her hands raised and fingers splayed. Her eyes were wide, lips were forming words he couldn’t quite make out—he still heard his own steps beating across the ground, the jeers of the crowd.
Awake. You’re awake.
You’re safe.
He came back to himself and sagged, brick fireplace scraping his back. His hands shaking, he lowered the fire poker he’d grabbed, tried to calm down.
“You’re okay,” Addie was repeating. “Erik?”
But he remembered the dream, remembered the danger he was putting her in by being here.
He tried to rise but she reached for him, took his wrist and pulled him back down. Her small hands were firm, strong.
“Talk to me,” she said softly, her fingers drifting down to twine with his.
Erik crouched down again, stared at her. If her home was a sanctuary, he had to be hidden. It was just a dream, he wasn’t thinking clearly.
Was he?
“Erik?”
He swallowed dryly. His chest still rose and fell rapidly as he struggled to get his breathing under control—he felt like he’d actually been running.
Pillows waited around him; he cleaned them up during the day but at night she always put them back on the floor where he slept. It was a sweet gesture, and he felt bad that she worried about his comfort. But she didn’t know how he didn’t trust kindness, still.
Though looking at her, moonlight threading silver through her hair, her eyes on his, he thought maybe she did know.
She was in the dream .
Erik let out a breath, cast his gaze aside. A strange embarrassment rose up in him.
“Erik?”
He pulled his hand from hers, turned to settle back down once more. “Just a nightmare. I’ll go back to sleep.” But as he tried to lie down, he felt her hand run up his shoulder. Soft, warm. The gentleness hurt more than being hit did.
She moved, her arms wrapping around him, and he let her. Let himself be cradled in warmth and kindness for just a little while.
“I saw you...run,” she said at last, and cleared her throat. “I think. I can’t remember the last time that happened and I never knew if...”
How could she not know what she was?
He turned, found her on the floor next to him, her head propped on a pillow. He stared down at her; if she tilted her head back just slightly, her lips would be inches from his. Heat rushed through her body, warming him where their flesh made contact. Her lips were close enough to touch and he felt himself sinking closer and closer. His entire body craved her, cock hardening, wanting to roll her on her back, feel her beneath him, touch every part of her.
But you won’t because you’re not good enough.
He reined himself in, tried to focus on anything else. His eyes lifted so he was staring at the ceiling instead but he couldn’t quite force himself to let her go or tell her to leave. Instead he shifted, got his arm under her, and held her tight to him. She crossed her arm over his bare chest, her fingers brushing his side below the bandage and sending tingles through him.
“Am I crazy?” she whispered.
Not the first time she’d asked that and the more she said it, the more of an edge her voice seemed to take on.
“You’re not crazy,” he reassured her. “You were...in my dream.” Memory .
“How long had you been there?”
The complex? He couldn’t even remember anymore. He didn’t know for sure how old he even was. “Four or five years there, I think.”
“Before that?” She snuggled in deeper, which only intensified his want of her.
“I ran for a few years. Hid.” That was when he’d escaped his previous “owners”. They’d kept him for his own good, they’d said. Ever since his parents were...exterminated. Run, hide, captive. Over and over again.
The day Lincoln bought him after winning in the ring was perhaps the worst, though. Because his fate had been sealed and he knew he’d never have a chance to win freedom, never run again.
“Tell me about your grandmother,” Erik said before she could ask more.
She
Awake. You’re awake.
You’re safe.
He came back to himself and sagged, brick fireplace scraping his back. His hands shaking, he lowered the fire poker he’d grabbed, tried to calm down.
“You’re okay,” Addie was repeating. “Erik?”
But he remembered the dream, remembered the danger he was putting her in by being here.
He tried to rise but she reached for him, took his wrist and pulled him back down. Her small hands were firm, strong.
“Talk to me,” she said softly, her fingers drifting down to twine with his.
Erik crouched down again, stared at her. If her home was a sanctuary, he had to be hidden. It was just a dream, he wasn’t thinking clearly.
Was he?
“Erik?”
He swallowed dryly. His chest still rose and fell rapidly as he struggled to get his breathing under control—he felt like he’d actually been running.
Pillows waited around him; he cleaned them up during the day but at night she always put them back on the floor where he slept. It was a sweet gesture, and he felt bad that she worried about his comfort. But she didn’t know how he didn’t trust kindness, still.
Though looking at her, moonlight threading silver through her hair, her eyes on his, he thought maybe she did know.
She was in the dream .
Erik let out a breath, cast his gaze aside. A strange embarrassment rose up in him.
“Erik?”
He pulled his hand from hers, turned to settle back down once more. “Just a nightmare. I’ll go back to sleep.” But as he tried to lie down, he felt her hand run up his shoulder. Soft, warm. The gentleness hurt more than being hit did.
She moved, her arms wrapping around him, and he let her. Let himself be cradled in warmth and kindness for just a little while.
“I saw you...run,” she said at last, and cleared her throat. “I think. I can’t remember the last time that happened and I never knew if...”
How could she not know what she was?
He turned, found her on the floor next to him, her head propped on a pillow. He stared down at her; if she tilted her head back just slightly, her lips would be inches from his. Heat rushed through her body, warming him where their flesh made contact. Her lips were close enough to touch and he felt himself sinking closer and closer. His entire body craved her, cock hardening, wanting to roll her on her back, feel her beneath him, touch every part of her.
But you won’t because you’re not good enough.
He reined himself in, tried to focus on anything else. His eyes lifted so he was staring at the ceiling instead but he couldn’t quite force himself to let her go or tell her to leave. Instead he shifted, got his arm under her, and held her tight to him. She crossed her arm over his bare chest, her fingers brushing his side below the bandage and sending tingles through him.
“Am I crazy?” she whispered.
Not the first time she’d asked that and the more she said it, the more of an edge her voice seemed to take on.
“You’re not crazy,” he reassured her. “You were...in my dream.” Memory .
“How long had you been there?”
The complex? He couldn’t even remember anymore. He didn’t know for sure how old he even was. “Four or five years there, I think.”
“Before that?” She snuggled in deeper, which only intensified his want of her.
“I ran for a few years. Hid.” That was when he’d escaped his previous “owners”. They’d kept him for his own good, they’d said. Ever since his parents were...exterminated. Run, hide, captive. Over and over again.
The day Lincoln bought him after winning in the ring was perhaps the worst, though. Because his fate had been sealed and he knew he’d never have a chance to win freedom, never run again.
“Tell me about your grandmother,” Erik said before she could ask more.
She
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