Chapter Thirty-Two
Sleet assaulted the windows. Ice-fuelled gusts rattled loose tiles and stones. But it was warm in the bedroom with the fire’s heat spreading over them.
They sat on the rug, nestled close to each other. Dorran’s arm was around her back, and his other hand was holding hers, their fingers entwined. They fit together well. Clare’s chest was full of raw happiness, a strange, intense sensation. Dorran’s chin rested on top of her head. When he exhaled, it was contented. She closed her eyes and smiled as Dorran’s thumb traced over the back of her hand. Clare tilted her head back to kiss his throat. A happy murmur rose from him, and she felt him smiling against the top of her head.
“So beautiful,” Dorran murmured. His guards were down. The normal hesitation had vanished as he opened himself to her. “You are so, so beautiful.”
She chuckled, pleased heat spreading over her face. “I’m nothing special. You should see my sister—” Her voice broke. She couldn’t believe she had let it fall from her mind. Marnie, Beth, and everyone she had ever known and cared for were lost out in the stillness. The radio waited beside the fireplace. Its static was barely audible. Beth’s frequency remained unused.
Dorran’s hand rose to touch her face. His dark eyes were filled with sadness as he watched her. “Clare—”
“I’m okay.” She tried to smile. The muscles ached. “It’s… it’s okay.”
“My dearest Clare.” He said it hesitantly as though he weren’t sure he was allowed to. It helped, though. The bittersweet sensation was back, a sad kind of joy mixed in with pain. Dorran lightly pulled her back against himself, and his lips brushed her forehead in a tender kiss.
“Thank you,” Clare whispered.
His reply was equally soft. “I am sorry I cannot do more.”
She looked towards the window. It was still dark, but each passing moment brought them closer to dawn. And dawn meant the horrors of the house would have to be faced. She licked her lips. “I want to go with you tomorrow.”
“Ah.” He exhaled then dipped down to kiss her cheek. The expression was gentle and almost painfully sweet, and Clare’s heart ached as he moved away again. “I know how much this worries you, but you must trust me. Stay here, where it is safe. I will return as quickly as I can.”
She swallowed. Her throat ached. “I’ll be useful. I can watch your back.”
“I am sure you would. I have no doubt that you would make a strong partner. But still, I am unrelenting.” He kissed her neck.
Clare leaned into his touch, relishing him, but her mind wouldn’t stop spinning. The mansion was so large. It had so many rooms, so many places to become trapped, so many places to be ambushed. And Dorran had been worn down over the last week. She’d nearly lost him to the lake. He would fight hard, but there was too much for one man to do.
“I can’t—” She took a gulping breath as she tried to put her feelings into words. “You’re all I have left right now. And… and I need you. I can’t do this without you.”
He looked at the door. She could feel the conflict running through him as he grazed his thumb over the back of her hand. At last, he said, “We can compromise. Perhaps there is a way for us to venture out together—not deep into the house, but somewhere nearby to assess the situation.”
“Okay.”
“But let us leave the details to negotiate until tomorrow. It must be near midnight, and we are both tired. We will benefit from some rest.”
That was the truth. Clare reluctantly nodded.
“Forgive me.” Dorran pulled back. “I forgot you haven’t eaten yet. Sit a moment while I reheat your soup.”
She tangled her fingers in his shirt. Even letting him move away to reach the bowl felt like too far. She was afraid if she tried to say anything, she would start crying again.
Dorran’s expression fell. He brushed his fingertips over her face, running them over her cheek and her lips. When he spoke, his voice was tight. “We will be all right, my darling. We can make this work.”
Clare nodded and let Dorran slip away. He reheated her soup then nestled her at his side while she ate it. She stared at the crackling flames, but her mind was on her other senses—the steady heartbeat and even breaths that moved under her ear, the distracting and entrancing feeling of his fingertips tracing over her arm, and the feel of his shirt under her cheek.
I can’t let anything happen to him. He needs to be safe.
She’d had those exact thoughts days before. Back then, though, it had been over something very different: the family that refused to let Dorran go.
A wash of cold moved through Clare despite the warm soup. She’d been so caught up in grief over her family that she hadn’t thought about Dorran’s. He was dealing with his own loss. His entire family, the staff he’d become friends with, his dog—every person he had ever been close to—were gone. She clasped her hand around his and held it tightly. “Your family—”
“Are most likely dead, yes.” He nudged her hand back to the bowl. “It is all right. Eat, my dear.”
“Are you… okay? I mean, I know your mother was horrible, but…”
Emotion flitted across his face, but he hid it quickly. When he spoke, the words were measured. “I regret losing many of them. The staff were not all bad. My nieces and nephews especially did not deserve it. And yet, for the first time in my life, I am free. I do not quite know how to feel about it. It is… a lot.”
“If you need to talk…”
He smiled. “Thank you. For now, I am looking forward, to our immediate priorities. Securing the house. Making sure you eat enough.” He pressed her hand towards the spoon again. “Once we are safe, there will be time for everything else.”
As Clare chewed another mouthful of dinner, she thought Dorran’s perspective might be the sanest they could adopt. Grief and guilt couldn’t protect them. They needed to stay alive, stay together. And that meant staying focussed.
They fell asleep like they had previous nights: together on the rug, huddled close for warmth, with Dorran’s arm thrown over Clare. She was tired enough to sleep for a full day, but her subconscious kept her dreams light and never let her stray far from wakefulness. She snapped to awareness when Dorran moved to add more wood to the fire. He lay back down, and she let sleep reclaim her again.
The second time Dorran stirred to keep their fire alive, Clare lay still and kept her eyes closed. She thought the sun was starting to rise. Even through her eyelids, the darkness felt less oppressive. Dorran’s movements were slow and near silent as he added new logs to the grate. Then, moving cautiously, he draped a spare blanket over Clare.
A featherlight kiss grazed her cheek. She felt his presence move away and heard the muffled scrape of the chair being pulled back from the door. A moment later, distant hinges ground against each other, then the latch clicked as the door was shut again.
He actually did it.
Clare rolled over and sat up. The room felt painfully lonely with just her in it. The bed had clean sheets but hadn’t been slept in for days. The wallpaper, which had seemed maddening when she’d first seen it, now felt familiar. Like she’d thought, the sun was just starting to rise. It was too early for it to breach the tips of the forest’s trees, but the deep black of night had faded.
She shivered as she stood and folded her arms around herself. The fire’s heat couldn’t keep her warm as she crossed to the door. She knew Dorran would have locked it, but she still had to try. The handle was unyielding, as expected.