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“I’d already decided, when I called you, that I was willing to live with that risk. That fear. But then you told me you’d quit, and I thought I wouldn’t have to.”

The smile he gave me was sad, uncertain.

“Clearly, I was wrong.”

That felt like a punch to the gut. It must have shown on my face, because he squeezed my hands again.

“I wasn’t wrong that I could love you. And I hate every time I think that you might be injured or—” He swallowed, and his eyes, one brown and one grey-white, were too bright. “Or dead,” he finished. “Ihateit. But it doesn’t change the fact that I love you.”

“But are you—” I had to swallow, too. “Are you willing to live with that?” Because I knew that however much he might beg me to change, stepping in front of things like violent mobs was something I was clearly going to keep doing. Even though I knew how much he hated it. Because I couldn’t do anything else, if it might save someone.

Taavi let go of my fingers with one hand and reached up, brushing some of my hair back behind one pointy ear. “I don’t like it,” he told me, and his voice was gentle and sad. “But yes. If I have to choose between living with that fear and living without you, I choose the fear. I just—” His voice broke a little, and my throat closed up again. “I just wish I didn’t have to.”

“I’m—”

He put his fingers on my lips. “Don’t be sorry,” he murmured. “Just be careful. As careful as you can. Okay?”

I nodded, and he leaned back, passing me my mug of hot chocolate. I took a couple mouthfuls just to try to get rid of the lump in my esophagus.

He studied me over the rim of his mug as he took a sip. “You aren’t going to sleep, are you?”

I shook my head. My body was exhausted and my limbs felt heavy, but my brain was a mess of panic and worry and stress about what was happening to my hometown and my country. About the fact that Taavi might now be a target. About how as people became more and more radicalized against Arcs and Nids, my life meant less and less. Taavi’s life meant less. Elliot’s life. Doc and Ward and Beck and Rayn… Far too many people I cared about.

The people I loved the most—and me, too—were looking down the barrel of a nasty, sawed-off shotgun, and some anti-arcanist motherfucker was standing on the other end with a greasy finger on the trigger.

Taavi handed me his mug, then carefully climbed over my legs to settle himself next to me, pillows propping him up to sit with his back against the headboard. He took his mug back and took another sip from it.

“Tell me what I missed?” I asked him, carefully leaning over to rest my cheek on his head.

He grunted. “As soon as I saw—I stripped down and shifted in the car.”

“Nobody saw?”

“Your dad, but no. They were all paying attention to the crazy fucking elf shoving his way through the riot.”

I grimaced, taking another sip of my cocoa. “Tell me you didn’t actually bite anyone.” If he had, he could be legally liable. Especially if they could ID his bite mark.

“No. Growling and showing my teeth kept people from getting too close.” He sighed. “You’d already been—”

“Stabbed?”

I felt him nod. “You were bleeding, but you pulled that cop to his feet anyway.”

“What happened when I passed out?” I asked him, swallowing more cocoa. I did feel better, although I wasn’t sure how much of that was the cocoa and sugar and how much was the fact that Taavi was pressed against me—not my injured side—and didn’t appear to be about to dump me anymore.

“The cops basically made a semi-circle around us, and one of them called it in. Nobody wanted to get close to me, although the cop you pulled up did eventually come over to check your pulse.” He took a sip. “He was talking to me like I was a dog, so I don’t think they knew I was a shifter.” Another sip. “They got the area clear enough to get an ambulance over, and your dad managed to get to them to tell them which hospital, and he told them I was a service dog and dragged me back to the car once they had you in the ambulance.”

I finished my cocoa, and Taavi took my mug, then drained his and reached across me to put them on the nightstand. “Will you at least try to rest?” he asked me, and he sounded worried.

“If I can lean on you.”

He adjusted his pillows so he could recline, then helped me to settle on my uninjured side, my cheek on his upper chest.

I didn’t intend to sleep. I didn’t think I could.

I felt his lips press against my forehead, and then nothing.

* * *