Page 92 of Killaney Blood

We continue down a hallway. I'm not sure where I'm going, but Keira knows exactly where the room is.

"Here we are," Keira says finally, stopping before a heavy oak door.

She pushes it open and ushers me inside. The room is spacious and bathed in soft light from table lamps. A king-size bed dominates the space, and in it lies Declan, propped up against a mountain of pillows, his torso wrapped in bandages.

He looks pale, much too pale, but his eyes brighten when they land on me.

"Found her," Keira announces, then squeezes my hand once before letting go. "I'll leave you two alone," she says and turns to me. "Try not to let him do anything stupid, like move."

I watch as she walks out, the door closing behind her, leaving Declan and me alone for the first time since the ambush.

"Hi," he says softly, like he's been waiting hours just to say that one word to me.

His smile, weak but real, hits me. It's one thing to be told he's alive, that he's okay. It's another to see him, breathing and conscious, his green eyes fixed on me with that intensity I've come to know.

"Hi," I say, smiling.

"Come here," Declan says, holding out an arm.

I move toward him without thinking, drawn by the gravity of him, of us. When I reach the edge of the bed, I hesitate, afraid to hurt him.

"I'm not going to break," he says, reading my mind as he so often does. He pats the edge of the mattress beside him.

He reaches for me and I fall into his arms carefully, wrapping myself around him without jostling his side. I breathe him in, still warm, still here.

I pull back just enough to sit gently on the edge of the bed, still holding on to his hand like I might lose him again.

"You're okay," I say, tears threatening to fall. "You're really okay."

Declan smiles and brushes the top of my hand he's holding with his thumb, and just like I've done many times since arriving here, I let myself believe this could be real, what we have.

He looks at me with a crooked half-smile. "So you like me so much you decided to put your blood in me? Is that it?"

I laugh through the lump in my throat and wipe my face. "Least I could do. You know, not letting you die and all."

The humor fades from his face, replaced by something deeper, more intense. "Thank you, Lyra. I mean it. Having you in me like this, it hits deep."

I try to smile, but it wavers.

"It's not that big of a deal. They would've done it at the hospital," I say, "if you had just let them take you there."

"I knew you could do it," he says firmly. "And it is a big deal. If I'd been told Callum or Keira gave me blood, sure, they're family. But you? You didn't have to. You could have said fuck it, I can't do it, and no one would have known what to do. You did whatyou didn't have to, that means something to me." His fingers tighten around mine. "Now I'm never letting you leave my side."

The warmth that floods through me at his words is immediate and overwhelming. For a moment, I'm swept away by it, by the possibility of belonging somewhere, with someone. But then Callum's cold warning and Keira's protective stance flash through my mind. Their voices merge with the doubt that's always lived inside me, the certainty that I don't deserve happiness, that everyone close to me gets hurt.

My defense mechanisms snap into place like a shield, and I pull back slightly, the panic crawling up before I can stop it.

"Declan," I say, squeezing his hand. "About us. Me here, all of this. I think maybe I got a little carried away."

He lets go of my hand and tries to sit up and immediately winces, his face contorting in pain.

"Please, stay still," I say, pressing a gentle hand to his shoulder.

"What are you talking about, carried away?" His voice is sharp with confusion.

"You and me," I say, trying to keep my voice even. "This, whatever this is." I gesture between us. I look down, unable to meet his eyes. "I mean, what do you want? Huh? Probably a future. A family? A wife? A happily-ever-after? Because I can't give you that."

His expression hardens. "Says who?"