She watched him as he finished his last bite and stood up, taking both their plates to the sink, soaking them in. She took a towel and stood beside him, waiting for him to answer.
“Yes, he’s okay.”
Something heavy she hadn’t known had been inside her lightened a bit.
“You’ve been keeping an eye on him, haven’t you?” she asked, needing to know he was watching over, looking after the one thing between them.
“I have. Just like I’ve been keeping an eye on you.”
Relief unfurled in her belly. When the Shadow Man decided to watch over someone, they were safe.
Overcome with emotion, she impulsively stepped into his back and wrapped her arms around his middle, feeling him still with the plates in his hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered into his back, her voice quivering with so much feeling she felt her chest overflowing with it. “Thank you so much.”
He turned around within her embrace, taking a hold of her face in his hands, his dual eyes blazing on hers. “For you, anything.”
He brushed their noses together in the lightest of kisses, the sensation burning through her entire body. Lyla could not remember being embraced by anyone, had no memory of feeling as safe as she did right then.
“Hold me, please.”
His hands tightened around her and he pulled her in, her face going into his chest, her nose filled with his distinctive, masculine scent, her body full of the warmth of his. He held her close, and listening to his heartbeats, feeling everything she was feeling, she could almost believe he felt it too.
Chapter sixteenHim
He had to tell her about her brother, about who she was. But she wasn’t ready yet. With the way her mind was grappling with her life and reality, something like this could break her. He had asked Dr. Manson about it, asked her if revealing her past would help her progress, and he advised against it too for the moment. She was fragile at the moment, still hurting, still healing, and he needed her fully ready to handle it when she learned the truth.
And he was selfish. He knew if she knew she had a family, a brother who had been looking for her for over twenty years, she would eventually go to him. And he couldn’t have that, not until he was certain that she would return of her own will back to him, because the only other option would mean abducting her from Caine and making them all his enemies. And while he didn’t give a fuck about their enmity, the rift would end up hurting her in the friction, so he would rather avoid it. He didn’t like her hurt.
He watched from the shadows as Tristan and Morana talked to the child psychologist he had sent their way unbeknownst to them, an old student of Dr. Manson. Morana was listening more animatedly than her lover. He liked Morana as much as he could like another human being. She was smart, determined and stubborn, and she knew how to look out for herself. He respected all of those in a human being. That’s what made them interesting to maneuver. She also seemed to be genuine, something he was glad for because Tristan was the biggest threat to him. Not because he was more powerful or more lethal, but simply because he had a connection and devotion to Lyla that she craved. A better man would let her go and let her find some happiness with another. A better man would let her go and let her satisfy her cravings somewhere else.
He wasn’t a better man. Fuck, he wasn’t even a good man.
And once upon a time, he might have let go of her. But not now. Not when she’d run from him and roused the animal inside him he hadn't known he'd had. Not when she’d shattered in his arms and let him anchor her and bring her back. Not when she’d given him another piece of herself, trusting him to keep her safe. She had cooked him a meal like he was special, embraced him like he was someone worth holding, and looked at him with emotions a demon of death like him had never seen, and certainly didn’t deserve.
It was the little things—the way she broke down over tea in his kitchen and put herself together again, the way she thirsted to learn and constantly be better for herself, the way she forgave him and let him in. It was the way she staked a claim on him and the way she trembled for his touch, the way she didn’t run when he told her of the death he wreaked for her, the way she accepted his soulless form into her soft heart. It was the way she stole glances at him, the way she stole his t-shirts, the way she stole parts of him too.
There was no fucking way he was ever going to let go of her.
He had long left obsession and entered into a whole new territory, one he didn’t even recognize because it was more.
More obsessive. More intensive. More possessive. More.