Page 79 of Labyrinthine
“Because you were the only one I had.”
The admission makes my throat tighten. I didn’t mean to say it. But now that it’s out, I can’t take it back.
Mallen’s expression shifts—barely—but enough. Not with pity. It’s quieter than that.
A kind of ache held too long behind the ribs. Something patient. And ruinous. Understanding, maybe. Or restraint.
“You didn’t lose me, Azhara,” he says quietly. “I haven’t gone. I’m not standing where I used to, but I’ve not stopped being yours. I’ve always been yours. You’re just starting to see how things have always been.”
My breath hitches.
“I don’t know what we are anymore,” I whisper.
“We don’t have to name it,” he replies. “Not until you’re ready. But don’t pretend it’s nothing. Not after everything. Not after the way you look at me when you think I won’t notice.”
“I’m afraid,” I admit. “That if I let myself believe you mean it, I’ll fall. And this time, no one will catch me.”
He nods, slow and solemn. “Then fall,” he says. “I haven’t dropped you yet.”
He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him against my damp skin. His gaze drags down my body—nothing indecent, just observant, like he’s cataloging every bruise and frayed edge I’m trying to hide.
“Take it off,” he murmurs, nodding to my gown. “You’ll catch a chill.”
I hesitate.
“I won’t touch you,” he says.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
He lifts a brow. “Didn’t say you did.”
For a long moment, we just stare at each other. Then I reach behind my neck and slowly undo the clasps of my gown. I let it fall in a sodden heap, standing in the shift beneath. He doesn’t look away. But he doesn’t move either.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asks.
I don’t answer right away. I cross the room—deliberately—to the hook where a fresh robe waits. I slip it on, relishing the dry silk against my skin, and cinch it tight at the waist.
“No,” I say at last. “I want you to stop treating me like I’m broken.”
He tilts his head. “I don’t think that.”
“You act like I might shatter.”
“I act like you’ve been made to believe you should.”
I blink.
He sits down on the edge of the low couch, bracing his forearms on his knees. “I know you. I’ve seen you lie, manipulate, scheme, and survive. You don’t see yourself doing it, but you do. And I’ve seen you choose mercy when no one else would. You think no one sees that either. But I do.”
“I’m not the girl you first met, Mallen.”
“I know,” he says again. “Nor am I the man you thought I was.”
I cross the room, barefoot and slow. “Then who are you?”
He meets my gaze, and for the first time in months, he doesn’t look angry. He looks tired. And sad. And real.
“The man who’s tried to protect you for years without ever touching you,” he says. “One who doesn’t know how much longer I can keep doing that. I gave up everything that did not serve your safety. I called it honor and I believed it. Now, I have nothing left to trade but the truth that I want you and the fact that I am breaking on the edge of it.”
