She swallowed, her throat dry, her voice thin but determined.
“No,” she said. “You feared losing me. That is not a failure.”
His grip tightened slightly, reverent, desperate.
“You deserved better than to be involved with someone who is being tracked by people who do that.
Genevieve drew in a shallow breath, willing strength into her voice.
“I need partnership,” she said. “Not protection born of fear. We must face dangers together.”
Gabriel’s gaze remained locked on hers, raw emotion flickering through his dark eyes. Her silent forgiveness was already woven into the gaze she offered him.
“I swear by it,” he said.
Genevieve’s lashes lowered briefly, exhaustion pressing upon her.
Still, she held onto his hand.
***
The door closed behind the nurse with a soft click, leaving the chamber hushed but for the low hiss of the fire and the quiet rustle of bedsheets as Genevieve adjusted herself against the pillows. Gabriel stood for a moment in the center of the room, the shadows dancing across the carved panels of the hearth and flickering gently over the soft contours of her face. Her hair had been loosely braided, the long plait resting over one shoulder, dark against the pale linen of her nightdress. Though the bruises had faded, the traces of her ordeal still lingered, delicate shadows beneath her eyes, the splint binding her arm, the way her breath caught faintly when she shifted too quickly. And yet, she met his gaze with a steadiness that stilled the restless beat of his heart.
He approached the bed slowly, every movement deliberate, each step carefully measured to match the solemnity of the moment. When he reached her side, he did not speak at once. Instead, he sat, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, his eyes fixed on hers with an intensity he could neither temper nor disguise. His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek with the lightest touch. Her skin felt warm beneath his fingers, and though her body bore the remnants of pain, her expression held only calm anticipation.
“Do you feel strong enough?” he asked, his voice low, roughened by emotion he had long learned to bury. He did not reach for her, did not press. His gaze remained steady, watching her closely, needing the answer to be hers alone.
She nodded, slow and quiet, but unmistakable. A faint blush crept across her cheeks, and her lips curved in the barest smile, a fragile echo of the vibrant woman who had first challenged him in his own garden. Gabriel exhaled softly, his throat tight, and leaned forward to press a reverent kiss against her brow.
With infinite care, he helped her loosen the ties of her nightdress, his hands steady though every part of him trembled beneath the surface. The linen slipped over her shoulders, the fabric yielding to his touch as he peeled it away, revealing the delicate line of her collarbone, the smooth skin above the wrappings around her ribs. He moved slowly, mindful of every wince, every tiny intake of breath,pausing whenever her expression changed, seeking the smallest flicker of discomfort. She bore his attentions with quiet trust, her eyes never leaving his, and when the last of the garment was drawn away, he gathered her gently into his arms.
They lay back together, her head resting against the hollow of his shoulder, his hand cradling her uninjured side. His lips found hers, soft and searching, a kiss that asked rather than took. He lingered there, learning her again, tasting the breath she released, the delicate flutter of her lashes against his cheek. When his mouth traveled lower, to the curve of her jaw, the gentle hollow beneath her ear, she sighed his name so softly it felt like a prayer.
His hands followed, exploring with reverence, each touch carefully plotted around the areas still healing. He traced the line of her spine with aching tenderness, memorizing the texture of her skin, the quiet tremble of her breath as he moved lower. His body ached with restrained longing, but it was not desire that guided him. It was love—unadorned, unguarded, the kind he had never permitted himself to feel, let alone offer.
He entered her slowly, his forehead pressed to hers, their breath mingling in quiet unison. Her hand gripped his arm, her touch a reassurance rather than a plea, and he watched her face intently for any sign of strain. There was none. Only warmth, trust, and something deeper, something he had not dared name until this moment.
He moved gently, each stroke a silent vow. She arched into him with a grace that stole his breath, her eyes fluttering closed as she gave herself over fully, without fear, without hesitation. He kissed her again, more deeply this time, their mouths parting in perfect accord, and as her body tightened around him, her name broke from his lips in a whisper meant only for her ears.
The pleasure rose slowly, a tide that swept wildly and swiftly between them both, and when it broke, it did so not with ferocity, but with quiet wonder, like the first sunlight spilling through storm-tossed clouds. Her fingers twined with his, their palms pressed together as if in benediction. He held her through it, murmuring her name, pressing kisses to her temple, her throat, the unmarked stretch of her shoulder.
Afterward, he did not move away. He wrapped her close, his hand spread over the curve of her hip, anchoring her against him with a protectiveness that went bone-deep. She rested her head against his chest, her breathing slowing, her body warm and pliant in his arms. For a long time, neither of them spoke. They simply remained there, cocooned in shared silence, a silence that no longer held dread or doubt, but something far rarer.
When he finally looked down at her, her eyes were half-lidded, her lashes dark against flushed skin. He stroked her hair slowly, each pass of his hand a silent litany of gratitude and awe. She had come back to him. She had lived.
And he would never stop thanking the heavens for it.
***
The air in the bedchamber was warm, perfumed faintly with lavender and beeswax, the fire cast a muted glow over the rugs and the white coverlet pulled neatly at her waist. Genevieve leaned back into the pillows, her body propped carefully, a cushion tucked at her injured side, her arm resting in its splint. The pain had dulled these past days, replaced by a steady ache that reminded her she had survived. Tonight, however, she felt something else far removed from pain or recovery. Gabriel’s nearness brought with it a gentle heat, slow and sure, kindled not by passion alone, but by the solemn tenderness in his eyes, the way he looked at her as though she were both fragile porcelain and the very air he needed to breathe.
When he touched her, it was with exquisite care. His hands moved over her skin as though reacquainting himself with each inch, every motion was deliberate and unrushed. She had expected hesitance, perhaps even guilt, after everything that had passed between them, but there was none. Only love. Only reverence. Despite the hurt she had endured from his retreat, despite the long silence and the lingering questions that had haunted her in the weeks following the attack, she felt no resistance within her now. She gave herself over completely, not in resignation, but in absolute trust.
Her body, long starved of his closeness, answered him easily, the heat blooming low and certain as he kissed her, as his hands traced the length of her back, as he murmured her name into the curve of her shoulder. When he entered her, slow and careful, her fingers tightened around his, not from fear but from a rush of feeling so vast she could not contain it. His rhythm remained gentle, never hurried, every movement calibrated to her comfort. Their eyes met often, and in those moments, she saw no shadow of the man who had once turned away. She saw only the man who had knelt beside her sickbed and refused to leave her side, the man whose hands now trembled not with desire, but with devotion.
Each kiss he gave her, each caress, each deep, measured thrust, felt less like a claiming and more like a promise—unspoken yet binding. Her heart swelled with the certainty of it, and when release came, it was not shattering, not overwhelming. It unfolded like a blossom warmed by sun, leaving her breathless, tearful, filled with something too sacred for words.
Afterwards, he held her close, their limbs tangled beneath the sheets, her head nestled at his shoulder. The pain in her ribs had quieted, her arm nestled between them, his warmth a balm far more potent than any tincture. They lay in silence, the kind unmarred by awkwardness or fear, and watched the moonlight drift across the chamber floor in pale ribbons.
