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"Iwasn'tsafe," I tell him. "Not by a long shot."

"Teagan—"

"No! Hehurtme, and he hurt River and Hazel, too, and now they're gone, and I'll never see them again."

"Okay…I'm sorry. I know you're hurt; I won't talk about him anymore if you don't want to."

"I don't."

"There's a big jacuzzi tub in the bathroom," Luca says. "You want to get in it with me? I'll clean up your cuts, wash your hair for you…"

"I'd go anywhere with you, Luca."

"I'm not the same, Teagan," he says. "I feel like I should warn you."

"I'm not, either."

He runs a finger through the blood on my chest and brings it to his lips.

"What is it?" I ask.

"You can't tell?"

I shake my head. "Too bloody, not an easy angle."

"It's a heart," he says. "I put your heart back in your chest, baby."

I smile. "I love it."

"I don't think it's deep enough to scar."

"Too bad. Maybe next time."

"You're so fucking perfect, Teag," he says. And I know he means it—his green eyes look all the way through me in that way that hits me right in the fucking chest. "Come on."

"I'll help you," I tell him, climbing out of the bed. "I'll be your crutch. I'll wash your hair, too."

It's almost four in the morning when Declan returns to the room. I lie in the dark under the blankets with Luca, wearing one of his t-shirts, wrapped up in his arms and clinging to him for dear life. Luca sleeps deeply beside me, his breath hot against the back of my neck.

But me? I don't even want to close my eyes.

"You're awake," Declan says. He sits on the edge of the bed and slips off his shoes. "Why?"

"I'm afraid to go to sleep," I tell him. "I'm afraid he'll disappear. I have abandonment issues now, you know."

"Teagan, I'm sorry," he says. "It was never supposed to be like that."

"I don't believe you."

"Come here," he says. "Let's go talk in the kitchen. You don't want to wake him up, do you? He's still healing. He really isn't well enough to be traveling—he can barely walk—but he wouldn't let me come alone."

I hesitate, torn between the warmth and comfort of the person I love at my back and not wanting to wake him.

"He doesn't like to sleep alone," I say.

"No, but he got used to it," Declan says. "Come on, let's go."

I don't take the hand he extends to me. Climbing out of bed is painful, but I follow Declan to the kitchen in the back of the suite. The countertops are missing and there's a tarp covering the floor with paint cans and brushes left out. The blinds on the back windows have been left open, and enough light comes in that there's no need to turn one on. Declan sits on one of the barstools while I lean against the wall, folding my arms in front of my chest.