Page 56 of A Vow So Soulless

“Great comeback,” Elio says with a snort. But then his smile gets crunched, his hand flying to his ribs. “Ah, fuck.”

And just like that, my anger, my defensiveness, my irritation with him is gone. Destroyed in less than an instant, shattered by the sight of him in pain.

I close my laptop and toss it aside once more, positioning myself on my knees and leaning over him.

“Are you OK? Do you want the Tylenol now? Or maybe something stronger? I can-”

“Songbird.”

He grabs the front of my shirt, holding me in place as he says it a mere breath away from my lips. A shiver runs through my whole body at the exquisite sensation of that not-quite-a-touch.

“Yes?” I gasp shakily.

He fists my shirt harder but doesn’t draw me any closer, his words a tantalizing kiss of warm air against my skin.

“I didn’t let Mad Darragh use my kidney as a punching bag as part of the bargain to earn your safety in this city simply so that you could skip your fucking classes.” His words are falsely gentle, his voice so silken and smooth I could almost miss the warning in them.

Almost.

Not quite.

“So sit down,” he continues, each word dripping with dark, syrupy sweetness. “Shut up. And do your homework like the good fucking girl I know you can be.”

“Bedbound and you still somehow manage to be a menace,” I breathe, a hot spasm of need wracking my core at his proximity.

Elio releases my shirt and gives me a nudge back towards my laptop. He shakes his head, a wry look on his face as he returns his gaze to his papers and mutters, “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

* * *

Elio and I stay in his room all day. We eat a quiet dinner together that Rosa brought up on a tray, then I head to my bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. I know Elio wanted me to play violin for him, so I’ve got it and my bow in my hands when I return to his room.

But even though I was barely gone for ten minutes, by the time I return, he’s fast asleep.

I stop short, staring at the colossal monster of a man who looks positively innocent in his sleep. Seriously, how can somebody as big and bad as Elio possibly look like that?

He’s on his less-injured side, his arm flung over a stray pillow. His hair has dried much curlier than I’m used to seeing it, the rebellious bits looking practically cherubic in contrast to the hard, adult lines of his face.

I’ve never seen him sleeping like this before. Even when we slept in the bed together last night, my back was to him for a lot of the night. And he was gone before I woke up.

I put down my violin and bow and steal closer, quiet as can be, trying not to wake him up. I should just head back to the other bedroom and let him rest. But that idea leaves me feeling oddly anxious. An achy feeling of tender protectiveness is keeping me here, drawing me ever-closer.

I come to a stop beside him. He’s on his left side and facing towards the edge of the bed – towards me. The scars on the left side of his jaw and neck are hidden like this, and a blanket is tugged up just above the ugly bruising around his lower ribs. He looks so peaceful like this. Comfortable. Whole. Like he’s never been hurt in his whole damn life.

I watch my hand rise like it belongs to someone else, fascinated to see my own fingers gently stroking his cheekbone, feeling the unforgiving line of it. I trace the shape of his jaw, stopping to brush a springy lock of hair behind his ear. I must have tickled him a little bit, because a muscle in his cheek twitches, and his nose crinkles as if he might sneeze. It’s cute, and I don’t want to think about how cute he can be, because that distracts me from the dangers he represents.

But I just can’t think of him as dangerous right now. And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.

At this moment, I just can’t bring myself to care.

I stroke his cheek again, very gently, as tenderly as I’d touch a baby, this time with the backs of my knuckles. Apart from the little almost-sneeze face he made a second ago, he hasn’t moved. His breathing is deep and even.

I’m glad he’s getting some rest. I know he needs it. Even someone as strong and wilful as him needs to slow down to heal sometimes. I can tell he hates it, though. Hates not feeling strong as he usually does. A man like Elio wasn’t made to stay in bed. He was made to walk through the world like a weapon, bending every corner of it to his will.

Being stuck in bed is probably good for him, I think with a slight roll of my eyes. It will remind him that he’s human. And all humans need humbling every now and then.

Even if it isn’t easy for them.

I know he’s asleep, and that he won’t feel it, and maybe that’s why I do it in the first place. Silently, I bend down, brushing my nose against the sandpaper grit of his stubble before I place a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.

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