Page 24 of Fear No Hell

Lila turns her chin to me, one hand reaching out to cup my face as her expression softens. “You didn’t do anything, Sam.”

“But—”

“No,” she interrupts sharply. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.”

“Are you—"

“You’re not him, Sam.” She presses a kiss to my cheek before turning and seizing the pan—not that I remember what’s in it—from the counter. “You never could be. You’re sweet and thoughtful and so good to me. Now let’s go eat this atrocity I made and hope it doesn’t taste as bad as it looks.”

Dinner is weirdly subdued, just me and Lila gathered around the table silently picking at the cheesy broccoli rice casserole she made.

Despite being burned to a crisp on top, the interior is somehow undercooked while also managing to have a custard-like consistency.

It’s edible—barely—and does taste like cheese and broccoli with a charred chaser.

I eat every bite she puts in front of me because I’ll be damned if I make her feel bad for something she’s trying to do for me. By the end of my plateful, Lila almost looks happy that she managed to feed me.

While she cleans up, I go down to the basement to check in on Arthur. He’s stable with no extra damage, so I do the standard daily tasks needed to keep him alive and head back upstairs.

When I trudge up the stairs and into the kitchen, Lila turns back to me, the clean dish in one hand and a towel in the other. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just gave him fluid and nutrients. Nothing to sew up today.” I shoot her a wan smile.

“I didn’t sleep all that well, so once I actually did wake up, I didn’t have enough time to mutilate and to cook, y’know?”

The reminder of last night has me stiffening, my muscles going tight as I remember what kept her awake last night. “Yeah. Yep, totally makes sense. All good in the neighborhood.” All good in the neighborhood? Who are you, Mr. Rogers?

She wrinkles her nose at me as she sets the dish into its place in the cabinet. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Totally.” I’m pretty sure I’m about to crawl out of my skin with lust, but sure, yeah. Totally fine. Solid as a rock here. More like hard as a rock. I ignore the horny voice in my head and finish lamely, “Just tired.”

“You know what? You go take a shower. I’ve got everything cleaned up down here, and you need to get some sleep.” She flaps a hand at me when I try to protest before pushing me towards the stairs. “Go. Shower. Sleep.”

“Okay, okay.” I chuckle, obeying her fervent shoving down the hallway. I’m two steps up when I stop. “Thanks for dinner.”

She ducks her head too slowly to hide the blush spreading across her cheeks. “It was really okay?”

“It was good,” I reassure her.

Her head pops up, her cheeks still pink, with a smile that knocks me on my ass. “Thank you. I promise I won’t burn tomorrow’s dinner.”

“Silver lining, dinner will become a morning thing pretty soon.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I got put on the night shift starting next week. I was going to tell you last night but...” I trail off.

“But I shattered a window and acted like a maniac.” She buries her face in her hands with a mildly hysterical giggle.

“I was going to say you had a weird night.” I correct gently.

I want to touch her, to hug her, but, standing here with the memory of her orgasmic cries echoing in my brain and multiple almost kisses throughout the evening, I’m pretty sure I’ll come in my pants if she so much as touches me.

As it stands, I can’t turn around entirely, or she’ll get an eyeful of the erection I can’t seem to get rid of. “Which happens.”

She lifts her head to shoot me a thoughtful look. “I think—actually, I know—I don’t deserve you.”

“You got that the wrong way ’round, sweetness.” I shake my head, thinking about the way I’m going to crawl into my shower and jerk off to thoughts of her. The exact same way I have for the last two months. “There’s no way I deserve you. I’m beyond glad you’re here, though.”

“Me too.” She chews on her lower lip, her hand rested on the railing next to us, so close I could grab it without moving. “Good night, Sam.”

“Night.” I trudge up the stairs, already feeling the loss of her as the sound of her steps track down the hallway to the master bedroom.

Once I get upstairs, it’s the work of a second to turn on the shower and strip my clothes while I wait for the water to heat.

As I stand in front of the vanity, I find myself staring in the mirror.

I know what I’ll see. A sleep-deprived, third-year resident with dark, disheveled hair, hazel eyes covered by thin-frame glasses, and a hard-on.

Tonight, I look hard at my reflection, searching for any of the features that would mark me as Arthur’s son.

Like usual, I don’t find anything. I got nothing from my father, except apparently an unhealthy obsession with the gorgeous woman sleeping in my house.

We don’t even share hallmarks of our obsession because he…

he was a monster who hurt her over and over again and took things she wasn’t willing to give.

I would rather die than hurt her. And I would absolutely kill anyone who tried to touch her.

The mirror is almost completely fogged by steam, the bathroom long since turned humid.

Despite the heat, I’m still frozen in front of the sink, held in place by the rush of emotions that floods me when I think about what Lila has been through.

I'm furious at the world for stealing everything from her.

Hate the man who contributed half of my DNA.

Wish I had been able to protect and care for her earlier.

They hurt her. I’ll protect her. Forever. My love. My queen.

In the few unclouded inches of mirror, I see my eyes go black, the darkness obscuring my iris and sclera in one unbroken layer. I recoil with a shout of surprise. The second I do, they’re back to normal.

Shocked, I gape at the mirror.

Well, that was new.