Lib Novel Page 63
Gently, I lowered her to the ground, her feet finding purchase on the forest floor. She looked up at me, confusion and wonder etched across her features.
“What now?” she asked, vulnerability lacing her words.
“Let’s go home,” I murmured, the intensity of what had transpired between us lingering like a tangible force. “I have so much to tell you.”
Chapter Thirty-One: Abby
Iwoke to the soft light of early morning filtering through the blinds, casting faint lines across the chaos of sheets and limbs. Nathan’s chest rose and fell beneath my hand, a steady rhythm that seemed at odds with the last thirty-odd hours we’d spent tangled up in each other. Hunger had driven us—hunger for touch, for release, for something raw and unnamed that neither of us could quite grasp until now. And here, in the aftermath, I found myself tracing the intricate lines of his dragon tattoo, mapping the scars that told stories he’d kept locked away.
His eyelids fluttered open and his expression softened as he looked at me.
“Never got around to asking about these,” I murmured, my fingers hovering over a particularly rugged scar near his ribs.
“You want to know about them?” he asked, his voice coated in sleep.
“I want to know everything about you.”
Nathan’s eyes flickered open, dark pools that held secrets and an intensity that could make anyone’s heart skip—except mine was immune, or maybe just stubbornly defiant. “Some questions have answers you might not want to hear, Abby,” he said, his voice still rough and warm.
“Maybe,” I conceded, “but I’ve been trained to face things head-on.”
“Even when those things are ugly?” he asked, his hand covering mine, pressing it gently against the warmth of his skin.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m not afraid of that.”
He closed his eyes. “I don’t even know where to start.”
My fingers traced the intricate lines of the dragon tattoo that sprawled across his chest. “I got this when I was sixteen,” he said, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of the early morning.
“Sixteen?” I echoed, my eyebrows knitting together in concern. The idea of someone so young enduring the needle for hours stirred a sadness within me. “That must have hurt.”
“Less than what led up to it,” he replied, his gaze fixed on some point beyond the room’s confines. “It was after the first time my dad beat me senseless. Stepped in between him and my mom.” He paused, swallowing hard, the muscles in his jaw working. “Dragons are protectors. That’s what I’ve always tried to be for them, for my mom and my siblings.”
“Who did the tattoo?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady. The thought of Nathan seeking solace in the permanence of ink at such a young age made my heart ache for him.
“Friend of mine,” he answered, a shadow crossing his features. “He was older, part of the operation. Taught me a few things about survival.” Nathan’s brow furrowed, a pained expression flitting across his face. “He’s dead now. Seems like everyone who gets too close ends up that way.”
“Everyone?” The word slipped from my lips before I could stop it, a mixture of fear and defiance lacing my tone.
“Everyone,” he confirmed, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that held my breath captive. “It’s the life we lead. It consumes everything…everyone.”
I swallowed hard, trying to digest the weight of his words, the gravity of his existence. My fingers paused on the ridge of a particularly long scar that trailed down his ribcage. It looked like it had been deep, a cruel reminder etched into his skin.
“Did he do this to you?” I asked softly, unable to mask the sadness in my voice. The ‘he’ hung there, heavy and unspoken, but we both knew I meant his father.
Nathan’s chest rose with a slow inhale, his gaze drifting away for a moment as if he was pulling himself back from the brink of some dark memory. “Yeah,” he finally breathed out, voice barely above a whisper. “But not recently.”
“Because you’re too strong now?” I ventured, trying to understand the twisted dynamics of his world.
“Something like that,” Nathan admitted, a bitter edge to his voice. “When I was younger, it happened a lot. But I haven’t let him lay a finger on me in years.”
“Does he still try?” I couldn’t help the fury that crept into my tone, the protective instinct that flared within me. No one deserved to be treated that way, least of all by their own family.
Nathan shook his head, a cold laugh escaping him. “He knows better now. He knows I could end him if I wanted to.” There was no pride in his words, only the harsh truth of a life too acquainted with violence.
I felt a surge of anger on his behalf, a desire to fight battles I had no right to claim as my own. It was a strange sensation, this blend of protectiveness and rage, but it burned through me with startling clarity.
“Good,” I said fiercely, pressing my lips into a thin line. “If he ever tries again—“