a quiet determination.

After a little while, Bastian lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Come on, Little One," he says softly, his voice a low murmur meant only for me. "He needs rest, and so do you. Theo's right here with him, and we're just down the hall if anything changes. He's not alone."

Reluctantly, I squeeze Ethan's hand one last time before letting go. Before Bastian can guide me away, I turn to Theo. His head is still bowed, the picture of weary devotion. I step closer and gently place my hand on his arm. He looks up, his grey eyes, so like Ethan's, clouded with pain but also a flicker of surprise.

"Theo," I whisper, my voice thick. I lean in and wrap my arms around him in a hug, careful of his posture in the chair. He's stiff for a moment, then his own arm comes up to briefly pat my back. I pull back just enough to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "I'm so glad you're here," I tell him earnestly. "That you're alive and safe with us. Ethan needs you.Weneed you."

A ghost of a smile touches Theo's lips, though his eyes remain shadowed. "Wouldn't be anywhere else, Lila," he murmurs. His gaze flickers back to Ethan, his devotion clear.

My heart aches for his vigil. Bastian helps me stand, his arm wrapping securely around my waist as we leave the room, pulling the door almost closed behind us.

He walks me back to my temporary room, the silence heavy but comforting. Once I'm settled back against the pillows, exhaustion washing over me anew, he asks gently, "What do you need?"

"You," I whisper again, the need for his solid presence even stronger now.

His expression softens further. He lies down beside me, pulling me carefully against his chest. "I'm right here."

We lie in silence for a while, the only sound the quiet hum of the medical equipment and the distant beep of Ethan’s monitors down the hall.

Then, Ryker appears in the doorway. His wild energy is subdued, his eyes shadowed with worry, though his usual smirk ghosts his lips as he leans against the frame.

“Doc says tadpole’s good. You holding up okay, Baby Girl?”

I nod mutely.

Ryker pushes off the frame, walking over to perch on the edge of the bed near my feet. His knuckles are raw, scraped bloody. He catches me looking. “Ran into a door,” he mutters unconvincingly, flexing his hand. “Bastard put up a fight.” He scrubs a hand over his face.

“Fuck, Lila. Getting to you, seeing all that goddamn blood…” His gaze intensifies, recalling the scene in Kolya's office. "Thought I was gonna level the place right then. Then seeing that SUV go up… thinking Ethan…” He trails off, shaking his head sharply, the memory clearly visceral.

Bastian shifts behind me, his arm tightening possessively. He leans over and puts his hand on Ryker’s shoulder. “We got them both out. That’s what matters.”

Ryker nods, his eyes finding mine again. “Yeah. We got you.” He reaches out, his rough fingers tracing my cheek gently. “My turn to watch over you tonight?” His gaze flicks to Bastian, a silent question passing between them.

Bastian gives a barely perceptible nod. “Go ahead. I need to coordinate with Grim.” He presses a kiss to my hair. “Rest, Little One.” He slides out of bed, gives Ryker one last look, and leaves us.

Ryker’s wild grin surfaces, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Finally,” he breathes, shifting closer. He doesn’t throw me over his shoulder this time. Instead, he carefully gathers me into his arms, mindful of lingering soreness. “My turn, Baby Girl.”

He carries me to his assigned room, the scent of him, gunpowder, sweat, and something uniquely Ryker, grounding me. He lays me down gently, his weight settling beside me. The simple act of him holding me, the solid warmth of his body a shield against the lingering shadows, feels like an anchor in the storm. This isn't about lust; it's about a need for connection, for the reassurance of his fierce protection wrapping around me.

“Ryker,” I whisper, needing the connection.

His rough fingers trace my cheek, then trail down my throat. “It took everything in me not to steal you sooner,” he murmurs, lips ghosting mine. “Knowing Bas was taking care of you...” His eyes hold a flickering heat. "Thought I was gonna lose my damn mind waiting."

Slowly, carefully, he helps me adjust, pulling the covers higher. His touch is reverent, almost tender, despite the raw energy simmering beneath. His lips brush my forehead, linger near my temple.

"Safe now. Both of you," he murmurs against my skin, the word a low growl, less ownership, more fierce declaration. Each word, each touch, is a stitch mending the frayed edges of my terror, replacing fear with a fragile sense of security.

I run my fingers through his dark hair. “I love you, Ryker. Just the way you are.”

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