“We cannot remain locked in this room forever.” His warm breath ghosted across her temple as he focussed on his work. “Somehow, we will have to either kill the creatures or drive them out of the house.”
“Do we have any kind of long-range weapon? Guns?” She squinted against the pain as he washed blood out of the cuts. “Or, uh, crossbows?”
He chuckled. “That would make for an exciting encounter. But I’m afraid not. My family did not approve of guns in the house. We have kitchen knives and bludgeoning weapons.”
“That’s not ideal.”
“No. But I don’t think we have a choice. Somehow, we must find a way to secure the house. Otherwise, we might be surviving, but we certainly won’t be living.”
She agreed. Winterbourne had been her home for only a few weeks, and she already felt the squeeze of being restricted to the bedroom. For Dorran, who had lived there his whole life, it had to feel like an invasion. This was his home. He might not have loved the building, but having his sanctuary infiltrated had to smart.
“We will wait until morning. Right now, these creatures are in their element in the dark. They will be easier to find—and fight—during bright daylight. I don’t think they enjoy noise either.”
Clare closed her eyes as Dorran finished washing the cuts and moved on to the antiseptic. “We can open the curtains to let extra light in as we go.”
“The house will need to be scouted systematically. Once we’ve searched a room and confirmed it is safe, we will lock its doors and find a way to ensure the seal stays untampered, perhaps with a thread tied to the handle so that it will snap if something opens it. If I start on the highest level and work down, the noise and disturbance might be enough to funnel them outside.”
“And once they’re out, we can lock them out.”
“Exactly.” He finished cleaning her wrist and unrolled the bandages. “This isn’t bad enough to require stitches, thankfully. But try not to strain it.”
“I can wrap a scarf around it or something for the fight tomorrow.”
“Hm…” He glanced at her. “No. I will search the house. You’ll stay here, where it is safe.”
“That’s not happening.” Just the thought was enough to turn Clare’s blood cold. “We had an agreement. We’re in this together, and no one is leaving anyone else alone.”
“But I also made a promise. To keep you safe.”
“Well, tough.” She tried to pull her hand out of his, but he tightened his grip on her, holding her still.
This time, when he looked at her, his expression was sharp and didn’t invite argument. “You are hurt. Tired. You have been under more stress in these last few days than any person should have to endure.”
“And you nearly froze in a lake. Besides, I can hold my own. I did in the forest.”
“You did.” He exhaled a shuddering breath. “But we were lucky as well. Clare, if I was not able to keep you safe… if you were hurt…”
He tied off the bandages as his voice failed, and Clare imagined what would happen if she lost to the creatures. She pictured the too-sharp nails and teeth digging into her, tearing through the skin and muscle in their desperation to sate their hunger. She shivered. “Well, we won’t let that happen. For either of us.”
There was something in his expression. She couldn’t read it. He’d always been a challenge to understand, but at that moment, it was harder than ever. His hand rested around hers, holding her lightly enough that she could easily pull away.
“I have never cared about anything as much as this,” Dorran finally whispered.
Clare frowned lightly. “What do you mean?” Survival? Defending the house? Is he talking about the garden or—
His eyes met hers for a brief second then glanced away again. “You.”
The world had grown muted. The wind, the house, even the fire faded into the distance until all she could feel was contained on that small fireside rug. Dorran. His halting, hoarse voice. The soft, barely there touch.
His head was down, his eyebrows low. He watched their hands, and she realised why he was holding her so lightly. He expected her to pull away. He was ready to let her go as soon as she showed reluctance. Clare thought she finally understood him.
He had always put her first—with their food, with their resources, and with his time. He’d thought she had destroyed their garden, but he’d followed her to apologise before he even knew she was blameless. He had done what he always did—he had tried to help her, selflessly, wholeheartedly, no matter the cost to him.
And he was kind, not in the way that expected anything in return and not that he was even trying to be kind. He just was. She hadn’t been able to see it at first. He had hidden it away behind formality and cool impassiveness, like a shield, guarding the parts of himself that could be hurt.
As they had spent time together, he’d begun to pull back his walls to let her see inside. It couldn’t have been easy for him. Those walls had been built over a lifetime, reinforced to protect him from a family that had given more cruelty than love. Lowering his defences made Dorran vulnerable, and he dreaded vulnerability more than anything else.
But at that moment, as he knelt beside her, he was completely open, completely exposed. His breathing was shallow, his head was low, and his eyes couldn’t meet hers even though he seemed to be trying. He was afraid, she realised. He’s learned that vulnerability leads to pain. It’s all he’s ever received. It’s the only outcome he thinks he can expect.
Yet in defiance of that, this man was offering himself to her, giving up his power to her. This beautiful, kind man.
She wanted to answer him, but she didn’t know the words. She wrapped both of her hands around his and lifted it. The skin was warm under her lips as she kissed the knuckles, one at a time. Dorran’s breath hitched. She pressed the back of his hand against her cheek, holding it there, hoping he would feel some of what she felt. The emotions were running through her in a flood, overwhelming her, almost painful in their intensity. They had to be spilling out, a tangible thing he could sense.
He breathed her name. The space between them was gone. His forehead touched hers. Clare sank into the sensations—the heat from his skin, the soft rush of his shallow breaths. He was so close. Long lashes framed his dark, intense eyes. His black hair mingled with hers. His lips were barely parted. She wanted to touch them, to know what he felt like.
He finally met her eyes. Another wall came down. She could read the emotions inside. Uncertainty. Shame and fear in equal measures. Hope—not much, but enough. And through that bewildering medley of emotions was adoration. It shone brightly, stronger than everything else.
It had always been there, she realised. It had been hidden carefully, disguised and smothered, but it had been growing with every day they spent together. He adored her.
Words were impossible. In their place, touch would do. She pressed into him, tilting up until her lips grazed his. A tremor ran through him like electricity. He moved to taste her again, cautiously, still expecting the sting of pain, but unwilling to withdraw. She held his hand to her face, and his fingers fanned out to touch her, to pull her into him. His lips were gentle and sincere, the taste exquisite. Everything about the kiss was so perfectly Dorran.
She was falling, losing herself in him, drowning but no longer afraid.