Page 106 of Reign of Light
We crest the top, and the tapestry-lined hallway I have walked down countless times feels different now. Weston starts down it fiercely, and the door I once saw as symbolizing my captivity, but I now see as a sign of safety, finally comes into view. But before we get close, I grab his torn uniform and tug, urging him to stop.
“Wait.”
“What’s wrong?” His arms tighten as he looks down at me, and I can see with the clench of his jaw that he’s trying very hard not to look around, and be on alert, instead focusing on me and what I need.
“Open that door. I need to see.” I point to the door I sped past for my entire life, that I avoided out of guilt and pain, but now that I know the truth of what happened, I don’t want to avoid it anymore.
His hand lifts from where he’s clutching me and grasps the handle. Turning it, he pushes open the large door, and I can’t help but hold my breath.
Was this entire journey, with all the highs and lows, lessons and friendships, worth it? Or did my mother let go before I even had a chance to try to save her?
Light pours into the room from the windows, and as I look toward the bed, I let out that held breath.
She’s still here; still lying in a perpetual sleep. Nothing has changed since the night I left, the night of my ceremony. The night I told her I would not give up on her.
My father didn’t let her go.
“Lyla…” Weston mutters, and his voice trails off into the thick silence of the room.
“She held on,” I say, the hoarseness of my already damaged voice now worsened with the swell of emotion. “He didn’t give up on her.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into my hair, and all I can do is squeeze my eyes shut, forcing tears to escape from the corners.
“Take me out,” I whisper. He doesn’t question it. He turns on his heel and tugs the door firmly closed behind us. It takes him only a fewstrides before he’s in front of my door, turning to face it and tipping his head forward.
“This one?”
“Yes,” I whisper, and he pushes it open, slipping us through the narrow opening before kicking it shut, and throwing the bolt into place. He sets me down gently on my feet, making sure I am steady before he takes his hands off of me.
“Don’t move.”
My skin prickles at the determination in his eyes, and the hardening of his jaw. He turns his back on me and begins searching the room, looking in every space, closet, opening; anywhere someone might be hiding. He checks behind curtains and underneath the bed before disappearing into the adjoining bathing chamber.
Moments later he reappears, and a bit of the tension has lessened, though not much. He wordlessly strides over to me, this time lifting me with tenderness and concern. Where I normally would snap at him and tell him I can walk, especially now that we are alone without pressure and observations of everyone around us, I don’t. I want him to hold me, to take care of me, like only he knows how, and like he always feels compelled to do.
I once told him I wasn’t fragile, but right now, I feel like if he lets me go, I will shatter.
He brings me into the bathing chamber and sets me on the wooden bench that sits alongside my tub. Dropping into a crouch before me, his forehead presses into mine and his hands cradle my jaw.
“Fucking gods,” he growls. “I thought I lost you.” His voice is harsh, but the crack filled with emotion sends a dagger through my heart. I’ve only seen him let his walls down like this once before, and even back then, when we thought we had experienced the worst, it was nothing compared to how he is now.
His shoulders shake with shuddering breaths, and he squeezes his eyes shut. I know he wants to be closer, to touch me, to show me hislove in the way he feels it the most, but he won’t, not after the way my body was abused. He would never inflict pain when he does everything in his power to keep me from feeling it.
“I thought so too.” I speak through the pain, through the lump forming in my throat, grateful that I can make any noise at all. He lifts his chin, and my vision blurs as I watch his glassy eyes search mine. His thumbs stroke my cheeks, and his eyes blaze a trail down my face, falling on my lips, then gliding lower to my throat. His jaw clenches at whatever he sees.
“I’m all right. I think,” I add.
He leans forward slowly, giving me every chance to tell him to stop, but I don’t. I may feel fragile, but that doesn’t apply to him. I need him. I need to feel his strength, to know that he is going to catch me if I fall. I need to feel his love.
His lips are soft as they press into mine ever so slightly, just enough to create a chasm in my chest. I don’t know what the pain behind his eyes would have looked like if I had succumbed to Dane’s attack. Thank the gods we will never find out.
“I tried to get to you.” His throat bobs as he swallows harshly. Shame and guilt wash over his features, and his shoulders slump in defeat. “Gods, I fucking tried, Lennox. I thought he had agreed. I thought he was going to let us disappear and take everything he wanted, but when he grabbed you, I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to kill every single one of them for keeping me from getting to you.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I could hear you, but I knew it was too late. I didn’t want you to see it.”
It isn’t until then that I notice how much Weston’s body took the brunt of his attempt to get to me. Trails of dried blood run down his face from gashes that have since clotted. Others still bleed a dark red into his hair, the deep bruises beneath them matching the ones on his eye and along the length of his jaw. And this is only what I can see on the surface.
Yet he never stopped. He never hesitated for even a moment to think about his own injuries or his own well-being.
