Page 34 of Claimed By the Damned

Damn.

I pull back like I’ve been burned, shaking my head at my own reaction.

Across the room, Bastian sits at the dining table, pretending to read something on his tablet, but I know he’s watching too. We all are, in our own ways.

“She’s getting better,” he murmurs, voice low enough not to wake her.

“Yeah.” I run my hand over my jaw, the stubble rough under my palm. “Still needs rest, though.”

“She will.” Bastian doesn’t look up, but his voice is heavy. “You’re in too deep, you know that, right?”

I don’t answer, just cross my arms and lean back against the couch. What can I say? That every time I look at her, the urge to keep her safe is overwhelming? That the thought of her leavingmakes my stomach clench? That when she eventually walks away—because shehasa life to reclaim, one that doesn’t include me—I’m not sure I’ll survive the wreckage she leaves behind?

No. I keep that locked down where it belongs.

But it isn’t easy. Every moment with her chips away at my walls. The way she looks at me with those dark, searching eyes, trying to figure me out. The way she trusts me, so completely, even after everything she’s endured. Like she knows I’d never hurt her.

That shouldn’t mean so much. But fuck, it does.

A small whimper pulls my attention back to her. Lila shifts, brows drawing tighter, breath hitching—a tiny, broken sound that slices through me. It's the sound of pure, defenseless terror, the kind that echoes across the years, sharpening suddenly into the memory of my brother's small voice, raw and cracking…

“Don’t leave me here. Please, Ethan.”

The memory slams into me, visceral and immediate, triggered by the sheer vulnerability in Lila's distress. My little brother's ten-year-old hands gripping my sleeve, his eyes wide with a terror I couldn’t fully shield him from then, a terror I ultimately walked away from. Lila, small and broken on this couch, fighting unseen demons, is a horrifying mirror to that past failure. The helplessness that clawed at me then, watching him suffer, resurfaces now, sharp and suffocating, as I watch her battle shadows in her sleep.

I know that fight happening within her—the one against horrors you can't see but feel in your bones, the kind that tries to steal your breath, your fight, your very soul. I’d lived my own version, and I’d watched, helpless, as it consumed him later. And seeing Lila like this, so fragile, so lost in that same darkness, it’s like reliving my brother's worst moments all over again, and the old, familiar guilt threatens to drown me. This iswhyher pain cuts so deep, why her vulnerability is a punch to my gut.

I can still hear my father’s heavy boots stomping down the hallway, the way my brother’s small body would curl into mine as we braced for whatever was coming.

“You stay quiet, okay?” I had whispered, shielding him under my arm.

He had nodded, clutching my shirt, eyes wide with terror. He was only ten then. Too young to understand why our father hated us so much. Too young to fight back. So I took the hits. The belt, the fists, the words that cut just as deep. I took it all so he wouldn’t have to.

When I finally turned eighteen, I knew I had to leave. Not just to save myself—because staying meant risking becoming just like him, or worse—but to build something better. A way out. For both of us.

“I have to go,” I’d told him, my own voice tight with the lie of confidence I didn’t feel. “I’m joining the military. I’ll get strong, make money, find us a safe place. Then I’m coming back for you. I promise. We’ll get away from him for good.”

But he had just cried harder, clinging to me.

“Don’t leave me here.” His voice had cracked, hands gripping my sleeve like a lifeline. “Please, Ethan. Don’t go.”

My promise hung heavy in the air between us, thick with desperation and hope. But I saw no other way. I still walked away. Because I thought it was the only path forward. Because I thought escaping, getting stronger, was the only way to keep that promise, to fix everything.

But by the time I saw him again, it was too late.

A mugshot. A rap sheet. The kid I swore to protect, the one I promised I’d come back for, was caught up in the kind of life I never wanted him near. My promise, broken.

That was on me.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image of my brother, forcing myself to focus back on Lila. Watching her sleep, herface finally relaxed after weeks etched with tension, I feel that fierce, almost painful protectiveness I’d always felt for him surge again. This time, it isn’t weakened by youthful helplessness or the misguided belief that leaving was the answer.

It wraps around her like steel, tight and absolute. The stark black-and-white of my brother’s mugshot flashes behind my eyes—the result of my failure. Lila’s unconscious whimper echoes my brother's terrified pleas, and the vow forms in my soul, fierce and unshakeable:Never again.The silent promise echoes in the space where my heart pounds against my ribs.

I’m not failingthistime. I won’t letherslip through the cracks.

Even if it means losing myself in the process. Keeping my own feelings buried. Pretending I don’t already know—I’m too far gone to ever let her go.

I crouch beside the couch before I can over think it, hesitating only a fraction of a second before brushing my fingers against her cheek.

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