Chapter Twenty-Five

Fractures

Alistair returned just as Lena was beginning to consider leaving. He was gone for five days. On the third, she started to believe he left her for good. He disliked staying in one place for longer than a week, and with the addition of their argument, she worried she might never see him again.

The thought made her ache. It only confirmed what she already knew, though she wasn't sure if it was something she feared. She cared for him, loved him - worryingly so. Her life as a vampire was not supposed to be governed by these sorts of feelings. If she were completely honest with herself, she didn't think she deserved them. If she were to lie, she didn't want them at all.

He opened the door to the room as if he was gone for only half a day. Lena might have let herself believe it if the sight of him didn't nearly shatter her. She wanted to scream at him and tell him to leave. She wanted to rush up to him and kiss him. Her range of emotions terrified her. Instead of contemplating them, she pushed her terror onto Alistair and tried to convince herself she was afraid of him, but she couldn't mimic fear.

He looked no different than he had when he left. He wore the same clothes. His hair was tangled, but not greasy. His scruff of a beard had grown no longer. Lena knew he would never change.

Stable.

"I think we should talk." She was the first to speak. She wasn't sure why she rushed to say it.

"I think so as well," he said, but he lingered by the door.

Lena sat on the bed, and patted the space beside her.

He looked at it, then back at her. He pushed himself off of the wall and crossed the room. His muscles were rigid, but his movements were fluid. Ready to run.

He sat beside her, and the bed dipped with his weight. He did not sit as close as she would have liked. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel his skin under hers, his mouth against hers, but she wouldn't. Couldn't. He would only spook.

"I'm a coward, Lena."

The statement caught her off-guard. It was nothing she didn't already know, but to hear him say it openly, shamefully, startled her.

"I run from problems. I have for centuries," he said. "But you aren't a problem I should run from." He sighed and shook his head. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know."

He looked at her. His eyes flickered between hers. He reached for her hands, pulled them into his lap, and rubbed his thumbs over the backs of them. His gaze dropped.

Lena knew part of it was a distraction. Part of it was a shield to hide behind, because being open like this frightened him. The urge to flee was coursing through him, begging him to stand and run out the door. Lena saw him beat it down, subdue it with the repetitive and lulling motion of his thumbs across her skin.

"We could live happily," he said after a while. "Together."

She knew it wasn't possible for her. She liked moments like this with him, and she could imagine an eternity filled with them, but it was not a priority. How could she bear to live with him, to indulge in this sort of thing, when she knew what sort of tragedy she was born from?

"After," she whispered, knowing he would understand what she meant.

His eyes flashed to her face. "There might not be an after."

"Then wouldn't this all have been enough?"

"It would never be enough," he said. "You only have yourself to blame for that. You've bewitched me, woman."

"You left easily enough."

"Don't presume it was a pleasant time for me," he said. "Not a moment passed without me fretting over you. But I was too angry to come back. I knew you would despise me for what I would say. But at least I knew you were safe."

She pressed her lips together.

He was quiet for a moment. "Lena, please, put it to rest. There are other ways to live."

She shook her head. She would not budge. It didn't matter how softly he spoke, or how gently he touched her. He was wrong. There was no other way to live. Without addressing this issue, she would not be living at all.

"I can't."

He squeezed her hands. "And what would I do if you were to die?"

She didn't answer.

"If your efforts to avenge yourself lead to your death, I would never forgive myself for letting you so much as entertain these thoughts."

Lena sighed. "You're either with me or against me, Alistair. There is no such thing as being in the middle."

"You can't expect me to follow you as you march to your own death."

"Then don't," she said, "but don't stop me, either."

His eyes narrowed. "If you cannot promise me you won't take actions that will put you in direct danger, then I cannot promise that I won't prevent them."

It seemed fair, she supposed. If neither of them promised, neither of them sacrificed. Strange, though, that she was willing to risk her life over a man she hardly knew, but that she wouldn't admit the dangers and haziness of her plans to a man she knew well.

"Fine," she said.

He sighed, and tugged her towards him. His arms locked around her, and he buried his face in her hair. "I hope you know just how much I despise you, Lena."

She smiled, and wrapped her arms around his torso. She missed feeling him against her, even in such a simple way.

She couldn't help but notice it wasn't quite the same as before. There were cracks, covered up but she still felt the bumps, the unsealed edges they missed. It amazed her how neither of them had apologised, or told the other they loved them.

Lena considered it, for a moment. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, weighted. She tasted them, practiced wrapping her lips around the phrase, but she hesitated. It wasn't that she doubted Alistair would say it back immediately, that he would kiss her deeply. In fact, she suspected he was holding on to the words out of fear of scaring her away. Something about saying it seemed too final to her, though, almost as if she were sealing her fate.

For now, she would just think it. She would quietly hold on to the words until after, when her life would truly begin.

Everything would start after, and not a moment before.