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Adrian goes still beside me. The tension in his shoulder releases as he focuses on the movement of my hands. He is incredibly comfortable with me treating him despite being bratty about it.
“You know,” I say as I secure the wrap around his wrist, “now that we’ve moved past the whole attempted murder phase of our relationship, you could stop throwing yourself into situations that will end up with me stitching you back together.”
Adrian scoffs softly beside me, the sound threaded with amusement instead of irritation. “Who says I’m done trying to kill you?”
I grin without looking up. “If you want me dead right now, at least wait until I finish wrapping your hand first.”
That earns me a quiet huff.
Small victories.
I smooth my thumb over the inside of his wrist before letting his hand settle against his thigh, and for a second neither of us speaks. Lightning flashes white through the apartment windows, illuminating the living room in brief, fractured pieces, throwing a halo around Adrian’s features, accentuating his innocent beauty.
Trying to kill him was fun. Hell, so was being hunted in return. That especially had me going.
The stalking, watching, the endless game of cat and mouse… it kept me entertained far longer than it should have. But sitting here across from him now, I find myself interested in something entirely different. Because this is the first time we’re not standing on opposite sides of a battlefield.
No knives and no masks.
Just us.
And despite everything I know about him, despite the files, the cameras, the weeks spent studying him before he ever knew my name, there are still gaps.
There are pieces of him I haven’t gotten my hands on yet, and I intend to fix that.
“You really don’t give a shit that Xavier’s dead, huh?” I state, letting out an almost bored sigh, placing my hands at the back of my head, stretching. Adrian doesn’t flinch at the statement, and it’s honestly my favorite fucking thing about him.
“It was obvious the night he died,” I continue. “You stood there, watching the man bleed out.”
He stares ahead at nothing in particular, arms folded loosely over his chest. “It’s not like I could’ve done anything.” His tone stays flat and all matter-of-fact. “He was already gutted open. What exactly was I supposed to do? Hold his organs in?”
I laugh under my breath.
Jesus Christ.
“You looked mortified when you first saw his body,” I add. “Were you scared?”
“No,” Adrian admits, casual as sin. “It shocked me at first, I guess. Not because it was Xavier specifically. Just because seeing someone ripped apart on the floor wasn’t exactly what I expected that night. But after that,” he shrugs, “the bigger issue was being stuck with someone who couldn’t help himself.”
I turn my head toward him slowly.
Adrian rubs his thumb over the fresh bandage absently as he continues. “He was loud and panicking and bleeding everywhere. It was… inconvenient.” His expression barely changes as he adds, “And it’s not like an ambulance would’ve made it in time anyway.”
Something warm settles low in my chest listening to him talk like this. Not hiding or pretending to be softer than he is.
“Wouldn’t have mattered regardless,” I murmur. “I wouldn’t have given you enough time to call for help.”
That finally pulls his eyes toward me with pure understanding, stripped of fear or judgment. I’m not surprised in the slightest by his answer. I suspected as much, but hearing my little stray reiterate those words, detached and almost lifeless, fills me with the kind of reverence that makes me want him more.
Adrian stretches his legs out slightly and lets his shoulder brush mine without thinking about it. He seems content.
“How did you feel when you killed your father?” I finally ask.
Adrian goes still beside me, eyes blinking for the first time tonight, before peering at me through those beautiful dead malachite eyes. “Relieved.”
“Why is that?”
He drops his hands to his sides, fingers tighten slightly against the fabric of the carpet as he speaks. “He became a problem, and problems need solutions.”
