The knock on the door forced Lucian to turn bending from the oven, frowning as he set the muffin tray on the stove top and taking off his oven mits. As he walked closer, he kicked the oven door shut and smirked at the angry bang as he walked away. The rain was heavy, sounding like gunshots hammering into his roof. He stood before the door for a second, contemplating how someone could’ve hunted down his safety house.
Then he opened the door, looking down at the figure curled against the wood. Under the slashing rain he saw blood pooling and slipping down his driveway, the ravaged raincoat barely covering the shivering skin beneath.
Bemused, Lucian knelt beside the body, slipping back the hood to see the face.
His skin bleached of colour, a hand shooting out to grip the door to steady himself. Her face was scrunched in pain, a hand wrapped around a wound curling around her hip and down her side.
The rain now tapped on her face, forcing her eyes open to see him hovering over her, a hand raised moments from her body in bewilderment.
At his shock she struggled to her knees, a weak smile brushing her lips. “I.. I didn’t know where else to go.” And then fell into his arms, her golden hair tinged red with her own blood on the ends.
The villain pulled her to his chest, ignoring the mix of blood and water soaking his slippers. Slowly he pulled her into the entryway, lying her on the rug so he could shut the door behind them.
“Aurora,” he murmured, gently tapping her face. “AURORA!” Her eyes fluttered open, a mothwings' consciousness behind those once brilliant blue eyes. Now they were the colour of used dishwater. Muddy and pained.
“Stay with me,” he told her. Begged her. His voice came out panicked, higher and anxious. Somewhere in the back of his mind he reprimanded himself for caring about his nemesis. Something darker, something louder and richer roared his rage instead.
She was his. And someone touched her.
He lay her down again, running to gather supplies, towels, blankets and his spell book. Her blood was soaking into his rug, her breathing hitching up. Lucian swore, running back to her and flicking his spell book into the air. It hovered there and opened, obeying it’s master as he began to chant. His dark magic curled around both of them, probing whisps of shadow picking up needle and thread.
Her body rose horizontally in the air with him as he slipped off his bloody coat and slippers, her hair slipping from around her body to drip like golden threads of a sunset.
Lucian continued chanting, his voice changing from deep and demanding to a purr. He coaxed the needle to sharpen, the thread to be clean, for shadow hands to gently remove clothing and cover her in its’ cooling presence. He began patching her up, sewing her wound shut. She twitched, too weak to do more.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he worked, his chanting never ceasing as he monitored her heartbeat, her breathing, her life force.
“Lucian,” she whispered, a breath of a word. A dark prayer. “I- I’m sorry, I-”
“Hush.” He growled, his magic reporting poison in her system. A sedative as well. A deep, unyielding burn began to pulsate from him, empowering him. Bruises turned from black, to blue-purple, to yellow as he coaxed her body into healing. A handprint was pressed black into her side, Lucian used his abilities to catch the hand on tracking parchment before healing it. Signs of road rash covered her other side, shoulder and arm from where she had obviously rolled out of a moving car and ran.
To him.
He had no interest in justice. His black mind traveled down unspoken passageways. No. This was personal.
She reached out with a hand, probing the air for him. He clasped her hand, running a thumb down hers reassuringly. At the contact she began to breathe deeper, tears sliding down her face and dripping below her before his crossed legs.
Slowly her critical condition changed, Lucian returning to standing amongst the bloody mess of her clothes and his death kissed rug.
He collected her from his shadows wrapped in a blanket, holding her to his chest as she clutched him. He carried her over to his loungeroom, gently laying her on his couch. He knelt before her, making himself smaller, less threatening. She shivered, seeing him give her a small smile as he took off his shirt, helping her into it.
Aurora slipped off the couch and into his arms, both surprised when he curled her into his chest. Whatever line they had held was shattered. His naked chest warmed her, his smell comforting her. He had always been there. Had known her for over a decade.
He wasn’t meant to be safe.
And yet. She felt his hands protectively press against her stitched side, adjusting her so he wouldn’t disrupt her stitches.
Then he looked down at her, his face changing from concern to something much darker. A rage so black his shadows flared like a midnight-coloured phoenix tail.
“Who did this to you?”
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