CHAPTER 263
**WINTER**
Zion’s breath brushed my face—slow, steady, controlled in a way that made my chest ache. I knew that look. I’d seen the storm in his eyes seconds before he shut it down for me.
For me.
His hands framed my face, his thumbs sweeping across my skin, catching the tears before they could fall any further. My breathing stuttered, too shallow, too fast.
“Look at me.”
His voice wasn’t harsh—but it left no room to hide. It anchored me.
I forced my eyes up, and the second our gazes locked, something inside me loosened. Not completely, but enough to breathe.
“I’m right here.”
He leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine, and the contact made the nightmare blur at the edges.
His presence always did that—pulled me back from the places my mind tried to drown me in.
“I’m not leaving.”
His thumb brushed beneath my eye again—slower, more deliberate—as if he could wipe away the memory itself, not just the tears. His jaw flexed, a storm beneath the surface.
“You’re safe. With me. Always.”
A sound escaped me—half-sob, half-relief—like my body couldn’t decide whether to collapse in his arms or hold on tighter.
His gaze flicked over my face, and something fierce, almost painful, flashed in his eyes.
“I’m not letting you sit in the dark by yourself again,” he said, voice low but edged in steel.
“Not on a cold bathroom floor. Not biting back sobs so no one hears you. Not ever.”
His hand cradled my cheek, thumb trembling just once.
"If you break, you break in my arms. That’s where you fall. On me.”
He leaned his forehead to mine, voice rough with truth.
“You don’t suffer alone. Not while I breathe.”
Before I could step back, his arm slid under my knees, the other circling my back, lifting me as if it was the most natural thing in the world to carry me.
My breath caught, hands curling into his shirt on instinct.
“Z‑Zion—”
“No.” His voice wasn’t hard—just final.
“You’re sleeping in my arms tonight.”
He didn’t say why.
He didn’t demand an explanation.
He didn’t push for the truth I wasn’t ready to spill.
He just held me like he already knew enough to understand one thing: I needed him close.
He set me on the bed but didn’t let go—not even an inch. His forehead rested against mine, his hands steady and warm around me, holding me together when I felt like I could fall apart.
“If something scares you… if your chest feels tight… if you can’t breathe,” he murmured—softer now, but still absolute—
“You wake me. Shake me. Pull me. Rip me out of sleep if you have to.”
He had carried me here, and even now, with the mattress beneath us, his arms stayed locked around me, like the world might try to steal me if he loosened his hold for even a heartbeat.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want distance. I didn’t want space. I wanted him—close enough that the darkness couldn’t reach me.
Because the moment I closed my eyes… I felt exposed, fragile, and unbearably breakable. And he was the only thing anchoring me to something safe.
He exhaled slowly, his lips near my hair, not pushing, not prying—just there.
“You’re shaking,” he said quietly, almost to himself, feeling rather than accusing. His hand rubbed slow circles along my back, patient, careful.
“You don’t have to tell me anything… but if talking helps, I’m here. I’m right here.”
The words weren’t a question, not a demand—just an opening.
A door left gently, lovingly ajar.
A promise behind it:
“When I… when I finally fell asleep,” I whispered, the words trembling out of me,
“I saw him.”
Even naming him felt wrong, like it gave him power.
“He’s just there, watching. I can’t see his face, but I know he’s looking at me. I feel it....But I can’t move. It’s like my legs won’t work, like something’s holding me down and I’m trapped inside my own body.”
My breath stuttered, chest tightening.
“And suddenly I’m not here anymore. I’m somewhere dark and cold and—it’s like the air disappears. I can’t move, I can’t speak, I can’t even scream.” My voice broke.
“I feel trapped, like he’s waiting for me to fall apart so he can reach me. And no matter what I do, I can’t make him stop. I can’t make him go away.”
Zion didn’t speak.
But his whole body changed.
The air around him tightened, charged, as if something violent inside him snapped awake.
His muscles tensed beneath my hands, his breath slowing—not calm, but controlled in that way someone breathes when they’re restraining rage.
His jaw clenched once.
Hard.
His hand, the one holding my waist, flexed—so slight most people would miss it, but his anger vibrated through the touch.
He didn’t interrupt.
He didn’t soothe.
He absorbed every word, let it sink into him like fuel poured over fire.
I shouldn’t have told him. I shouldn’t drag him into the shadows of my mind.
But I couldn’t stop.
The images pressed against my throat, forcing themselves out.
But when I couldn’t look at him—when shame and fear made me tuck my face into his chest—his fingers lifted my chin, guiding me back gently but firmly.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
I shook my head, small, desperate.
If I looked at him, the nightmare would claw its way back into me and swallow me whole.
“You’re safe,” he whispered.
“Right here. With me. And I won’t let him get close to you ever again… I fucking swear it, Snowflake.”
The nickname—soft, familiar—broke something in me.
I swallowed hard, my voice barely more than breath.
“It’s not… I’m not scared for myself, Zion.”
My throat tightened, the words shaking loose.
“It’s you. I don’t care what happens to me—I just…”
My chest ached as the truth scraped out.
“I can’t stand the thought of anything hurting you. Of him getting to you because of me.”
My voice wavered and I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that alone could stop the images.
“In my nightmare…” I whispered,
“he’s chasing me. I run, but I can’t get away. My legs won’t move—like I’m sinking into mud or someone’s holding me down—and he just keeps coming. Closer and closer.”
My breath hitched, trembling
“Like he knows he can catch me… no matter how hard I try to escape.”
His jaw tightened against my temple.
I didn’t need to see it—I felt the tension ripple through him
But his hands never stopped their slow, steady movement along my back, easing the panic from my lungs one breath at a time.
“And then it changes,” I whispered.
“I’m not alone anymore. I see Harry… Clark… Claire… Ariel… and Ro.”
The names trembled out of me like a confession.
“They’re trying to reach me—calling my name, trying to pull me away from him.”
His silence wasn’t empty.
It burned—hot, controlled, barely leashed.
My fingers curled into his shirt.
“They keep running toward me and every time they get close… they vanish. Like smoke.”
My voice broke.
“Like he swallows them whole.”
His breath stilled, just for a second.
“And then I see you.”
Zion didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
He just looked at me—eyes locked, unblinking, as if those four words rewired something inside him.
I wished I could swallow the words back down—bury them, lie, pretend. But the truth sat heavy on my tongue, cutting me as it left.
“You’re standing between me and him,” I whispered,
“like you always do.”
My throat closed.
“But this time… this time, you don’t get back up.”
He didn’t even blink.
“You’re covered in blood.”
The words scraped out of me, and the room seemed to shrink around us—walls pressing closer, air thinning, cold crawling up my spine like fingers.
My breath fractured, stumbling out in broken pieces.
“It’s everywhere, Zion. On your hands, your shirt—your face.” My pulse skittered, panic surging back.
“You’re not moving. You’re just lying there and I’m screaming for you to get up but you don’t— you don’t—”
My voice crumpled, barely air. “It’s your blood.”
Zion didn’t speak.
But he reacted.
His arms tightened around me in one sharp, instinctive pull—dragging me closer against his chest, caging me there as if he could shield me from a memory.
His breath hitched—just once—before it dropped into a low, controlled exhale against my ear.
His hand slid to the back of my head, holding me with a tenderness that contrasted the violence simmering beneath his skin.
His jaw pressed to my temple, clenched so tight I could feel the tremor of restraint.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet—too quiet—like a promise carved into steel.
“That will never happen,” he said, each word slow and sharpened, like he was tasting the violence he was promising.
“Not in this life. Not in your dreams. Not anywhere.”
He drew back just enough for our foreheads to remain touching, eyes locked on mine—unblinking, unwavering, dangerous.
“I don’t bleed for the things that hunt you,” he murmured, voice dropping into something cold and lethal.
“I destroy them.”
His hand slid to my jaw, thumb tilting my face up—not rough, but with the kind of control that said listen to me.
The muscles in his arms coiled around me, holding me as if preparing for battle with something only he could see.
“If something is coming for you—haunting you—lurking in your head or your nightmares?” His jaw flexed.
“Then it chose the wrong damn person to fixate on.”
A dark heat rolled off him, protective and violent, like a storm gathering behind his ribs.
“I don’t care if it’s a man, a shadow, or some faceless nightmare,” he growled against my skin.
“It will learn what fear feels like. It will regret ever standing in your direction.”
He brushed his lips against my temple—not tender, but claiming—before finishing, low and vicious:
“You are not the prey in this story, Snowflake. You are under me. And anything that tries to touch you…”
His breath hit the shell of my ear.
“…dies.”
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
