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Ashley hugged her arms around her middle, fingertips digging into her ribs through her nightshirt, and stared at the line of light under Leon’s closed bedroom door.
“If you need anything, you can come get me. Really,” he’d told her two hours ago when she’d stumbled off to her own end of their suite in the big private house in Seville where they’d been placed by StratCom. Maybe Leon had known she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Was he still awake, too?
She had imagined that Leon, at least, wouldn’t have any trouble falling asleep: she could still see his tired eyes shadowed by dark circles nearly the same shade of purple as the bruise on his left cheekbone. But his fearlessness while protecting her didn’t mean he wasn’t shaken by what they’d experienced in Valdelobos.
She stepped towards the door and knocked.
Silence.
Ashley turned the knob and pushed the door open a few inches.
“Leon?” she called.
Still no answer.
He was asleep, then. Ashley sighed, both glad he was resting and disappointed because that meant she’d have to wake the poor man after all. But she couldn’t go back to her room. Sitting there alone felt too much like all the times she’d been locked up, abandoned, and lost in the past week. She wished she was brave enough to spend the night by herself—she hadn’t been afraid to turn out the light and shut the door since she was six! But tonight she’d just sat in bed, arms clasping her up-drawn knees, and shivered as she stared at the closed door. She hadn’t even tried to switch off the bedside lamp.
She pushed Leon’s door open all the way. The light, she discovered, came from the bathroom that opened onto the hall leading back to the bedroom. The bathroom door was open just enough to illuminate the door she’d come through, a detail that Ashley supposed was intentional.
She crept down the hall, her efforts at silence rendered unnecessary by the thick wool rug under her feet, its pattern the same Oriental design that had seemed to adorn every floor of the castle.
At the sight of the rug’s twining botanical motif, her heart skipped into a faster rhythm.
After they’d made her drink the black water, the Iluminados had thrown her into a small parlor to await the next stage of their plan. She huddled on the floor where they left her, too dizzy with grief and whatever drug had been in that water to stand. Mind drifting in a haze, her bleary, half-focused eyes fixed on the ornate pattern of the rug under her, as if those woven vines and flowers were the most important details in the world, more important than the fact that Leon was dead and that she’d be better off if she had fallen down that pit with him.
And then she saw the pattern wasn’t vines, but the twisting, tentacle limbs of plagas. As she stared, simultaneously fascinated and sickened, they began to writhe beneath her hands . . .
Ashley drew a shaking breath, then bounded the last few steps down the hall and into Leon’s bedroom.
From what she could see in the dim light, Leon’s room was every bit as luxurious as hers, with a sofa and TV, a wardrobe big enough that she could easily have climbed inside it if she had still needed to hide from murderous cultists, and a king bed.
He lay on the side of the bed closest to the hall, his face towards her, towards the door—intentional. Just like the way he slept on top of the covers. He’d done the same thing when they’d had a chance to rest at the castle. It had made sense then: if anyone had come through that door and found them, Leon wouldn’t have wanted to be trapped by blankets. But here? He knew she was the only other person in their well-secured suite.
She tiptoed closer, cautious of startling him, but Leon didn’t stir, even when she was an arm’s reach away. He was wearing the same gray tee from earlier, though he’d traded the jeans for sweatpants. Holding her breath, she leaned closer for a moment, studying the spot between his eyebrows for that little furrow that always seemed to be there. She couldn’t see it now, but maybe that was just the darkness hiding it along with the cuts and bruises that she knew were on his face. Yet his hand lay open, relaxed.
Ashley straightened, and her eyes fell on the prescription bottle perched on the edge of the bedside table. Oh. Of course.
He’d taken in stride all the horrors they’d seen, as if he dealt with those kinds of things every day. Was he haunted by past missions? Surely the scars on his skin weren’t the only ones he carried.
Tears pricked her eyes. She didn’t want this for him, for her.
Ashley stared down at Leon, watching for some sign that he was trapped in restless dreams. But his closed eyes were still, his only movement the even rise and fall of his chest. Ashley shut her own eyes, focusing on the barely audible whoosh of his breath. She was not alone. Not alone. All the proof she needed was in this soft, rhythmic sound.
Her shoulder muscles unclenched, and she released a sigh in time with Leon’s exhale. It didn’t matter if he was awake, as long as she could hear him beside her.
Opening her eyes, she mentally measured the empty space on the far side of the bed. The king-size mattress was massive, so she could lie there without touching him. And he was so soundly asleep thanks to whatever medication he’d taken that he probably wouldn’t even know she was there.
She padded to the other side of the room and put a knee up on the mattress.
The blade was in Leon’s hand, and he swept it in a defensive arc before he consciously registered what had woken him. Someone cried out in surprise, and the mattress jostled.
“Ashley?”
“It’s me,” she answered, voice shaky.
“God, I’m sorry.” He lowered the knife and tossed it to the bedside table behind him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She sat back on her heels, chest heaving as her wide eyes met his. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just didn’t want to wake you up.”
“It’s fine. Really, I don’t—” He didn’t finish, his attention caught by the dark droplets beaded on Ashley’s upper arm. As he watched, they coalesced and dripped. “Dammit.”
“Leon?” Her brows twisted with concern.
“You’re bleeding. Wait here.”
He sprang out of bed and jogged to the bathroom. When he came back with the injury kit, Ashley was still crouched where he’d left her, body rigid as she stared at the dark line tracing down her triceps to her elbow.
When Leon clicked on the bedside lamp, her posture softened. “It’s red,” she breathed. “In the dark it looked—” She heaved a sigh, but he could easily finish the thought: in the dark it looked black, the color of infection.
“C’mere.” He knelt beside the bed and beckoned to her, gauze pad already in hand.
Ashley crawled across the mattress and swung her bare legs over the edge in front of him. Leon could see goosebumps on her skin. Was she cold in only t-shirt and shorts? Or maybe it was just the lingering shock from his involuntary attack.
He blotted blood with the gauze, then inspected the cut running crosswise over her upper arm. “It’s not deep,” he pronounced, relieved. He’d never forgive himself if he had seriously hurt her. “Here, hold this.”
As she pressed the gauze in place, Leon laid out wrap, scissors, and more gauze. When he tore open a disinfectant wipe, Ashley lifted the gauze. He swiped the disinfectant over the cut, and she hissed.
“Sorry,” Leon breathed, knowing her pain from a hundred memories of his own.
“I’m okay.” Her dusty golden lashes lowered as she watched his hands on her arm. “I should’ve known better than to sneak up on you like that. I know you’re dangerous.” Her lips quirked into a teasing half smile, and her eyes flicked up to his again. “Do you always sleep with that thing under your pillow?” she asked lightly, as if he hadn’t nearly gutted her with the vicious combat knife.
“Yeah. Never had to worry about accidentally stabbing someone before, though.” Really, he was the one who should have known better than to keep that weapon in reach; he knew Ashley might come looking for him. But old habits gave him a sense of control on nights like this, when the feeling of constant danger still hadn’t left his blood.
She hummed a muted laugh. “I guess we’re even now.”
“Ha, I guess so.” But he didn’t have the excuse of a parasite controlling him like the last time he’d nearly hurt her. All he could blame were his own fears and trauma and his inability to heal from them.
Leon opened a fresh piece of gauze, and as Ashley held it in place, he secured it with a few twists of self-adhesive wrap. He kept his touch light, professional, yet it still felt intimate to share this moment of gentle contact as his fingertips brushed her skin.
“So, you live by yourself? You don’t even have a cat?” Ashley asked as he snipped the wrap and smoothed it over her arm. So she was still thinking about the fact that he had implicitly admitted he always slept alone.
He shoved scissors and medical wrap back into the kit. “Got a couple of houseplants that aren’t dead yet.” He meant it as a joke, though as the words came out, he realized that maybe he just sounded pathetic. But Ashley smiled.
Leon reached out and nearly touched her knee, then redirected his hand to the bed beside her. He didn’t want her to think he’d misunderstood why she was here; he knew she hadn’t come to offer herself to him. “Hey, what do you need, Ashley? Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I just don’t want to be alone. It feels like—” Her voice broke, and she reached for his hand. “Like I’m back there again.” She thumbed the bandage wrapped around his palm. “Sorry. I know it’s silly. I’m safe now, and you’re right down the hall.”
“It’s not silly. I get it.” He flipped his palm up and clasped her hand. “You can’t just turn off that feeling that there’s a monster around the next corner. That’s why there’s a knife under my pillow.”
Ashley looked up to his face, and Leon was unexpectedly comforted by the soft gratitude in her eyes. She could have been disappointed to learn that her hero was afraid of the shadows in his own bedroom, but instead she was just glad he understood.
“Could I stay here with you?” she asked.
“You can stay,” he said, not needing to think. Of course he couldn’t leave her alone in the dark. He knew what lurked there, even if it was nothing more substantial than her own thoughts.
“Thanks,” she sighed, relief evident in her voice. Almost apologetic, she added, “Maybe I should have used the sleeping pills the nurse gave me, but I didn’t want to take something that would make me feel like I wasn’t myself.” A glimmer of horror passed over her face, and Leon guessed she was remembering the times she’d lost control of herself to the plaga.
“I don’t blame you. I don’t like taking them, either, but sometimes it helps.” He followed her gaze to the pill bottle on his bedside table. “Didn’t need it tonight, though. You wore me out, Baby Eagle.”
“Sorry,” she said, but she must have known he was teasing her; she was smiling at him.
“I’d do it again. Just maybe give me a day or two to recover before you decide to join another cult.”
She giggled. “Too late.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Zan calls Sig Gamma Phi—my sorority—the Stiletto Cult.” It took Leon a second to realize she meant her brother, Alexander. “But seriously, we only wear stilettos on Wednesdays.”
He smirked. “As long as you don’t worship giant bugs.”
“I’m pre-e-e-tty sure we don’t.”
“That doesn’t sound convincing.”
She gave him a warm smile that spoke of secrets shared just with him. “I promise I’ll tell you if it turns out we have a giant bug temple.”
Leon laughed. “Okay.” He squeezed her hand, then let go to reach for his pillow. “I’ll take the sofa.”
“Oh, I—” She glanced across the room to the furniture in question, then back at him, her eyes serious. “I was hoping . . . I mean, it’s a really big bed, so . . . Would you stay close?”
“Of course,” Leon said, tugged by her unconscious echo of the command he’d issued so many times over the past few days. He didn’t mind sharing the bed; he’d just wanted to be sure she felt comfortable. But it shouldn’t have been any surprise that she felt safest next to him.
Ashley crawled to the far side of the bed and drew back the untouched blankets. “Monsters can’t get you through the covers. Remember that from being a little kid?” She looked up at him and huffed a faint, wistful laugh. “I guess it doesn’t feel that way any more, does it?”
“I wish it did.”
“Me, too.” She considered him, a slight crease marring her brow. “Don’t you ever sleep with a blanket?” she asked.
“I’ll be fine in a day or two,” he said in the dismissive, unconcerned tone he used for telling people not to worry about him. He wasn’t sure it always convinced Ashley, but she didn’t need to feel bad about him right now.
“Good.” She stretched out her legs and settled on her side, arm tucked under her head.
“Are you gonna be warm enough?” Leon asked “There’s an extra blanket in the closet.”
“Mm-hm.”
He picked up the injury kit. “I’ll be right back.” Returning to the bathroom, he put the kit next to the sink and dug out the bottle of aspirin, swallowed another dose. As he set down the water glass, Leon regarded himself in the mirror.
He looked nearly as battered as he felt. The bruises on his face and arms were starting to purple, and the rest of his skin was reddened with more scrapes and scratches than he cared to count. He touched his sternum, cursing softly as he prodded flesh still tender from the radiation that had destroyed the plaga.
Thank God Ashley hadn’t come to his room to have sex. The idea of trying was almost ridiculous: he didn’t think there was a spot on his body that didn’t hurt. But even aside from that, he didn’t want to go there—not like this. Right now, Ashley was traumatized, vulnerable. Even if she had explicitly invited him, he would have felt he was taking advantage of her. All he wanted tonight was to make sure she felt safe.
He pushed away from the countertop, then adjusted the bathroom door so that the light shone just on the doorway to the room. As he came back to bed, Ashley watched him, her eyes half closed but still alert.
Leon sat down at the edge of the mattress. “You want the lights off or on?” he asked. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Off is good.” Ashley made an amused sound. “I know the monsters can’t sneak up on you, even in the dark.”
“Not a chance,” he said, glad that she, at least, believed it.
He turned off the light and stretched out on his back. The bed was big enough that they didn’t bump into each other, but not so big that he couldn’t have touched Ashley if he stretched out an arm.
Beside him, bedsheets rustled. “Good night, Leon,” Ashley said.
He smiled, warmed by the companionship expressed in those few words. “G’night.”
In the stillness, the darkness filled with the soft, ordinary sounds of night: the sputter of traffic in the city below, the chirp of crickets, the occasional creak of the building settling.
Sleep didn’t feel waiting to creep up and claim Leon like it had earlier—his nerves still hummed after the adrenaline spike of being startled awake. Every sensory stimulus seemed jarringly magnified, so that even those normally soothing night noises set his heart pounding. By habit, he fell into the pattern of intentional deep breathing that he trusted would, eventually, calm that urge to fight or flight.
Ashley sighed and shifted. Then her fingertips brushed Leon’s arm. He shivered, but she didn’t draw back, her touch traveling lightly down his wrist until she found his hand. Her fingers wove through his own and pressed him gently for a moment before she relaxed and let the tug of gravity keep their hands effortlessly linked.
Leon exhaled, the rhythm of his box breathing momentarily forgotten in the comfort of her touch.
He was still holding her hand when sleep found him at last.