Chapter 6: Chapter 6
The deep, penetrating warmth Ethan channeled into her ravaged breasts lingered long after his hands withdrew. Morrigan lay sprawled on the dusty floorboards, her breathing still catching in hitches, the ghost of that profound relief echoing through her scorched nerves. The agony wasn't gone, but it was… manageable. Submerged beneath a layer of stolen solace. She watched him, eyes heavy-lidded, as he pushed himself stiffly to his feet, the effort visible in the set of his shoulders.
"Floor's shit," he muttered, his voice rough but lacking its earlier edge. He looked down at her, a smear of white lotion stark against his faded jeans. "C'mon." He didn't ask. He bent, his movements stiff but deliberate, sliding one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her shoulders. The contact sent fresh sparks through her hypersensitive skin, but it was the sheer lift, the effortless strength in him now renewed, that stole her breath. He gathered her against his chest.
She instinctively curled into him, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder. The scent of him – stale pizza, cheap soap, sweat, and that underlying current of vital energy – filled her senses. Her arms snaked around his neck, clinging weakly. She craved the contact, the solidity of him, even without the pull of his life force. It was a different hunger, unsettling and deep. He carried her past the cluttered coffee table, the flickering TV casting long, dancing shadows, and into the dim hallway leading to the bedroom.
The bedroom was marginally less chaotic than the living room. A double bed dominated the space, sheets rumpled and stained. More discarded clothes, a leaning tower of graphic novels on a milk crate nightstand. Ethan lowered her onto the mattress with surprising care. The springs groaned. He kicked off his boots, sending them thudding against the wall, then climbed in beside her, sinking into the worn mattress with a sigh that seemed to come from his bones.
He didn't pull her close immediately. He lay on his back, staring at the water-stained ceiling, one arm flung over his eyes. The silence stretched, thick with exhaustion and the unspoken weight of what had passed between them. Morrigan shifted, the sheets cool against her lotion-slick skin. The movement was small, hesitant. She inched closer, until her side pressed against his warmth. Still, he didn't move.
Then, slowly, his free arm came down. It draped over her waist, heavy and warm. His hand settled on her hip, fingers splayed possessively over the curve just above her still-tender burns. A shudder ran through her. Not pain. Relief. Belonging. She buried her face against his shoulder, inhaling deeply. His heartbeat thudded against her ear, a steady, anchoring rhythm. She pressed closer, molding herself against his side, seeking every inch of contact. He shifted slightly, accommodating her, his arm tightening just a fraction. No words. Just the shared heat, the ragged symphony of their breathing slowly syncing, and the distant, mournful wail of another siren bleeding through the cracked window. Sleep, deep and dreamless, claimed them both.
Gray dawn light filtered through the grimy bedroom window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Ethan stirred first. He blinked, disoriented for a moment, the unfamiliar weight against his side registering slowly. Morrigan was curled tight against him, her head still pillowed on his shoulder, one arm flung across his chest. Her breathing was deep and even. The thick layer of lotion had dried into a faintly crackling sheen on her skin, highlighting the angry landscape of burns, but her face in sleep looked younger, less haunted.
He carefully extricated himself, the mattress protesting. She murmured, a soft sound of protest, her hand clutching briefly at the empty space where he’d been before settling. Ethan stood, stretching, feeling the renewed vitality humming beneath his skin – a stark contrast to the bone-deep exhaustion of the night before. He glanced back at her sleeping form. Fragile. Powerful. Utterly dependent. The responsibility settled on him like a physical weight.
He moved quietly through the apartment. The stale pizza smell was stronger in the morning air. He brewed coffee in a stained pot, the sharp, bitter aroma cutting through the lingering scent of lotion and sex. He drank it black, leaning against the cluttered kitchen counter, staring out the window at the rain-slicked parking lot below. Cars started, headlights cutting through the gloom. The world was waking up. His world had tilted irrevocably.
He returned to the bedroom. Morrigan was awake now, propped up on one elbow, watching him with those ancient, unnerving eyes. The vulnerability of sleep was gone, replaced by that watchful stillness.
"Gotta work," he said, his voice still rough with sleep. He sat on the edge of the bed. "Need you stronger." He didn't ask. He reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder, avoiding the worst burns. "Give me your hand."
She hesitated for only a second before placing her smaller hand in his. Her skin was cool, dry now beneath the lotion film. He closed his eyes, focusing. Not the desperate torrent she’d taken before, nor the targeted healing flow of the night. This was a steady, deliberate stream. Warmth flowed from his palm into hers, a golden current of pure vitality. He felt it leaving him, a manageable drain, like opening a controlled valve. Her fingers tightened around his. A soft sigh escaped her lips, her eyelids fluttering. Colour seemed to seep back into her pallid skin, faint but noticeable. The shadows beneath her eyes lessened.
He stopped after a minute, releasing her hand. A slight weariness touched him, easily shrugged off. "Enough?" he asked gruffly.
She flexed her fingers, staring at them as if seeing them anew. She nodded, once. "Enough." Her voice was a low rasp, stronger than yesterday.
"Good." He stood, grabbing his discarded jeans and shirt from the floor. "Food's crap. Leftovers in the fridge. Don't… don't burn the place down." He pulled on his clothes, avoiding her gaze. "Be back tonight." He grabbed his keys and wallet from the nightstand, the jingle loud in the quiet room. He paused at the door, looking back. She was sitting up fully now, the sheet pooled around her waist, her lotion-streaked skin gleaming dully in the gray light. Her expression was unreadable. "Just… stay," he added, the command sounding more like a plea. Then he was gone, the apartment door clicking shut behind him.
The hours crawled. The apartment felt cavernous, silent except for the relentless ticking of a cheap plastic clock on the microwave and the occasional groan of pipes. Morrigan moved stiffly, exploring her prison. The stale air choked her. The clutter pressed in. She found the fridge – half-empty beer cans, a hardened slice of pizza in a greasy box, a wilting head of lettuce. Disgust warred with a gnawing emptiness inside her that wasn't hunger. She paced the living room, her bare feet sticking to patches of dried lotion on the floorboards. The TV remote lay abandoned. She didn't touch it.
Every creak of the old building made her flinch. Every car door slamming in the parking lot below sent her heart hammering against her ribs. He’d said tonight. But what was tonight? How many turns of the sun? The fear, a cold, slithering thing she hadn't fully acknowledged, began to coil tight in her gut. He was gone. He’d left her. Just like before. Just like everyone. Weak. Useless. Burnt wreckage not worth keeping.
The thought took root, poisonous and swift. He’d given her strength, tended her wounds, used her body… and then left. Because she wasn't enough. Because she hadn't made him stay. The memory of kneeling, of her mouth on him, the taste, the power exchange… it flooded back. That had held him. That had made him touch her afterward, heal her. That had anchored him to her, however briefly.
Panic seized her, sharp and suffocating. She needed to be better. More. She needed to be what he wanted. Now. Before he decided not to come back. She stumbled back into the bedroom, frantically rummaging through the piles of clothes Ethan had dumped on a chair. She found a faded black t-shirt, far too large. She pulled it on. It swallowed her, hanging loose, the hem brushing her thighs. It smelled overwhelmingly of him. She found a pair of dark boxer briefs, discarded near the bed. She pulled those on too. They pooled around her slender hips.
She looked down at herself. The bulky shirt hid her ravaged torso. The boxers were ridiculous, sliding down. Not sexy. Not submissive enough. Tears welled, hot and stinging. She ripped the boxers off, kicking them away. Just the shirt. Long, covering the worst. Bare legs beneath. Was that… acceptable? She ran trembling hands through her short, singed hair, trying to smooth it. Useless. She sank onto the edge of the bed, the panic tightening its coils, crushing her lungs. He wouldn't come back. He wouldn't. She was alone. Again. Broken. Unwanted.
The sound of a key scraping in the lock shattered the suffocating silence. Morrigan froze. The door opened. Ethan stepped in, shrugging off a damp jacket, his shoulders slumped with the weariness of the day. He kicked the door shut behind him, dropping his keys on the cluttered counter with a clatter.
He turned, scanning the dim living room. "Morrigan?"
She was already moving. She stumbled out of the bedroom doorway, her movements jerky, frantic. Tears streamed down her face, cutting tracks through the dried lotion residue. Her breath came in ragged, wet gasps. She didn't walk; she fell towards him, collapsing onto her knees on the dusty floorboards just feet from where he stood.
"Please!" The word was a raw sob, ripped from her throat. She scrambled forward on her knees, her hands clutching desperately at the legs of his work pants. "Please, don't leave! Please!" She pressed her forehead against his thigh, her body shaking violently. "I'll be good! I'll be whatever you want!" Her voice rose, hysterical. "Look!" She reared back slightly, pulling at the hem of the oversized black t-shirt, trying to expose herself beneath it, her movements clumsy with terror. "See? I can… I can do it better! Like before! Please!" Her hands scrabbled at his belt buckle, fumbling, slick with tears and panic. "Just tell me! Tell me what you want! I'll do it! Anything! Don't go away again! Please!"
Ethan stared down at her, stunned. The frantic energy, the raw terror rolling off her in waves, the desperate attempt to offer herself… it hit him like a physical blow. He hadn't expected… this. He crouched down swiftly, his hands closing firmly over hers, stopping her frantic fumbling. Her skin was icy cold beneath his grip.
"Whoa! Hey! Hey, stop!" His voice was sharp, cutting through her hysteria. "Morrigan! Look at me!" He shook her hands gently but insistently. Her tear-filled eyes, wide with animal fear, finally snapped up to meet his. "What the hell are you talking about? I went to work. That's all."
She stared at him, trembling uncontrollably, her breath hitching. "You… left," she choked out, the accusation thick with betrayal. "You were gone. All day. The sun… it moved…"
Understanding dawned, cold and uncomfortable. Time. Isolation. The sheer terror of abandonment in a strange, hostile place. He saw it then – not the powerful, predatory creature, but the deeply wounded, terrified being clinging to the only anchor she had.
"I told you I'd be back," he said, his voice lowering, losing its edge but gaining a rough intensity. He kept hold of her wrists, anchoring her. "I have to work, Morrigan. Understand?" He leaned closer, forcing her to hold his gaze. "This place?" He jerked his chin towards the cluttered, grimy apartment. "Food? That shitty lotion? The roof over our heads? It costs money. My money. From working." He squeezed her wrists gently. "I wasn't leaving you. I was getting what we need. To keep you safe. To keep you here."
Her trembling lessened slightly, but the fear still clouded her eyes. "Safe?" she whispered, the word fragile.
"Yeah. Safe." He released one wrist to swipe a thumb roughly across her wet cheek, smearing tears and dried lotion. "From whatever the fuck did that to you." He gestured vaguely towards her covered torso. "From starving. From freezing." He met her gaze squarely. "I need to work to protect you. To provide. That's why I left. That's why I'll leave again tomorrow. And I'll come back. Every damn time. Got it?"
She searched his face, looking for the lie, finding only weary, blunt honesty. The frantic energy seeped out of her, leaving her slumped, trembling on her knees before him. The oversized shirt hung off one shoulder, revealing a patch of angry red burn. Her breath hitched, quieter now. The raw terror receded, replaced by a profound, exhausted confusion.
"Every time?" she breathed, the question barely audible.
"Every time," he affirmed, his voice gravelly but firm. He didn't promise forever. He promised the next return. The concrete reality of work, money, survival. It was the only currency she might understand right now. He stood, pulling her gently up with him. Her legs wobbled. He kept an arm around her waist, supporting her weight as he guided her towards the worn couch. She leaned into him heavily, her head resting against his shoulder, the frantic storm subsiding into a bone-deep weariness. The distant traffic hummed outside, a reminder of the world he moved through to bring himself back to her.