Page 11

11

AURELIE

T he patter of rain against glass fills the nursery with its calming rhythm as I fold the impossibly small blankets Rolfo provided for Sephy. Each soft square of fabric gets careful attention under my fingers—corners matched perfectly, edges pressed flat. These simple tasks ground me when my mind threatens to spiral with worry.

Despite everything that Rolfo has done, some days old fears and worries come creeping in. Years of learning to never trust anyone, to never let my guard down comes creeping back in, and right now, I'm having one of those days where I feel far too on edge.

Sephy sleeps peacefully in her cradle, her silver-blonde curls catching what little light filters through the rain-streaked window. Her tiny chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm that I still find myself counting sometimes, just to make sure. Four days old and already she's become my entire world.

I tuck a finished blanket into the stack on the small oak dresser, smoothing my hand over the pile. The fabric is softer than anything I've ever owned. Most of my belongings during my time with Kaelith were practical, utilitarian—nothing meant for comfort or joy.

The floorboard creaks behind me, and I spin around, heart leaping into my throat—an instinct I can't seem to shake. But it's only Rolfo, leaning his broad frame against the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest. Unlike the other times someone has watched me from a doorway, there's no hunger in his mercury-slitted eyes, just quiet thoughtfulness.

"How long have you been standing there?" I whisper, careful not to wake Sephy.

He doesn't answer immediately, just holds my gaze with that steady silver stare. Where most would look away when caught staring, Rolfo doesn't. Instead, he pushes off from the doorframe and crosses the room in two long strides. Up close, the scent of rain clings to him—he must have been outside earlier.

"Long enough to see you've folded those same blankets three times now." His voice is low, rumbling, but gentle in a way that still surprises me coming from someone his size.

I glance down at my hands, only now realizing they're trembling slightly from exhaustion.

"Have I?" I try to laugh it off, but it comes out thin and unconvincing. "I just want everything to be perfect for her."

Rolfo's rough fingers close gently around my wrist, stopping my hands from reaching for another blanket. His touch is careful, barely there, as if he knows how easily I startle.

"Come on," he says, guiding me toward the door with the lightest pressure. "You need a break."

"But I need to?—"

"Whatever it is, it can wait." He gestures toward Sephy. "She's not going anywhere for a while."

I hesitate, glancing back at my sleeping daughter. I've barely let her out of my sight since she was born.

"She's safe here," Rolfo adds, reading my thoughts with unnerving accuracy. "You both are."

The words hit me with unexpected force. I follow him into the hallway, leaving the nursery door cracked so I can hear if Sephy wakes.

"I don't know how to do this," I confess, the words spilling out of me. "I've never had..."

"Had what?" he prompts when I trail off.

"A safe place to land." My voice cracks on the last word. "Somewhere I can just... breathe without looking over my shoulder."

Rolfo's expression softens, the hard lines of his face rearranging into something I'm still getting used to—concern without expectation.

"You do now." He says it definitively, as if stating an obvious fact rather than making a promise. "For as long as you need it."

His silver eyes hold mine, unflinching and honest. There's no hidden meaning to decode, no trap to anticipate. Just the simple truth of his words hanging between us.

"Why?" I ask, the question that's been burning in me since I woke up in his home. "Why help us?"

Rolfo's jaw tightens momentarily, a flash of something darker crossing his features before he controls it.

"Because I couldn't—" He stops, recalibrates. "Because you deserve better than what happened to you. Both of you do."

Rolfo leads me into the main room, his large hand still barely touching my elbow as if afraid I'll bolt. I want to tell him I'm done running—my body still aches from months of desperate flight—but the words stick in my throat. The room glows with amber light from the fireplace, dancing shadows across the worn furniture that feels more like home than any gilded cage I've known.

Outside, thunder cracks across the sky like a whip—a sound that makes me flinch despite myself. Rolfo notices but doesn't comment as he gestures for me to take the overstuffed chair nearest the fire.

"Sit. I'll make tea."

Before I can protest, he's moved to the kitchen space. I pull my legs up beneath me, wrapping my arms around myself. The dress I'm wearing is one Ada brought over—simple, comfortable, the soft gray fabric falling to my ankles. I rub the material between my fingers, grounding myself in its texture while watching Rolfo move with surprising grace for someone his size.

He returns with two steaming mugs, handing me one before settling his massive frame onto the couch across from me. The cushions sink beneath his weight, but he somehow manages to look both relaxed and alert—a warrior at rest but never truly off guard. His silver eyes catch the firelight, making them look almost molten.

"Storm's getting worse," he observes, his gaze shifting to the window where rain lashes against the glass like tiny desperate fists.

"I like it," I admit softly. "The rain, I mean. Where—" I swallow hard. "Where he kept me, there were no windows."

Rolfo's knuckles whiten around his mug, but his face remains neutral. I've noticed this about him—the way he controls his reactions to my scattered revelations about life with Kaelith. Never pity, just a contained rage on my behalf that somehow doesn't frighten me.

We sit in silence for a while, the crackling fire and drumming rain filling the space between us. There's a tension in the air that has nothing to do with my past and everything to do with his proximity. I'm not blind—Rolfo is handsome in a rugged, dangerous way that should send me running. Instead, I find myself noticing the curve of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, the way his black hair falls across his forehead when he's focused on something.

But attraction is a luxury I can't afford. Not with Kaelith still searching, not with Sephy depending on me, not with the scars still fresh beneath my skin.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the room in stark white for an instant. In that flash, I catch something in Rolfo's expression—a naked vulnerability quickly masked by the returning shadows.

He sets his mug down with deliberate care. "You said you didn't know I had a sister. I never talk about her."

I'm not sure what memories have brought her back up, but I have to admit I am curious. So I lean forward, listening.

His voice is tight but steady. "Her name was Mara."

Was . The past tense hits me like a physical blow. Even though I knew she was gone, there's so much pain in the words.

"She was younger than me by six years. Bright, stubborn." A ghost of a smile touches his lips before vanishing. "Like you, in some ways."

My fingers find the hem of my dress, twisting the fabric as I listen.

"A noble took a liking to her. Like Kaelith did with you." His jaw works beneath his skin. "Used her, got her pregnant. But her body wasn't handling it well. By the time I found out..." His voice drops, becoming a rough whisper. "Their baby died in childbirth, and he left her on my doorstep, abandoned her when she couldn't give him what he wanted. I was too late to save her."

His jaw works, and I feel the need to lean forward to touch him, comfort him. But I don't. Even if his pain reaches into my chest and wraps around my heart. Even if I've been growing close to this demon when I know I shouldn't.

Even if I can't stop staring at how handsome he is and marveling over how kind and caring and thoughtful when I should never get this close to a demon.

The confession hangs between us, heavy as lead. My throat works, struggling to find words adequate for such grief.

"I've been trying to make up for that failure ever since," he continues, silver eyes meeting mine, unflinching despite the pain radiating from them. "Not a day goes by when I don't think about her."

"Is that why you wanted to help me?" My heart pounds against my ribs, understanding blooming like blood in water.

His large hands spread open, palms up in a gesture of raw honesty. "I couldn't save her. But you and Sephy?—"

Thunder crashes again, closer this time, but I barely notice. Everything suddenly makes sense—his immediate help, his fierce protectiveness, the nightmares I sometimes hear from his room down the hall.

The confession hangs between us, raw and painful and honest in a way that cracks something open inside me. For the first time since I arrived here, I feel a rush of certainty—that this connection isn't just my imagination, that the safety I've found here isn't temporary or conditional.

I set my mug down on the small table beside me, my hands trembling. Without its warmth to focus on, my fingers knot together in my lap. He gave me a truth so I should give him one of my own.

"Kaelith claimed me when I was nine." The words scrape my throat like glass, but I force them out. Once the first sentence breaks free, the rest follow in a flood. "Not... not like that, not at first. I was just a servant to fetch his things, clean his chambers."

Rolfo's expression doesn't change, but his eyes—those mercury eyes that miss nothing—darken slightly.

"When I turned fourteen, everything changed. He—" My voice falters, the memories crowding in like shadows. "He started using me. Said I'd been bred for his pleasure, that I should be grateful he waited at all."

The fire pops, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Outside, the rain intensifies, a curtain of sound that feels like protection—no one could hear my confession but the man sitting across from me.

"For years, I just... endured it. What else could I do? He kept me locked in his chambers unless I was serving at special functions. There were enchantments on every door, every window." I swallow hard, tasting bile. "When I became pregnant, I thought he'd be furious. Instead, he seemed... pleased. Started talking about how powerful his blood was, how valuable a half-demon child would be."

Lightning flashes again, illuminating Rolfo's face. His jaw is tight, a muscle working in his cheek, but his eyes remain fixed on mine—not with pity, but with a burning focus that somehow gives me courage to continue.

"Then I overheard him with one of his advisors. He was planning to take Sephy once she was born and..." The words stick in my throat. "And dispose of me. I wasn't worth keeping once I'd fulfilled my purpose."

Rolfo's hand clenches into a fist on his knee. "Bastard," he growls, the word rumbling from deep in his chest.

"That night, I stole a blade from his collection." My fingers trace an invisible line across my palm, remembering the cold weight of the metal. "I didn't have a plan. Just desperation. When the guards came to bring me my evening meal, I..." I close my eyes, seeing again the shock on their faces, the blood, my own hands shaking but never hesitating. "I cut through three of them. I'd never hurt anyone before, but suddenly I was... I was someone else."

The burning in my eyes surprises me—I thought I'd cried all my tears long ago.

"I ran as far as I could. I was trying to get off the continent, but it's hard to get passage when you have no money. So I was stuck moving from city to city, hiding in shadows, stealing food when I could. Until that night when I collapsed and you found me."

Rain streams down the windows like tears. I can't look at Rolfo anymore, afraid of what I'll see in his face now that he knows the full truth of what I am—what I've done.

Instead of the disgust I expect, I feel the couch shift as he moves. Suddenly he's kneeling before me, his large frame somehow not imposing despite his proximity. Slowly, deliberately, he takes my hand in his. His palm is rough with calluses, warm against my perpetually cold fingers. His thumb traces gentle circles over my knuckles.

"You did what you had to do." His voice is soft but fierce. "To protect your daughter. To survive."

I look up then, meeting his gaze through the blur of unshed tears. The intimacy of the moment steals my breath—his face level with mine, the gentleness of his touch at odds with the power I know he possesses.

"I killed people," I whisper.

"You saved yourself," he counters. "And Sephy."

His thumb continues its rhythmic motion across my hand, each circle seeming to erase a small piece of the shame I've carried. For the first time since my escape, I feel the wall I've built around myself beginning to crumble—not with fear, but with relief.

"I've spent every day since looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to find me." My voice steadies, drawing strength from Rolfo's unwavering presence. "He won't stop looking. Kaelith doesn't forgive, and he never forgets what he thinks belongs to him."

Rolfo's fingers tighten slightly around mine, protective.

"Let him try," he says, the words simple but weighted with promise.

Another crack of thunder shakes the house, but I don't flinch this time. In this moment, with rain drumming against the roof and Rolfo's hand anchoring mine, I feel something I'd forgotten existed—not just safety, but connection. Something raw and real stretching between us, built on shared grief and understanding.