Page 59 of Magic in My Bones

Dorian must have read something in my expression because his voice gentled even further. “I can step into the kitchen if you'd like some privacy. Or there's the bathroom.” He set the clothes on the arm of his worn leather chair. “Whatever makes you comfortable, Ren.”

I swallowed hard, touched by his careful consideration even as embarrassment burned in my cheeks. We'd been intimate before, but this felt different somehow. More exposed. “Maybe... maybe just turn around?”

He nodded, immediately turning to face the kitchen and taking a few steps away. “Take your time.”

My frozen fingers fumbled with my sodden shirt. I peeled it off quickly, grateful for the warmth of the fire on my bare skin. The scars on my chest were barely visible in the flickering light as I hurriedly pulled on his sweater. It smelled like him, and the familiar scent helped calm my racing heart a little.

“You can turn around now,” I said quietly once I'd changed completely, bundled in his too-big clothes. When he did, his expression was so soft, so full of gentle concern that my earlier fears began to melt.

I hugged my arms around myself, still shivering despite the warmth of his clothes and the crackling fire. The mark on my forehead pulsed with a dull ache, a constant reminder of everything hanging over us. Of what Alistair intended for me.

“What’s wrong, mo stóirín?” Dorian asked softly, settling beside me on the couch. He didn't touch me, but his presence was steady, grounding.

“A nightmare,” I admitted, and then felt foolish. “But it wasn’t just any nightmare. This one felt so vivid and real. Like I was really there. I dreamt of the sunken city, Dorian. All those spirits, trapped and suffering. Alistair was there, performing the ritual. I could feel what that spirit showed me, all that hunger and desperation, like it was my own. And...” I swallowed hard thinking about the other part of the dream.

“And?” Dorian prompted gently when I fell silent, his eyes soft with concern.

I drew my knees up to my chest, trying to find the right words. “In the dream, I was trapped too, like those spirits. But not in the city. In... in my own body, except it wasn't mine. It was like being back before...” I gestured vaguely at myself, frustrated at my inability to articulate it properly. “It was that same feeling of wrongness, of being trapped in a shape that didn't fit. Like those spirits, denied the chance to become…whatever they’re supposed to be.” The mark on my forehead throbbed again, and I pressed my fingers against it, wondering if it was amplifying these fears, feeding on them. “I know it's different now. I know who I am. But sometimes I still feel…”

“Vulnerable?" Dorian suggested.

I nodded, letting my head rest against the back of the couch as I turned to look at him. The firelight caught the silver in his hair, casting warm shadows across his face. Something in his voice, in the intensity of his gaze, made my breath catch. Without thinking, I reached for him, and he drew me close, one hand cradling the back of my head. I pressed my face into his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.

“I'm scared, Dorian,” I whispered against his skin.

“I know, love, but we’ll figure this out.”

His arms tightened around me, and I melted into the embrace, letting out a shaky breath. The steady thrum of Dorian's heartbeat against my ear grounded me, chasing away the last wisps of the nightmare. I breathed him in and the knot in my chest begin to loosen.

“I'm here,” he murmured, his fingers carding gently through my damp hair. “You're safe, mo stóirín.”

The endearment, spoken in his lilting accent, sent a warm shiver down my spine. I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. The firelight danced in his green eyes, full of such tenderness it made my breath catch.

“Dorian,” I whispered, hardly aware I'd spoken aloud. My hand moved of its own accord, tracing the line of his jaw, the slight stubble rough against my fingertips.

He leaned into the touch, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yes, love?”

The pet name, so casually given, made my heart stutter. I swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of our proximity, of the way his sweater draped over my frame, of the heat of his body seeping into mine.

“I...” I started, then faltered, unsure how to put what I was feeling into words. “Could I sleep here? With you?”

“Of course,” Dorian replied softly, his fingers still threading gently through my hair. “You're always welcome here, Ren.”

I bit my lip, gathering my courage. “I... I didn't mean on the couch,” I clarified, my voice barely above a whisper.

A warm chuckle rumbled through Dorian's chest. “I'm glad for that, actually,” he said, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. “My back was quite sore the last time. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know.”

I couldn't help but smile at that, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. Dorian stood, offering me his hand. “Come on, then,” he said softly. “Let's get you properly settled.”

I took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. The oversized sweater slipped off one shoulder, and I tugged it back into place as we made our way to his bedroom.

Dorian's room was exactly as I remembered it, a cozy haven that felt more like home than anywhere else I'd been. Bookshelves lined the walls, crammed with leather-bound tomes and dog-eared paperbacks alike. A patchwork quilt in shades of green and brown covered the bed. The air smelled of sandalwood and old paper, with just a hint of vanilla and tea, like him.

Bones, Dorian's skeletal canine familiar, lifted his head from his plush bed in the corner, empty eye sockets somehow managing to convey curiosity. His bony tail thumped against the floor in a muted clatter that was oddly endearing. I wiggled my fingers in a little wave, earning another tail wag before Bones settled back down, apparently satisfied that all was well.

Dorian bustled about, pulling back the quilt and plumping pillows with practiced ease. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing to the bed.

I hesitated for a heartbeat before climbing in, sinking into the softness of the mattress. The sheets were cool and crisp against my skin, smelling faintly of lavender. I pulled the quilt up to my chin, watching as Dorian puttered around the room, straightening a stack of papers on his desk and adjusting the curtains. He was stalling, giving me time to situate myself without any pressure. The realization made my heart clench. Gods, Dorian was so sweet, so attentive and thoughtful. How did I ever get so lucky to wind up with someone like him?

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