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Patience sat up, a cold rush of fear making her alert.

“No, Papa…” He thrashed, jerking his head to his left. “Let me out! Please!”

He was crying. His face was distorted in a terrible grimace. Chastity had told her that Dorian had protected her against his papa. Dorian, her damaged and wounded husband… Patience was desperate to help release him from this painful experience.

“Let me out, please!” Dorian kept thrashing.

Let him out of where?

She wrapped her arms around him. “You’re safe, Dorian,” she said gently, stroking his damp face. “It’s all right.”

He clutched her like she was his last salvation.

She kissed him on his misted forehead, and he opened his eyes and froze, staring at her blindly, confused.

“Patience,” he mumbled, and wiped his face with both hands.

While her body was frozen in shock, quite strangely, part of her mind realized she’d just called him by his first name. For the first time.

And how right it felt on her lips, just as right as hearing her given name on his.

“Are you all right?” she asked, despite dozens of other questions rushing through her mind. “Did you have a nightmare?”

He sat up in his bed, leaning against the pillows. “I’m fine. I— What happened?” he asked, eyeing her carefully.

“You were dreaming. You called for your papa to let you out.”

She saw the exact moment his defenses slammed down, like a portcullis forbidding her access.

“Damnation,” he cursed quietly. “This is why I hadn’t wanted you to sleep in my bed, share my quarters, or come anywhere near me. I should have never let you in.”

All the things he’d said about his mama, about Bramble, the closeness they felt. The connection.

She felt like he’d just jerked that growing connection away. The words stung, and tears prickled her eyes. She nodded, defeated. Sometimes she felt like she was seeing more and more of him, glimpses of the man behind the fear, the pain, and the defenses. Other times, she felt like she’d never reach him. Never help him heal. Never be able to chase away the ghosts haunting him.

“I won’t ask,” she said.

That didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to find out more. But just for now, for his sake, she wouldn’t push him.

“But I don’t want to leave you alone in this state.”

He studied her, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob under his chin. Then he nodded, and she nestled against him once again.

Her treacherous body felt like she’d arrived home as his arms closed around her and pressed her into his hard chest.

“If you have any more nightmares,” she mumbled against his delicious skin as they both settled down into a lying position, “just give them to me. I won’t be afraid.”

21

The following day, Dorian stood in the doorway of a room he hadn’t set foot in for twelve years.

The outlines of furniture covered with white sheets were visible thanks to the sunlight peering through the narrow slits between the heavy curtains.

As Patience’s delicate hands grasped the edge of a curtain, panic surged through him, his heart racing at the thought of the light that would soon flood the space. It was easy to hide the pain of losing his mother in the darkness. The light would expose everything, and something akin to terror clawed its way through him.

“What room was this?” she asked.

He took a few steps into the darkness. Surprisingly, the floor didn’t open up under his feet. “Mama’s sitting room,” he croaked.