EZRA
I whispered a prayer under my breath as I dragged Malachai inside, my heart hammering in my chest. He was heavy, his body sluggish with exhaustion and blood loss, but I didn't care. He was here. He was alive. That was all that mattered. My dislocated arm screamed in protest, but I ignored it. Pain had become second nature to me.
"Is he dead?" I muttered under my breath, my voice barely above a whisper. It wasn't a question; it was a desperate plea.
Malachai let out a strained chuckle, his lips twitching as he glanced at me through heavy lids. "No," he rasped, wincing as I helped him up the stairs. "Last-minute business trip."
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. Of course, Lucius had a last-minute trip. That bastard never ran out of excuses to escape the consequences of his cruelty. I gritted my teeth, focusing on the warmth of Malachai's body pressed against mine instead of the fury bubbling inside me.
The mansion was silent, the air thick with something unspoken. The guards were probably still outside, basking in the false security of Lucius' absence. Good. That meant we had a moment…just a moment…of peace.
Step by step, we made our way up the grand staircase. Malachai's breath was uneven, his fingers gripping my uninjured shoulder like a lifeline. He was hurting, bleeding, and yet… yet his eyes never left mine. A storm raged in them, something unreadable, something dangerous.
The moment we reached the hallway upstairs, something shifted. Maybe it was the way my fingers clutched his shirt too tightly. Maybe it was the way his hand curled around my waist instead of my shoulder. Maybe it was the sheer weight of everything we had been holding back for too long.
But the next thing I knew, Malachai turned me around, and his lips crashed against mine.
I gasped, startled, but I didn't pull away. I couldn't. His kiss was desperate, raw, like a man who had just survived hell and needed something, someone…to remind him he was still alive. My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer despite the aching pain in my arm. His taste was intoxicating, the scent of blood and gunpowder still clinging to his skin, but beneath it, there was him. Malachai.
Lucius be damned. The cameras be damned. The world be damned.
Malachai groaned into my mouth, his fingers digging into my waist as if afraid I'd slip away. He was weak, barely standing, but that didn't stop him. He pressed me against the wall, his body caging mine, his warmth searing through my thin clothes.
"You're insane," I whispered against his lips.
"Tell me to stop," he challenged, his forehead resting against mine, his breath hot and uneven. "Tell me to let you go."
I swallowed hard. I should. I should tell him to stop, to think, to remember who he was, where we were. But I didn't want to. I couldn't.
Instead, I curled my fingers around the nape of his neck and pulled him back to me.
His answering growl sent a shiver down my spine. The way his lips moved against mine was slow and controlled this time, savoring, as if memorizing every single second. His hands roamed my sides, careful yet possessive, tracing the outline of my ribs through the thin fabric of my shirt. I felt everything, the callouses on his palms, the heat of his touch, the unspoken promises laced between each kiss.
Malachai suddenly groaned, his body sagging slightly against mine. Reality came crashing down like a tidal wave.
"You're hurt," I murmured, pulling back, breathless.
He shook his head stubbornly. "Not now. Not when I…."
I silenced him with a soft peck, pressing my forehead against his. "Let me take care of you."
His grip on me tightened for a brief moment before he exhaled heavily, nodding. I slipped my arm around his waist again, guiding him down the hallway, our bodies still impossibly close. He didn't let go of me, not even for a second.
By the time we reached the bedroom…..my bedroom, Malachai was barely standing. I helped him onto the bed, watching as he collapsed against the pillows with a pained grunt. The sight of his bloodstained shirt made my chest tighten.
"I need to get the first aid kit," I muttered, turning to leave, but his fingers curled around my wrist, stopping me.
"Stay."
I hesitated, my eyes flickering to his. There was something in them that made my heart ache, vulnerability, desperation. He didn't want to be alone. Not tonight. Not after everything.
Slowly, I nodded, climbing onto the bed beside him. His hand found mine, squeezing it lightly as his eyes fluttered shut. I traced small circles on the back of his palm, grounding myself in the moment.
Whatever tomorrow held, whatever chaos awaited us, it didn't matter.
For now, this was enough.