Page 11 of Sweet Doe
He watches me, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t argue. I don’t think he disagrees. Heknowshow insane he is.
"I'm tired," I say finally, because I don't have the energy to keep this up. "I need to sleep."
"Of course." He stands immediately, moving to stoke the fire. "Our bedroom is through there. I'll take the couch for tonight."
He’s letting me sleep alone? After I just took off into frozen Hell?
"Thank you," I say, and deep down I know I mean it more than I should.
"Sloan?" He pauses at the edge of the living area, silhouetted against the firelight.
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry you felt like running into the wilderness was your only option." His voice is soft, almost vulnerable. "I never want you to be afraid of me."
"Then let me go."
"I can't do that." The admission feels like a slap across the face, but I knew it was coming. "But I can try to help youunderstand that staying doesn't have to feel as terrible as you think it does right now."
"And how are you going to do that?"
His smile is barely visible in the dim light, but I can hear it in his voice. "By showing you what it feels like to be someone's whole world."
His words are a promise.
As I make my way to the bedroom on unsteady legs, I catch my reflection in the dark window. The woman staring back at me looks like a stranger—wild-haired and hollow-eyed, wearing clothes that don't fit.
But she's alive.
And maybe that's enough for now. For tonight.
The bed is comfortable, the blankets warm, and despite everything, I fall asleep almost immediately. My last conscious thought is the sound of him moving around the main room, keeping watch.
So convinced he’s protecting me from everything… Except for himself.
Chapter Four
ASHER
She’s still asleep.
Blanket twisted around her legs, my hoodie swamping her frame, and my old sweatpants bunched around her ankles. A tiny puff of air escapes her parted lips every time she exhales, lashes barely fluttering. Her breath is soft, even. No dreams yet. Just that rare kind of stillness that only comes after a storm.
God, she looks perfect like this.
Like a painting.
Like something too delicate to touch—but I will.
Again and again.
Because I didn’t shatter the life I had, didn’t set fire to everything that tethered me to the old world, just to worship her from a distance. I didn’t slit my brother’s throat and disappear into the woods like a ghost just to be her shadow. I did it so I could have her.
So I couldownher.
Mind. Body. Soul. Every last trembling breath.
She’s here now. In my home. In my bed. In the world I built with blood and the kind of madness that doesn’t go away. And she’s perfect. Even when she’s quiet. Especially when she’sscared. Because that fear? It means she knows—on some level—that nothing will ever be the same again. That she belongs to me now.
