Page 82 of Her Creation

“Here.” She sat at her usual place at the end of the table, exhaling slowly. Her eyes drifted, unbidden, to her father’s empty chair.

This was the first time she had sat here since his death.

The grief rose sharp and sudden, stealing her breath. The noise her father’s throat had made before he fell. The sound of him landing. It all echoed in her mind. Flashing like thunder. Her hands moved to cover her ears, but they stilled.

The sound of a plate clanking against the table startled her back into herself.

“Here,” Innominatus said.

He had pulled the chair closest to her out and taken it, closing the distance between them. He nudged the plate toward her. “We will share.”

“No, you should have it.” She pushed the plate back, reflexive, automatic.

“No.” The word was quiet, but firm. He slid the plate back in front of her again. “You need it also. Your chains are different from mine, but it does not mean they are less bothersome.”

Her nose and eyes burned before she could stop it. He had noticed her struggle.

No one—no one—had spoken to her like that. Had seen her. Not since her father. And even he had never named her suffering so plainly. How she struggled to care for herself when the troubles in her mind took over.

Despite her stomach protesting, she took a piece of bread and ham, her fingers unsteady, stunned by his awareness. How could he see her so clearly while locked away beneath the castle, when those who passed her every day had looked straight through her—or worse, scolded her for not being like them.

They ate in silence, the air between them charged. Victoria became acutely aware of every sound: the slow movement of his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the heat radiating from his body so close to hers.

She couldn’t stop herself. “Do—do you remember—” The words lodged painfully in her throat. Embarrassment flushed her skin, but she forced herself forward. Being in his presence up here felt so different than in the laboratory. “Do you remember anything from…before you were resurrected? Anything…of me?”

She held her breath. She was a fool to ask, an idiot to hope, but seeing him out of the lab forced her to look at him as she once had, before all the grief and horror had taken over.

“No.”

The word landed like a stone.

Her stomach fell. She hadn’t realized how much she’d hoped that some part of him remembered those long hours, those quiet nights when she had been the only one there. The forbidden kiss. When they had shared something they shouldn’t have been able to. When he had kept her alive.

It was foolish. Of course it was.

Still, in this moment, she knew the truth of herself: she would have chosen him anyway. She would have kept his brain, spoken to him, cared for him, even knowing it went against her father’s wishes—knowing it would be her ruin.

Then he spoke again. “I do not remember your face or your voice from before I woke,” he said slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “But I remember the feeling of you. When I woke and saw your face, I knew who you were. When you are near or touch me, my entire being remembers you.”

Her breath caught.

“You are home,” he continued, voice low and devastatingly sincere. “And love. And life. And when your familiar hands touch my skin, every nerve inside of me reaches for you with remembrance. You cared for me when I was nothing. You gave me your blood and a heart you hold dearer than any other so that I could live—when I could not thank you, could not love you back. But now I can. Now I do.” He pushed the plate fully in front of her. “Even when you do not care for yourself,” he said, “I will care for you so completely that you have no choice but to remain.”

“Oh” was all she managed. Her heart pounded so fiercely at his words, she was sure it must be visible to him through her dress.

The kettle screamed suddenly, iron rattling violently.

She stood and he mirrored her, rising in the same instant. She froze, painfully aware of his size, of the way his presence filled the space. The way he focused on her. She followed him into the kitchen, her pulse loud in her ears.

They both stared at the small wooden wash tub.

Victoria ran her eyes over the ridiculously tall, muscular man, then back to the comically small tub. “It will have to work,” she said with a laugh. She poured the hot water into the bucket, steam curling upward. “You won’t be able to sit properly, but I’m sure you’ll manage. It’s all I have.” Her pulse pounded in her ears as she tried to figure out how to instruct him and leave before he got naked. Fire poured through her veins, heating her cheeks with embarrassment.

“Bath?” He pointed to the wooden tub that seemed to grow smaller every time Victoria glanced at it.

She twisted the linen rag in her hands, grounding herself. I’ve seen him naked before, she told herself. This is no different. He needs to be cleaned well.

“I need you to—” She turned toward the fire, stoking the flames, grateful for the excuse to hide her face. She could leave the room, but… “You have to undress. Please. And then step into the water. It may be hot—”