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"Ais?" I call out softly, but there's no answer. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet hitting the cold floorboards as I stand. My eyes scan the room, searching for any sign of her. Nothing.
I pad silently toward the door, my senses on high alert. I can feel the weight of my responsibility toward her growingheavier with each step. She needs me, and I'll be damned if I let anything happen to her. I can't smell anyone else who may have trespassed in the apartment, and there's no way they know where she is after that huge storm...but I'm still nervous.
I need to protect her.
She's mine...even if she doesn't know it yet.
"Aisling!" I call again, louder this time. Still no answer. Tension coils in my gut, making my heart race and my breath come faster.
I reach the stairs and descend cautiously, my hand gripping the railing for support as my eyes adjust. The darkness is near suffocating, pressing in on me from all sides. I've always thought Luka's place is spooky, and I don't really get how he lives here when he's surrounded by the ghosts of a faith no one follows anymore.
He's a bit creepy, I guess. That's his vibe.
Not mine.
Aisling's scent gets stronger when I reach the sanctuary, and I finally find her there. I catch sight of her standing at the altar, bathed in ethereal moonlight that lights up her pale skin and lavender hair. Relief floods through me, followed by an overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms and never let go.
"Aisling," I breathe, my voice barely audible. She doesn't turn to face me, her gaze locked on a statue at the front of the sanctuary. "I was worried."
"Couldn't sleep," she murmurs, her voice distant and hollow. It sends shivers down my spine. "Didn't mean to worry you."
"Are you okay?"
"Fine, Gunnar." Her tone is dismissive, almost cold. But I know better than to take it personally; the world has been cruel to her, and it's left its mark. "Or...at least I'm as fine as I'm going to get right now."
"Come back to bed," I say gently, taking a step closer. "You need to rest."
"Rest?" She scoffs, her laugh bitter and devoid of joy. "How can I rest when everything's falling apart?"
I close the distance between us, then reach out and place my hand on her shoulder. She flinches at the contact, but doesn't pull away.
"Hey," I say softly. "We'll figure this out."
"Okay," she whispers, finally turning to face me. Her eyes are haunted, the weight of her past bearing down on her like a crushing force. But as she looks into my eyes, something shifts.
She finds strength in our connection, just as I do.
"What are you doing down here?" I ask, gesturing at the statue. I realize now it's a statue of the Virgin Mary, draped in a cloak and holding out her hand with a comforting smile. There must have been a time when it was painted with a full palette, but the paint is now chipped and faded away. "I didn't realize you were religious."
"I'm not," she admits. "I just felt drawn to this. I don't remember my mother and it was nice to have one to talk to."
"Your mother?" I ask, stepping closer. The floorboards creak beneath my weight, and it makes me feel like I'm intruding on something private. I should offer to go back upstairs, leave her be...but I'm too worried to take my eyes off her.
"Yeah. All I know is my name, and that there was this horrible boat crash off the coast." She swallows hard, her voice breaking. "I ended up in Dreamland after that, and everything else is just...gone."
"Aisling..." I breathe, feeling the weight of her words settle over me.
But what can I say? What can I offer to heal the wounds left by a past that's been ripped away from her?
"Hey," she says suddenly, her voice stronger now, almost challenging. "You asked, so now you know. But don't go pitying me or anything, alright?"
"Wouldn't dream of it," I reply, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. We stand there for a moment, our eyes locked on each other, and something unspoken passes between us. "I don't care who you were or what happened to you. That doesn't matter to me."
"Really?" She looks at me skeptically, as if expecting some sort of catch.
"Really," I confirm, reaching out to gently cup her face in my hands. "I just want to protect you, be there for you. Whatever you need."
Her eyes well up with unshed tears, threatening to spill over onto her pale cheeks. She's washed off all her makeup, and she looks so different than she did when I met her at the club--younger, andsovulnerable. Maybe it's an act, but I want to believe she needs me.
