Page 67 of Lycan King's Claim
“Please,” I whisper silently, though he cannot hear me. “Don't give too much.” I worry, the last few times he's become reckless, almost like he believes the more he gives, the better the chances of me waking.
I watch from this distant place within a body that feels foreign to me, worry gnawing at me when I see him take his seat beside me and grab the newspaper. He reads me the comic strips, I listen while counting the seconds pass to minutes.
Yet worry gnaws when I know he still hasn't taken the line from my arm. That worry turns to full on panic when I hear his voice falter, my eyes flying open to see the newspaper slip from his hand, the papers scattering on the floor.
His face turns pale, his lips losing their color as his eyes flutter. Panic seizes me, making my heart rate spike as I realize he's giving me too much blood, endangering himself for my sake. Desperation surges through me, driving me to try to take control of my body, to stop him from draining himself further. With every ounce of strength I have left, I scream his name through the mind link we share. He jolts and sweat covers his forehead when he notices the paper missing from his hand. He leans forward trying to pick up the scattered papers, too disorientated to realize he needs to remove the line that is giving me life while taking his.
“Xandros!”
His eyes widen with shock as he blinks as if he heard a noise, heard me? He stares at me while I scream, shoving every ounce of my willpower toward the mind link when his eyes widen, and he rips the line from his arm.
Relief floods me, washing away the icy grip of fear that had taken hold. He examines me closely, searching my eyes for any sign of recognition. “Sienna?” he whispers, his eyes desperately seeking a change, his skin is clammy, sweat beading on his brow and neck, his hands feel colder than normal yet hope and disbelief mingle in his expression.
Somehow, he heard me through the mind link. I don't know how it's possible, but he heard me. I try to reach him again, but the connection feels severed, like a cut cord, and I can't find my way back to him. He mutters under his breath, still I feel the remnants of the bond from his lingering blood coursing through my veins, it usually lasts a few hours before the bond goes cold again. However, it gives me these small glimpses into what he feels and right now, he feels insane, one part wants to believe it was my voice he heard in the mindlink, another thinks it's the madness coming for him.
Xandros gets to his feet, sways a little in his steps, and clutches the trolley full of medical supplies to steady himself. “Maybe I should eat first,” he mutters. “Are you hungry?” I want to shake my head and tell him to eat, but nothing works. Xandros has ordered me to talk, longing to hear my voice. But that is something this vessel can't seem to follow through with. I heard the Doctor trying to explain that I'm like a vessel, with no conscious thought, the parts that are me are comatose while the body lives, basically a zombie on command.
“Let's get you moving,” Xandros says quietly, his voice filled with determination as he orders my body to follow him outside. Today, he takes me to the gardens, lush greenery surrounding us. We both eat and linger in the gardens most of the day. But once the sun starts to set, he leads me toward the castle doors, but then he stops, turning his gaze toward the forest that surrounds the castle before turning his gaze to me. A longing so deep on his face it makes my heart clench.
“Come here,” he commands gently, and my autopilot body obeys without hesitation. He scoops me up into his arms, cradling me against his chest. “Wrap your arms around my neck and grip your wrists,” he commands, and my body does as it is told. He kisses my cheek. “Good girl, now hold on,” he tells me, pulling back to look at my face. “You hold on, don't let your wrists go,” he reiterates the command. My hands squeeze tighter, and he smiles, then takes off running through the trees.
The wind rushes past us, whispering secrets only the birds singing know. We arrive at the same cliff where we once shared a picnic, a moment of happiness in the midst of chaos before that chaos turned to ruin.
He sets me down carefully on the edge, the breathtaking expanse of the world laid out before us.
Together, we watch the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky in a symphony of oranges, pinks, and purples – a masterpiece that no artist could ever truly capture.
I wish I could say, thank you for everything he does for me. Tell him how much I love him.
“I hope you can see this, Sienna,” he murmurs softly, his breath warm against my ear. “No matter how beautiful the view, it could never match your beauty.” His words touch something within me, deep in my soul. When he continues.
“So beautiful, yet so tragic, just like our love. Our love is like the endless chase between the sun and moon. Forever close and always apart. As one fades, the other takes the stage, painting their longing across the sky.” he tells me.
“Forever stuck in a cycle, close enough to feel but never touch, an eternal reminder of love's beautiful torment.” he whispers. My heart squeezes painfully at his words. Knowing how much pain I am causing him, all because I saw no end to my torment, I somehow forgot he is just as tormented.
As we sit here so close, we might as well be a mile apart for all the comfort I can give him. As my feet dangle off the edge of the cliff, his arms securely around me, all I can think is how close to the edge he is. One slip, and he will free fall into the abyss of psychosis, madness, and then what?
He shouldn't have to live like this and some part of me hopes that once this baby comes he does what they say and puts me out of my misery, and puts himself out of his. He deserves better than this life playing nurse, playing a role in my life he never intended.
As the temperature drops, Xandros wraps his jacket around me, shielding me from the chill. His hands rub my swollen belly with gentle circles, a loving caress that sends warmth radiating throughout my body. The longer we sit here, the more I can feel his arousal pressed against my back, but he makes no move to act on it. He's never forced himself upon me, despite the countless opportunities, he could literally order me to do as he pleases, yet never has.
“Let's go home,” he sighs, lifting me into his arms and carrying me back.
Once back, he sets me on the bed, his hands rubbing my arms. “You're freezing, sorry, love, I will start the fire. I didn't realize,” he tells me and moves toward the fireplace. It takes him a few minutes before he eventually returns, rubbing my arms, his brows crease in worry. “Come on, a shower will warm you up,” he adds before rising. “Come on, follow me,” he orders. He gets me in the shower, where I catch sight of his erection, a show of his restraint and respect for me. A chuckle echoes through my hollow vessel, where's a wife when he needs one. I think bitterly, knowing this part is just another torment he suffers because of me, for me.
“Thank you,” I want to say, but the words remain trapped within, locked away by the unyielding prison that is my body. All I can do is hope he knows, somehow, just how deeply I appreciate everything he does for me – and how much I truly love him.
No matter how much I wish to tell him those three words, he shows me how much he loves me every second of every day. I am a burden, one he willingly carries as we move through the same routines until eventually, he is forcing my eyes closed to rest.
I wake with a start, a sharp pain piercing my stomach. I try to move, but my body feels heavy, anchored to the bed, and my limbs feel hollow despite every nerve in them burning. The pain comes again, wrenching a gasp from my lips, the sound actually audible in the real world, not this fragmented mind where I am trapped. That is how I know something is wrong.
My hands itch to clutch at my swollen belly, itch for my fingers to dig into flesh to pull out the source of this agony. Our child—is she okay? I pray it's just false labor, even as another contraction seizes my paralyzed body. How is it possible to feel nothing in this body, yet feel everything, how can I feel pain but not my limbs, how can I feel flickers of our severed bond but not move my lips to speak?
Beside me, Xandros sleeps, oblivious. I want to wake him, but I can't form the words. My tongue is just another dead muscle, my mind clouded by panic and pain has me screaming silently into the night.
Don't let it be my fault, I plead silently. Not when he's already lost so much. I squeeze my eyes shut as tears leak out, and try to breathe through the vice-like pressure in my womb. Oh, please make it stop.
My prayers are answered soon enough; just as quickly as it had started, the contractions cease, and the world slowly fades back into silence. A sigh of relief escapes me as exhaustion takes over and sleep wins out once again.
