Page 136 of Dishonored

This broken, beautiful man.

This wounded soul.

And yet, he went beyond even those things.

He was more.

He was the kind of man that even when she wanted nothing more than to kill him for the things he had done, she still wanted to see him sleeping in her bed.

What was she to do with that?

Aria hugged the Afghan blanket tighter around her shoulders, and stared at the sleeping man from her position across the room. She’d gotten up an hour ago when the sunlight first peeked through the window shades, but found herself drawn back to the bedroom despite everything.

Why?

Because a part of her wanted this man. Somehow, she had grown to care for him in all their vileness, and hurt. It was never more apparent to her than when she drifted back to the bedroom, and sat in the corner chair simply so that she could watch him sleep.

In his dreams, Caesar was at peace. He didn’t move, or want to hurt. He was relaxed, and even boyish in his features. Nothing like the sharp-edged, dangerous man he could be when his eyes were open, and his mind was ready to find the next thing to attack.

And even when he was like that, she enjoyed him, too.

Wanted that, too.

Aria knew it, then. She knew what it was that had wrapped its way around her heart like a fist squeezing the organ with a tight grip, and refusing to let her go. She knew because nothing in her life had ever quite had this sort of effect on her, and no one probably ever would again.

That terrified her.

Amazed her.

In everything they had done to one another, and within all the destruction they had caused, she loved him.

How, and why, and when.

Those were the things she didn’t know.

Didn’t understand.

And she didn’t know what to do about it.

The peace written in the hard, handsome lines of Caesar’s features were quick to leave as his eyes opened, and he stared directly at the window where the light was shining in. He took a moment, and blinked awake fully.

Aria didn’t move. “Sleep well?”

Rolling to his back on the bed, Caesar scrubbed his hands down over his face, and stared at her from the bed. “It’s only reality where my nightmares visit me.”

Yeah, she bet.

She knew that well.

Now, though, it was time to get back to that reality.

To life.

To her plan.

“I was thinking about what you said last night,” she murmured.

Caesar stretched his arms over his head, showing off his muscular, naked chest without even realizing how damn good he looked. And fuck him for doing it, too. He probably did know how he looked; he just didn’t care of the effect it had on women.