Page 32 of Semi-Fallen

Harper let out a deep sigh. “I do trust you, Lane.”

Then she turned on Lucien and it was all he could do to maintain eye contact under the intensity of her stare. “Fine,” she eventually said through gritted teeth. “If she wants to go with you and help, she can.” She pointed her finger at him. “But know this. If she comes back with so much as a stubbed toe or a split end, I’m going to throw you into the darkest pit I can find and make it my life’s mission to ruin your existence. I’ll make what happened to you in that hell dimension look like a trip to a 5-star fucking spa in Cabo. Am I making myself clear?”

It was not a subtle point she was trying to convey. But he didn’t feel the need to antagonize her, so he merely nodded and said, “Of course.”

And from the looks he was getting from the rest of the group, he imagined Harper would not be alone in her quest to ruin his existence should something happen to Haven. He was certain all of them would contribute in their own creative, terrible ways.

Then Lane reached over and laced her fingers through his and he realized he didn’t care.

The risk was worth it. She was worth it.

She was worth everything.

CHAPTER 17

Lane jackknifed up in bed with absolutely no idea what had pulled her out of such a deep sleep.

One minute, she’d been tucking herself into bed to rest up for visiting the heavenly library, and the next, she was wide awake like something had ripped her, kicking and screaming, right out of her pleasant dreams.

She shoved her disheveled hair out of her face and squinted, hoping her eyes would soon adjust to the nearly pitch-black room. She couldn’t quite see yet, but the room didn’t feel right. It felt bigger. More open.

That’s when something smacked her thigh and she jolted like she’d been hit with a live wire. She’d already leapt to her feet in the bed and fallen into a fighting stance when she finally realized where she was.

Lucien’s bed.

He was tossing, turning, and fighting in his sleep as if the very air around them was trying to destroy him. Dropping to her knees beside him, she could see his mouth moving, but couldn’t read any distinct words on his lips except for two.

Help me.

He must’ve teleported her here unconsciously because he needed her.

Tears clouded her vision as she laid a trembling hand on his sweat-dampened chest. This wasn’t just a nightmare. If she had to guess, she’d say it was a memory of a time he’d been so scared, so hurt, so beaten, that he’d begged for help.

Help that had never come.

Damn it. She’d never felt as helpless as she did in that moment. Here she was, arguably one of the strongest demon hunters in Section 8, supposedly a Nephilim powerful enough to destroy Heaven, and she couldn’t do one damn thing to ease his suffering.

Lane didn’t have too much time to ponder that, though, because before she could do anything to try and wake him, he shot up, clamped his hands around her throat, and rolled her under him, straddling her hips, pinning her to the mattress with his superior strength and body weight.

His eyes were open but unfocused as stared down at her, teeth bared in a feral snarl, hands tightening slightly around her throat. She could’ve bucked him off or freed one of her hands to gouge his eyes, but in his current state, she wasn’t sure how he’d respond. Hurting or incapacitating him might make him more violent.

Plus, there was the simple fact that hurting him was the very last thing in the world she wanted to do. Which left her with only one option.

Wrapping her hands gently around his wrists, she pulled with just enough strength to keep him from cutting off her air and whispered his name.

His eyes closed and he took a deep breath through his nose before she read her name on his lips.

Lucien tried to pull his hands away, but she held him firm. Some gut-deep instinct told her that if he pushed her away now, she’d have zero chance of breaking down the wall he seemed so intent on putting up around his heart.

And she was going to take a brick of C-fucking-4 to that wall if it was the last thing she ever did.

When his eyes opened again, the guilt and pain she read in their blue depths hit her like a punch to the gut. “It’s OK,” she whispered. “You’re safe. And I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

He leaned down, leaving one hand on her throat, his thumb dipping into the hollow at the base, and moving the other to the mattress beside her head to support his weight. Her breath got stuck somewhere between her lips and her lungs when he ran the tip of his nose over the sensitive spot just below her ear and took a deep breath.

He said something in her ear. She couldn’t hear it, of course, but she felt it.

Mine.

---