The cabin was silent, save for the steady, rhythmic breaths from Lucien behind her. Taryn lay still, wide awake despite the exhaustion weighing down her limbs. She could feel the slow rise and fall of Lucien's chest against her back, the steady thump of his heartbeat—slower than hers, but reassuring all the same.

She told herself she was too uncomfortable to sleep. That the warmth of his body was suffocating, not comforting. That the weight of his arm draped lazily over her waist wasn't making her feel… safe.

But it was a lie, and she hated herself for it.

The chain rested heavily atop them, a cold and unyielding presence, as if mocking her for every second she hadn't pulled away. It didn't just tether their wrists—it dragged them into a closeness she wasn't ready for, into something that felt far more dangerous than magic.

Just as she began to drift into restless thoughts again, Lucien shifted behind her. His arm tightened slightly, pulling her closer without fully waking. His hand splayed at her side, fingers curling instinctively as if he were anchoring her to him in his sleep.

Her breath caught.

"Relax, warrior," he murmured, his voice a low, sleepy rumble that curled deep in her chest. "I can hear you thinking from here."

"Lucien." She hissed his name like a warning, but it came out breathless, betraying her.

He stirred again, this time pressing his face into the curve of her neck. His breath fanned across her skin, warm and steady, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

"Hmm…" His sleepy hum rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her back. He shifted closer, his lips grazing the nape of her neck in a way that felt far too deliberate for someone unconscious.

"Stop that." She squirmed, trying to pull away, but his arm only tightened around her waist.

"Stop what?" His voice was a low murmur, smooth as silk. "Being comfortable? Breathing?"

"You weren't asleep, were you?" she muttered, hating the way her pulse raced under his touch.

"Mmm…" His chuckle was a soft, sleepy thing, his voice rough at the edges. "Caught me."

Taryn scowled, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs. "You're impossible, and I'm tired." The words were clipped, sharper than she intended. Anything to keep her from falling into whatever trap he was laying.

"Hmm" His chuckle was low and indulgent, sending a slow ripple of warmth through her chest. "Funny. You don't feel tired."

Taryn scowled, tightening her grip on the blanket as though it might anchor her. "I don't 'feel' anything."

"Liar," he whispered, not unkindly.

Her pulse spiked erratically. Letting someone in was a risk—a risk she'd sworn not to take again. And yet, here she was, teetering dangerously close to the edge.

"I could move," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him. "I should move."

Lucien's hand shifted slightly—just slightly—the weight of it pressing down a little more firmly at her waist, not a grip, just a reminder. "You could," he murmured, his lips brushing close to her ear without quite touching. "But you won't."

Her breath stuttered in her chest, heat crawling up the back of her neck. She clenched her jaw, hating how every word out of his mouth made her heart race faster.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she whispered harshly, trying to summon the anger that always shielded her.

"Very much," Lucien murmured, his voice thick with quiet satisfaction. His arm only tightened, his hand brushing along her side in a slow, lazy sweep.

"I don't want this."

"Liar." Lucien made a sound deep in his throat—soft and amused, as if he already knew the truth and was waiting for her to admit it. "You don't hate me, and you don't hate this."

She squeezed her eyes shut, her fists balling tight in the blankets beneath her. "You're not as charming as you think."

"Oh, but you like it when I try," he whispered, his lips brushing close—so close—along the line of her ear, never quite touching, just enough to make her shiver. "Don't you?"

Her chest tightened painfully, heat coiling low in her belly despite every effort to keep it at bay.

"You're ridiculous," she muttered, but her voice wavered, betraying her resolve.

"Maybe." His voice softened, dipping into something warmer, more intimate. His hand stilled at her waist, resting gently, his grip loose enough that she could pull away if she wanted. But she didn't move. "You feel different," he murmured. "Warmer than I thought you'd be."

Taryn swallowed hard, trying to ignore the strange twist in her stomach at the implications of his words. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Lucien chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble against her skin. "Nothing. Just thinking out loud." He shifted again, settling back into the pillows, his arm still draped lazily over her. "You're easier to hold than I expected."

She let out a breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. "You're going to regret this in the morning."

"Doubt it." His voice was soft, unguarded in a way she hadn't heard before. "I don't regret much, warrior."

The words hung between them, heavy and strange in the quiet of the night. For once, there was no teasing, no smirking edge to his tone. Just simple honesty.

And damn it all, that was worse.

"You're warm," Lucien murmured, voice slipping deeper into the edges of sleep.

"You already said that."

"Mmm." His lips brushed against her neck again, so light it could have been a dream. "Can't help it. You are."

She was about to snap at him—something sharp and cutting to mask the flutter in her chest—but then his hand moved.

Slowly, lazily, his fingers brushed along her side in a soft, meandering stroke, tracing the curve of her waist through the fabric of her shirt. The touch was maddening in its gentleness, more soothing than teasing, and somehow that made it worse.

"Lucien." Her voice was sharper this time, but even she could hear the waver in it.

"Hmm?" He didn't stop, his fingers tracing idle patterns at her hip. "Problem, warrior?"

"You know exactly what you're doing."

His laugh was soft, husky with exhaustion. "Maybe."

She tensed again, preparing to twist out of his hold—but before she could, Lucien leaned in, his voice low and smooth in her ear.

"Relax," Lucien murmured, voice low and thick with exhaustion, as if he could feel the tight coil of resistance humming through her muscles. "I'm not going to hurt you, warrior."

"This isn't happening," she whispered before she could stop herself.

She hated how easy it was to lie still. She hated even more that her body craved the warmth, after so long without it. Relying on someone had only ever gotten her hurt.

Lucien chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her back. "Tell yourself that all you want. But you still haven't got up."

Taryn scowled, twisting slightly in his grip, but his arm tightened—just enough to stop her without hurting her.

"Don't be stubborn," he murmured against her ear, his breath warm on her skin. "We both know you need the rest."

"I don't need anything. especially not from you"

"You can say that," Lucien said, his voice dipping into something softer, more amused. "But here you are. Letting me hold you."

Her heart slammed against her ribs, her pulse loud in her ears. She hated how calm he sounded, how certain—as if her resistance was just part of the game.

"You're insufferable."

"And you're beautiful when you're mad," he murmured, his voice dropping to a slow, velvet whisper. "Does it bother you? Being this close to me?"

Taryn swallowed hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. His arm remained draped over her waist, and she could feel the weight of his hand resting lightly on her hip, just enough to keep her there.

"You don't need to fight it," Lucien whispered, his lips brushing so close to her ear that it made her shiver. "You're exhausted." His teasing faltered again for just a moment—just long enough for Taryn to catch the flicker of something unguarded in his gaze, something that made her heart skip in ways it shouldn't.

"I don't need taking care of," she whispered, though her voice faltered, and suddenly it felt like a lie.

"You always need to be the strong one, don't you?" His voice was quiet, a gentle observation wrapped in amusement, but there was no mockery in it. "You carry it all by yourself. Even when you don't have to."

The words landed too close to home, knocking the air from her lungs. She clenched her fists, wishing she could summon the anger she so desperately needed to shield herself from him. But all she felt was the warmth of his body against hers, steady and unwavering.

"You don't know me," she muttered, her voice thin and brittle.

"No?" Lucien's hand shifted slightly, his thumb brushing a slow, lazy circle against her hip, sending a shiver racing down her spine. "I know you won't admit it, but you like this."

Before she could snap back, he shifted closer, his chest pressing more firmly against her back, his hand sliding just an inch higher along her side. The intimacy of the moment was unbearable—slow and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world.

"I've got you," he whispered. There was no teasing this time, no smugness. Just simple, quiet assurance. "You can sleep, Taryn. I won't let anything happen to you." he murmured, and for a split second, she almost believed him.

The words hit harder than they should have. It was his quiet, raw sincerity that settled painfully in her chest like a weight she hadn't realized she was carrying. She hated how much she wanted to believe him.

It would be so easy to believe him. That was the problem.

"You're the worst," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

Lucien's laugh was a soft huff against her skin, stirring something in her chest she wasn't ready to name. "You say that like it's an insult."

She squeezed her eyes shut, hating how easily the words settled into her. "This means nothing."

"If that's what you need to believe." He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the curve of her neck, just above where his fangs had pierced her skin earlier. The sensation was enough to pull a sharp breath from her lips, her pulse jumping beneath his mouth.

"You're—" she started, but the words tangled in her throat, lost beneath the weight of his touch.

"I know. The worst, I get it." His lips barely moved against her skin, and his voice was so quiet it was almost a secret. "I could pull you closer, you know," Lucien's voice slipped lower, more dangerous. "If that's what you want."

Her heart stuttered, a breath caught halfway between panic and something worse. "I don't."

"No?" His thumb brushed over her waist—once, just the slightest, fleeting caress—before settling back into stillness. "Then why haven't you moved?"

Her throat tightened. "Because you won't let me."

"I would," he murmured, the barest hint of a smile in his voice. "If you wanted to go, I'd let you."

"You're insufferable," she whispered, but it came out more like a sigh.

"And you're soft," he murmured, brushing his lips once more against the curve of her neck, a teasing kiss that sent heat rushing through her veins. "Even when you don't want to be."

"Gods, I hate you," she whispered, though even she didn't believe it anymore.

"Good," he murmured, brushing another kiss against her skin—this one slower, more deliberate. "That'll make tomorrow interesting."

His words slipped under her skin, slow and deliberate. She knew he could feel it—in the way her body tensed, the way her breath wavered. The way her heart pounded so hard she swore it would give her away.

And then, as if to confirm it, he leaned in just enough to murmur against the curve of her neck: "I can feel it, you know."

Her whole body went rigid, heat pooling low in her belly. "Feel what?" she whispered, even though she knew.

Lucien's lips brushed so close to her ear that it was almost a kiss—almost, but not quite. "How fast your heart is beating."

The words sank deep, wrapping around her like the chain around their wrists, and she hated—hated—how it made her stomach twist with something that wasn't fear.

"You're imagining things," she whispered, though the lie felt heavy and harsh on her tongue.

"Am I?" His thumb brushed once—just once—along the fabric at her hip. The touch was light, fleeting, and devastating, leaving her breathless in its wake.

The heat of his hand seeped through her shirt, grounding her in ways that felt far too dangerous. It wasn't just his touch—it was the ease of it, the way it slipped under her defenses without even trying.

Taryn squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stay still. Every inch of her body felt like it was burning from the inside out.

"You're so sure of yourself," she muttered. "It's disgusting."

"Goodnight, warrior," Lucien whispered, his voice soft and content.

Taryn didn't respond. She couldn't. Because if she spoke, she might admit something she wasn't ready to face—not yet.

For a moment, she lay there, frozen, her breath shallow, her heart pounding too loudly in the stillness. Lucien's hand remained at her waist, warm and steady. His presence was overwhelming—too close, too much—but somehow, it didn't feel suffocating. It felt… safe.

She let herself relax—just a little—against the steady warmth of him.

As sleep finally pulled her under, Taryn told herself it didn't mean anything.

But the warmth at her waist—and the steady thrum of Lucien's heartbeat against her back—said otherwise.