I need you to wake up for me, okay?
Nazareth?
Open your eyes, Crazy.
Ian.
My eyes snap open on a gasp that scrapes my throat raw. The nightmare fractures and falls away, but the terror clings like wet silk to my skin. I’m in the villa. Greece. Moonlight slicing through half-open shutters, my heart still trying to claw its way out of my chest.
Ian is crouched beside the bed, one knee on the floor, his face close enough that I can see the worry etched between his brows. His hand is warm on my shoulder, steady in that way only he ever manages when the dark gets too loud. I reach for him without thinking, fingers wrapping around his wrist like it’s muscle memory.
“Ian…” My voice cracks.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs, low and calm, the same tone he used on every bad night. “Just a dream. Breathe with me.”
I do. In. Out. Matching the slow rise and fall of his chest until the room stops spinning. Sweat cools on my neck. The sound of my pulse in my ears fades enough to let other sounds in, ocean hissing outside. He doesn’t let go of my shoulder, not until I unclench my hand.
Only then do I look past him.
Reth stands by the window, half swallowed by shadow. The moonlight catches the sharp line of his jaw, the edge of his scar, the rigid tension in his shoulders, but the rest of him is dark, like he’s been carved out of the night itself and left there to bleed.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He’s just… watching. Looking at me like he’s lost me.
Ian follows my gaze, then gives my shoulder one last gentle squeeze. “You good?”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I am.
He stands slowly, reluctant, like he hates leaving me in this room with all the tension thickening the air. “I’ll be down the hall if you need me.”
For a single heartbeat, as he turns to the door, the two men look at each other. Reth’s stare is cold fire. Ian’s is steady, unreadable. There’s no challenge in it. No triumph. Just quiet understanding and something heavier underneath—something that makes my chest ache.
Then Ian slips out, closing the door behind him with a soft click that feels louder than it should.
The room shrinks. The moonlight feels colder. And Reth still hasn’t moved from the window.
I sit up slowly, sheets pooling at my waist. It’s Reth I can’t look away from—the way he stands there, moonlight painting silver edges along his bare shoulders and the hard line of his jaw. He looks like a man watching something precious slip through his fingers.
“Reth,” I whisper.
He flinches at the sound of his name. Just barely. But I see it.
I slide my legs over the edge of the bed and stand, the cool tile biting my bare feet. My nightshirt clings to my damp skin as I cross the room toward him. He doesn’t meet me halfway. He just watches, eyes that were winter-blue now storm-dark, chest rising and falling like he’s fighting not to shatter.
When I reach him, I don’t hesitate. I press my palms to his chest, feeling the thunder of his heart under my hands. He’s burning up. “What’s wrong?”
His hands stay fisted at his sides for one painful second longer. “I couldn’t wake you.” Then they snap up—rough, desperate—gripping my waist like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. He yanks me against him, hard enough that I gasp. His forehead drops to mine, breath ragged and hot against my lips.
“I tried. I was right here and I couldn’t fucking reach you. But he could.”
I slide my hands up, cupping his scarred face, thumbs brushing the raised line I know better than my own heartbeat. “I woke up because I heard your name in the dark. I was screaming foryou.”
His grip tightens, fingers digging into my hips. For a moment, I think he might kiss me—devour me, punish me, remind both of us who I belong to. But he just breathes me in, shaky and uneven, like he’s memorizing the feel of me before the world takes me away.
He lowers his mouth to mine, kisses me. Barely. A mere brush of lips, like air or a whisper. When he cups my cheeks, I hear himinhale, his shoulders tensing. “Your nightmares…it’s because of me.”
“No. It’s because of her. Because you go back to her.”
There’s a low groan in his throat, something between anger and ache. And he’s vibrating, tense and wired almost to breaking, and for half a second, I think he might just shatter in real time—all that beautiful control reduced to shards in my hands.
