Consumed » Kai Parker

Sixty One

The night doesn't pass by in the restful, uninterrupted transition to morning that I usually experience when Kai is warming the mattress right beside me.

Instead, images of Kai dying at my uncontrollable hands rudely jolt me awake when moonlight is still filtering through the windows of the large bedroom. I shoot up into a sitting position, my chest heaving and cheeks wet with tears that I unwittingly shed during the terrible dream–if it could even be called that.

It had been flashes of harrowing imagery that failed to fade away even in my wakeful state. Cato and Jasper lingering like shadows to make sure I followed through on their orders, then my hands wrapping around Kai's throat, his lips struggling to form my name in a breathless gasp, and the sound of a final exhale leaving his lips before the light left his blue eyes.

My arms wrap around my ribs, as if trying to keep my racing heart from exploding through its cage, and I feel like I might shatter in two. Not real, not real, he's right he–

"Charlie?" A voice rasps out behind me, making me jump slightly until logic breaks through my panic to remind me it can only be one person. Coincidentally, the one I desperately need right now. "What time is it?"

The bed creaks as Kai sits up when I refuse to turn around, too embarrassed to let him see me like this. It's futile and I know that, because he's nothing if not persistent when it comes to prying my innermost thoughts out of me. Yet I continue to stare hard at the wall, as if that'll will the unwelcome remnants of my nightmare away and clear my tear-streaked face of evidence.

His eyes silently burn into my side profile for a moment, then his hand is on my cheek, turning my face to his. I look down at his bare chest–he'd changed sometime after Damon left us alone, arguing that he needed comfort but wore sweatpants to cover up after I relentlessly reminded him that this wasn't our apartment. Hugging myself tighter, the action serves as a preoccupation for my limbs so I don't throw my arms around him instead. No need to startle the poor guy half to death when he had just rolled out of a deeper sleep than mine.

He doesn't say anything and I can't tell if I want him to. His thumbs wipe the tears from my cheeks, then he smooths a hand over my hair. I sigh at the comforting motions, my muscles unwinding just a little.

"Can't read your mind," Kai murmurs. "Even though my life would be a lot less complicated if I could. Soo, are you gonna tell me what's got you so sad at two in the morning?"

His lighthearted approach to my distress doesn't completely conceal the urgency behind his question, but I appreciate it nonetheless.

"Bad dream," I croak. "But I'm okay."

You're still here, I almost sigh in relief, but my throat tightens, keeping the words in.

"Uh huh, well I don't know about you, but tears generally don't come out of my eyes when I'm okay," he presses gently, eyebrows furrowing.

"I tend to get emotional, if you haven't noticed," I attempt to joke. "Jeremy used to say Elena and I's tears could fill the Hoover Dam. And that was just when we were watching Titanic."

He narrows his eyes. "You said something yesterday, about being able to see right through my deflecting tactics? Well, so can I." He rubs my arms, like he's trying to warm me. "Is this about Joshua sending his men on you? Charlie, if you're worried they're going to try something on you again, don't. Because I'll rip out hearts and break spleens before they can even get close. All without even breaking a sweat–not to brag, though."

Looking up at him undoes me, yanking at the seams knitting my composure together. Despite the harshness in his promise, his eyes are still searching mine with worry making the oceans in them crash restlessly. He's tired, sporting a messy head of dark hair and hints of bags under his lids, but he doesn't seem inclined to drop the topic until he knows I'm alright.