The slam of the heavy oak doors echoed like a war drum as Adrian kicked them shut behind him. He laid me down on the vast expanse of his bed, my blood staining the immaculate silk sheets.
"Damn it," he muttered, his voice raw. His hands trembled as he reached for a cloth, pressing it to the wound at my temple. His composure—his perfect, untouchable mask—was gone.
"Why… do you care?" My words slipped out, weak and trembling. The room tilted, shadows dancing at the edges of my vision. "You said… I was nothing."
Adrian froze. His throat bobbed as if the words had cut deeper than any blade. He leaned closer, so close I could feel the heat of his breath against my cheek.
"I lied." His whisper was jagged, torn from somewhere deep inside him. His hand, stained crimson, cradled my face as if I might shatter further beneath his touch. "Gods, Lyra, I lied. And now it might be too late to take it back."
My lashes fluttered. "Why?"
He exhaled, a sound half confession, half curse. "Because the truth terrifies me. Because every time I look at you, I feel like I'm losing control. And I don't know who I am without control."
His words struck harder than Clara's cruelty ever could. For once, the man who ruled with cold fire bared himself, stripped of his armor.
"You're bleeding too much—" His panic returned, and he pressed the cloth more firmly, his jaw tight, his chest heaving. "Stay awake, Lyra. If you close your eyes now, I swear I'll drag you back myself."
Despite the pounding in my skull, warmth spread through me. The mighty Adrian Veylor, who had dismissed me with sharp words and icy distance, now knelt beside me, his hands stained in my blood, begging me not to leave.
I tried to lift a hand, but it barely moved. He caught it instantly, pressing my trembling fingers to his lips. His kiss lingered there, desperate, reverent.
"Don't you dare slip away from me," he whispered against my skin. "You are not nothing. You are everything."
The world blurred, consciousness threatening to drag me under. But his voice anchored me, tethering me to the surface.
And for the first time, I saw him—not the lord, not the untouchable mask—but the man. A man terrified of losing the woman he swore he never wanted.
Tears stung my eyes, blurring the sharp edges of his face. His forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged, heart pounding so violently I felt it through the mattress. For one unguarded heartbeat, the world stilled, and the air between us burned with something neither of us could name.
His lips brushed my temple—tentative, almost accidental—before dragging lower, lingering at the edge of my cheek. I shivered, the ache in my skull momentarily forgotten beneath the storm gathering between us.
"Adrian…" My voice was barely a breath, but it unraveled something in him. His hand cupped my jaw, thumb stroking softly as if I were fragile glass, even though the fire in his gaze said he wanted to devour me whole.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, torn between fear and desire, between restraint and surrender. "If I kiss you now," he said hoarsely, "I may never let you go again."
And for once, I didn't want him to.