Page 53 of Condemned to Love

"You're not," she argues, stepping closer. "Look at yourself. When's the last time you slept? Or fed?"

I wave her off, my eyes never leaving Elowen's face. "I said I'm fine."

Selene sighs, exasperation clear in her tone. "Stubborn fool. She wouldn't want this, you know. She'd kick your ass if she saw you like this."

A chuckle escapes me before I can stop it. She's right, of course. Elowen would be furious. But I can't bring myself to care.

"I'm not leaving her," I growl, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Selene throws her hands up in defeat. "Fine. But don't come crying to me when you collapse from exhaustion."

She turns to leave, pausing at the door. "At least let me bring you some blood. You look like death warmed over."

I nod, not taking my eyes off Elowen. Selene's footsteps fade, leaving me alone with the steady rhythm of Elowen's breathing.

I can't leave her side. Not now. Not when she's fighting so hard to stay alive. Every breath Elowen takes is a victory, and I'm here to witness each one.

Selene does return with blood that I down, feeling rejuvenated. I thank her as she tells me to get some rest again and leaves. But I don't dare move when I see Elowen stir, murmuring and fighting, her body glistening with sweat.

"You're doing great," I murmur, gently dabbing her forehead with a cool cloth. Her skin burns with fever, but I know her determination blazes even hotter.

I adjust the blankets around her, careful not to disturb her wounds. My fingers linger on her arm, tracing the scars she's earned in battle. Each mark tells a story of her strength, her resilience.

"Water," she croaks, eyes fluttering open.

I'm there in an instant, supporting her head as she sips from the cup. "Easy now. Small sips."

Her green eyes lock onto mine, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "You're still here."

"Always," I promise, my voice rough with emotion. "I'm not going anywhere."

As she drifts back to sleep, I take her hand in mine, marveling at how small it seems compared to my own. Yet this hand has fought battles, both literal and figurative. It's a warrior's hand.

Days blur together, but I remain vigilant. I change her bandages, apply healing salves, and whisper encouragement when nightmares plague her sleep. When she's lucid, I read to her from the old Vrakken texts, sharing stories of our history and legends.

"Tell me about your childhood," she asks one evening, her voice stronger than it's been in days.

I hesitate, then begin to speak. I tell her of the dark tunnels where I grew up, of the harsh training that forged me into a warrior. But I also share the moments of beauty - the bioluminescent caverns, the underground rivers that sang in the darkness.

As I talk, I notice the tension leaving her body. Her breathing evens out, and she relaxes, like listening to me brings her comfort she needed.

"Thank you," she whispers, squeezing my hand.

I bring her fingers to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "Rest now. I'll be here when you wake."

And I am. Through fever spikes and pain-filled nights, I remain by her side. I've faced countless battles, but nothing has tested my strength like this vigil. Yet with each day, as color returns to her cheeks and strength to her limbs, I feel my own resolve growing.

I love her. The realization doesn't come as a shock, but as a simple truth. As natural as breathing. As inevitable as the dawn.

I barely notice Raziel enter the room, my eyes fixed on Elowen's sleeping form. Her chest rises and falls steadily, each breath a small victory.

"Aldric," Raziel's voice is low, respectful of the quiet.

I turn, acknowledging him with a nod. "How is everything?" Raziel has been keeping me up to date on the rest of the base, on my other warriors so I don't have to leave Elowen.

He moves closer, his wings folded neatly behind him. "We've kept scouts posted by the portal. No more dark elves have come through."

"Good," I mutter, my attention already drifting back to Elowen.

---