Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Dark
The storm raged for three days, trapping the household inside.
On the second night, while the wind screamed against the slate roof tiles, Dominic woke from a nightmare. He was back in the warehouse. The smell of burning flesh, the blinding flash of white light, the sound of Damian's laughter echoing through the smoke.
He bolted upright in bed, gasping for air, his heart slamming against his ribs like a sledgehammer. His hand shot out to the nightstand, knocking over a crystal water carafe. It shattered on the floorboards with a sharp CRASH.
Dominic scrambled out of bed, his unseeing eyes wide with terror, his feet catching in the tangled bedsheets. He hit the floor hard, his knee twisting painfully, his hands striking the sharp shards of glass.
"Damian!" he roared into the dark, his voice hysterical, wild. "Damian, you bastard!"
The door flew open.
Meline hadn't been sleeping. She had been sitting in the hallway outside his room, bundled in her coat, monitoring the fire.
She rushed into the room, taking in the scene instantly: the shattered glass, the dark blood pooling around Dominic's palms, the tall, dangerous king reduced to crawling on his knees in his own silk pajamas.
She didn't hesitate. She stepped over the glass, knelt beside him, and grabbed his upper arms.
Dominic struck out wildly, his hand catching her shoulder, knocking her backward. "Get away from me! Don't touch me!"
Meline got right back up. She didn't flinch. She crawled straight back into his space, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled his heavy chest against her own.
She held him with everything she had, burying her face into his throat, letting him feel the steady, rhythmic beat of her heart, the warm, living reality of her body against his terror.
Dominic froze. His hands, dripping blood, hovered in the air beside her ears.
"Meline?" he whispered, his body shaking uncontrollably.
She squeezed him tighter. She ran one hand up into the dark, thick hair at the back of his head, gently pressing his face into her shoulder.
"They're coming for me," Dominic choked out, his voice breaking completely as months of repressed agony burst through his pride. "They took my eyes, Meline. They took my family. They left me in the dark..."
Meline began to rock him—a gentle, swaying motion on the cold wooden floor amid the shattered crystal. She didn't have words to offer him. She had no sweet promises to whisper. But she gave him her strength, her warmth, her refusal to leave his side.
Slowly, the violent tremors in Dominic's chest began to subside. His breathing slowed from ragged gasps to deep, trembling inhalations. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, smelling the faint scent of tea rose soap and cold winter rain.
His arms came around her waist, locking her to him, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe—but she didn't care.
"Don't leave," he rasped into her skin. "Please. Don't leave me in the dark."
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Meline took his bloody, wounded hand, brought it up to her face, and held it gently against her cheek.
I'm not going anywhere.
