CHAPTER 262

ZION

Woke up slowly, still half-asleep, the groggy where your body moves before your brain does. My arm slid across the mattress on instinct, reaching for the warm spot where she should’ve been. Where was she the last time I closed my eyes?

Warm skin. Soft breath.

Her.

My hand landed on cold sheets instead.

A small frown pulled at my lips as I blinked, not fully awake yet, just aware enough to know something felt off. I shifted, dragging my hand across the bed again, slower this time, like maybe I’d missed her somehow. The sheets were cool, flat—no warmth, no trace of her body.

That tiny, uneasy pinch in my chest came right away.

That tiny, uneasy pinch in my chest came right away.

“Snowflake?” I murmured, voice thick with sleep, the word slurring out of me without thought.

I patted the mattress again, slower this time, tracing the outline of her body, hoping for the curve of her hip or the warmth of her side. The sheet was smooth and cold, already forgetting the shape of her.

Huh.

I rolled onto my stomach, then onto my side, scanning, searching. My leg kicked out instinctively, seeking the tangle of hers. Nothing. Just empty space stretching far too wide.

The fog in my head lifted fast, replaced by a twisting spike of panic.

I bolted upright. 

Sheets tangled around my waist like restraints. 

My lungs clawed for air, my chest hammering so hard it might shatter my ribs.

“Snowflake?” 

Silence answered me.

WTF!

My pulse roared. 

Every nerve in my body went on high alert, muscles coiling, ready to spring. 

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the floor like they were on fire, every fibre of me poised to move, to run, to hunt if I had to.

A thin line of gold slipped under the bathroom door.

A soft scuff.

Bare feet.

Relief hit me, sudden and violent, like a tidal wave slamming into my chest. 

My knees nearly buckled, but I braced a hand against the mattress, head dropping forward, letting my lungs gulp in ragged air. 

My jaw was tight. 

My heart threatened to explode.

For a second, I just knelt there, letting the terror bleed out slowly, feeling the last remnants of adrenaline loosen enough to make me shiver.

“Snowflake!” I called again, raw, hoarse, teetering on frantic.

The bathroom door cracked open. 

She stepped out, hair damp, clinging to her shoulders. 

Something inside me snapped.

I didn’t walk to her—I lunged. 

My hands were on her before thought could form—one framing her jaw, the other locking around her waist, pulling her closer as if I needed to feel her body to believe she was real. 

I tilted her chin up, guiding—no, claiming—her gaze, refusing to let her hide from me.

“You…” The word shook out of me, cracked open with everything I’d felt in the ten seconds she wasn’t there. 

“…you scared the hell out of me.”

Then I saw it.

Tears. 

Her cheeks glistened. 

Her lips trembled. 

Her eyes, so fragile and red, looked at me like she had just survived something that shouldn’t have been survived.

“You’ve been crying… tell me what’s wrong,” I growled, every word a jagged edge. 

“Nothing.” Her answer was too quick, too practised.

My hand slid down her arm, fingers brushing her wrist, not grabbing—just there.

“Don’t do that,” I murmured. 

“Don’t shut me out. If something’s bothering you, you can tell me. You know I’d do anything for you… right?”

I wanted to scream, to tear the world apart for making her hurt while I slept.

“I… I didn’t want to wake you. You finally looked peaceful, and after everything that happened last night… You needed the rest.”

“Don’t do that,” I said, voice low, steady—too steady. 

“Don’t make decisions about my rest when it comes to you,” I said, each word precise, controlled—because if I let emotion take over, I’d scare her. 

“If you’re hurting, I want to know. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning, or if I haven’t closed my eyes in a week—you wake me. Always.”

Her breath stuttered, a tiny intake of air, like the force of my words hit her straight in the chest. Her lashes fluttered, and she swallowed hard, voice barely there.

“Zion… I.."

I tipped her chin up between my fingers, firm enough she couldn’t look away, but gentle enough she felt held, not trapped. I needed her eyes on mine. Needed her to absorb this.

“I don’t want peace if you’re suffering,” I said, my voice rough, darker than I intended, dragging truth out of places I don’t show anyone. 

“I would rather sit awake every night for the rest of my life than miss the moment you need me.”

Her lips parted, surprise flickering across her face, but I wasn’t done.

“You don’t cry alone,” I told her, firm, unshakable. 

“Not when I’m here. You wake me—shake me—rip the blankets off me if you have to. But don’t you dare sit in the dark and fall apart by yourself again.”

Her eyes filled again, and it—God—it cut through me. 

A slow, lethal burn is crawling up my spine, mixing guilt, rage, and obsession.

I leaned in, my forehead almost touching hers, breath mixing with hers in the dim light.

“Rest means nothing if you’re hurting,” I said quietly. 

“You hear me?” I murmured, voice low, gravelly. 

“There is no peace for me if you’re hurting. Not a second. Not a heartbeat. Your pain—it burns through me. I can’t… I can’t stand the thought of you breaking and me not knowing. Every tear, every shiver, every quiet breath of yours—I feel it like it’s mine.”

I leaned closer, thumb brushing her temple, tracing the curve of her jaw possessively. 

“I need it. I need you to let me in. I need to carry it with you, or I’ll go insane knowing you suffered alone.”

Her lashes fluttered, and I could see it—the way her guard wavered, the way she started to crumble.

My voice dropped, warm, rough with something fierce and honest.

“You don’t have to be strong in the dark. Not with me.” My thumb swept a tear from beneath her eye before it could fall. 

“If you’re awake and breaking at three in the morning—then that’s where I want to be. Awake with you. Holding you. Not sleeping through your pain.”

Her lip trembled.

“Because the thought of you crying inches away while I slept—” 

I swallowed hard, jaw locked. 

“I can’t take that, Snowflake. I can’t. I don’t fail when it comes to you.”

“Zion…” she breathed, and the sound of my name—soft, fragile, trusting—burned through every wall I’d ever built.

I slid my hand to the back of her neck and drew her into my chest, slow and careful, giving her time to pull away if she needed to.

She didn’t.

She folded into me, her forehead pressing against my collarbone, her hands bunching weakly in my shirt like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to hold on.

I wrapped my arms around her fully, one hand spreading across the back of her head, shielding her like I could hide her from everything that haunted her. My lips rested against her hair, my breath warm and steady.

“Fuck. Snowflake. You scared me,” 

I got out, the words scraping through my throat, rough and unsteady. It wasn’t anger anymore—it was something raw, too close to the bone.

She leaned back slightly, just enough to see my face, her brows pulling together as if she needed to check if I meant it.

I swallowed hard.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” I said, voice low but shaking despite my best effort to control it. 

“And for a moment… I swear, Snowflake —my heart just—” 

My jaw locked, the rest choking off because saying it out loud would make it too real. Too terrifying.

I dragged in a breath through my nose, fighting the image that had ripped through me when I’d found the bed empty.

“I can’t lose you,” I said finally, the truth spilling out unfiltered. 

My thumb moved on instinct, brushing the newest tear sliding down her cheek—slow, careful, like I could erase it, like I could keep the next one from falling just by being gentle enough this time.

“Next time you cry,” I murmured, holding her gaze so she understood every word was a promise, 

“You wake me. Understood.”

I shook my head once—firm, certain. 

“I don’t care if it’s one tear or a damn flood. I need to know. I want to know. I’m supposed to be there for you.”

Her lips parted, eyes shimmering, a tiny wounded sound catching in her throat.

“Zion…” she breathed, like my name hurt to say.

Her mouth trembled, words stuttering on the edge of breaking. 

“I… I just needed a minute.”

I slid my thumb down the path her tears had taken—slow, firm, like I could wipe the memory off her skin, not just the tear itself.

“A minute to fall apart alone?” I murmured, voice low but steady. 

“No.”

I caught her chin gently between my fingers, guiding her gaze back to mine when she tried to look away.

“You don’t get minutes alone anymore,” I said—not harsh, but with a finality that sank into the space between us. 

“Not the kind that leaves you shaking. Not the kind that hurt you.”

Her breath stuttered, guilt flickering in her eyes.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, and it nearly undid me—the way she said it, like she was the one who’d wronged me by hurting in silence.

My jaw softened, grip easing though I didn’t let her look away.

“Don’t apologise for breaking,” I said, voice low, threaded with something gentler. My thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, lifting her chin slightly. 

“Just don’t do it alone. You're hurt… and I wasn’t there to hold you through it.”

I slipped a hand to the back of her neck, pulling her into me. Not forceful, but certain. Protective. Anchoring.

“You don’t have to protect me from your pain, Snowflake. I want all of it—the good, the broken, every silent tear. I want it all.”

Her body sagged into mine. My arms wrapped around her instantly—one under her knees, one around her back. In one smooth motion, I lifted her bridal style.

“Come here,” I whispered, holding her like she was fragile, like I’d destroy everything around me before letting her fall.

The mattress dipped as I settled her carefully. Sheets wrapped around us. I slid in beside her, anchoring her against me.

My lips brushed her temple.

“I don’t want you upset. You don’t have to do a damn thing except crawl into my arms and sleep.”

The words came out rough—raw—because I meant every syllable. If I could take every fear, every tear from her, I would. I’d bleed for her if it meant she never cried again.

She still had the sheet wrapped tight around her body, clinging to it like a fragile shield. 

My jaw flexed. 

Part of me wanted to rip it off her and bury her against me—but the other part, the protective part, knew she needed the barrier right now. 

Needed comfort before the heat.

She tugged the sheet closer, gathering it in her fists as she took slow, careful steps across the floor toward me.

Even wrapped in cotton, drowning in heartbreak, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. 

My chest pulled tight with something sharp and fierce.

“You’re not alone,” I murmured, voice rough with the remnants of panic. 

“I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight, not tomorrow—not ever.”

My hand slid beneath her knees, the other around her back, and I lifted her off the floor in one smooth motion.

Her breath hitched as I pulled her against my chest, holding her like she was fragile but mine to protect. Bridal style, close enough I could feel every fragile breath she took.

“Until my last dying breath,” I added, a vow more than words—quiet, deadly sincere.

“That’s how long you have me.”

I carried her to the bed and lay down with her, refusing to let go. 

The mattress dipped as I settled beside her, pulling her into me like her body completed something in mine.

My lips brushed her temple, soft—an apology and a promise in one.