Page 53 of Savage Obsession

The ghosts of his past that haunt him.

The ones that have always haunted him.

"I should have been there." His voice is thick, weighted with years of guilt. "I should have saved them."

I don’t think. I just move, crawling closer until I’m behind him, my arms wrapping around his tense shoulders, my cheek pressing against his back.

"You were away on a job," I whisper, my chest aching for him.

"I left them alone." His breath shudders. "I left them alone, and they died because of it."

My grip tightens around him, holding him together while he finally lets himself fall apart.

He doesn’t cry. Aithan Vasilios isn’t the kind of man who sheds tears.

But he shakes—his entire body trembling under the weight of everything he’s kept buried for a decade.

And for the first time, I see the depth of his pain, the ugly, raw wound that has never healed.

"I won’t lose you too," he murmurs hoarsely, turning slightly so his forehead presses against my arm, his fingers gripping my hand like a lifeline.

"You won’t," I promise, meaning every word.

He lets out a breath, but I know it’s not relief.

It’s fear.

Because now, he has something to lose again.

And that terrifies him more than anything.

Aithan trembles beneath my hands. Not in fear. Not in anger. But in grief—a grief so raw, so ancient, it feels like it has carved him into the man he is today.

I tighten my arms around him, pressing my lips against the back of his shoulder, trying to pour all of myself into this one touch.

No one was there for him that night. No one to hold him. No one to stop him from drowning in the agony of his loss.

But I’m here now.

And as long as I have breath in my body, no one will ever hurt him again.

I swear it.

He doesn’t speak, but I feel his body soften slightly, like the storm inside him has finally quieted—even if just for a moment.

My fingers run down his back, tracing the rigid lines of his spine, the scars of battles fought, both seen and unseen. His muscles twitch beneath my touch, reacting to me even in his brokenness.

"It wasn’t your fault," I whisper, my voice gentle but firm. "You didn’t let them get killed, Aithan. You didn’t choose this."

He doesn’t respond. But he doesn’t pull away either.

Instead, he shifts, turning into me, his movements slow, deliberate. His forehead presses against my collarbone, and his arms snake around my waist, holding on to me like I’m the only solid thing in a world that keeps crumbling around him.

I stroke his hair, the dark strands silky beneath my fingertips, and press a kiss to the top of his head.

"I’ve got you," I murmur. "I swear, I’ve got you."

His hold tightens, desperation laced in the way he grips me, like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers just like the ghosts of his past.

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