"I'm not—" My voice came out strangled. Barely a whisper.
"To me you are." His hand came up, his fingers brushing my cheek so gently I almost didn't feel it. "Let me do this for you. Let me be the monster so you don't have to be."
He was asking me to trust him with my rage. My need for vengeance. The thing that had kept me going when nothing else could.
My hands were shaking so hard now I had to press them against his chest to steady them. I felt his heartbeat beneath my palms. Strong. Steady. Alive.
I stared at him. At this massive, powerful creature who'd been fighting himself to pieces for me. Who looked at me like I was something precious. Who wanted to take my vengeance on himself just so I wouldn't have to carry it.
Who thought I was perfect.
But I was so tired. So tired of carrying everything alone. So tired of being strong and calculating and never letting anyone in.
"Okay," I whispered.
"Promise me."
My fingers curled into the pelt of his chest. My whole body was shaking now, trembling with the effort of letting go.
"I promise."
Something in his expression softened. Relaxed. Like he'd been holding his breath and could finally let it out.
I went back to stitching his wounds, but everything felt different now. Charged. Every touch of my hands on his skin felt deliberate. Intimate. Every time our eyes met, something passed between us that I didn't have words for.
When I finished the last stitch, I didn't pull away immediately. My hands stayed on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, the heat of him beneath my palms.
"Merrilee," he said, his voice rough.
I looked up.
The way he was looking at me made me want things I shouldn't want with someone I barely knew.
But I did know him. At least I knew the important things. I knew he'd fight until he broke to keep me safe. Knew he'd take my sins on himself if I'd let him. Knew that when he touched me, it was with a gentleness that made my chest ache.
"You should rest," I said, but I didn't move.
"So should you."
"Your ribs—"
"Will heal." His hand came up, cupping my face. "They always do."
"Not if you keep fighting."
"I'll keep fighting." His thumb brushed my cheekbone. "As long as it takes."
"You're going to drive me crazy."
"Good." The corner of his mouth lifted. Almost a smile. "Then we're even."
I should have pulled away. Should have put distance between us. Should have remembered that this was temporary, that we were here for a mission, that getting attached was dangerous.
But I didn't.
I leaned into his touch instead, letting myself have this moment. This connection. This strange, impossible thing growing between us in the middle of hell.
"Rest," I said again, softer this time.
