The Heir of Night

22

When the aching grew too heavy, Theia lifted her head from the water and took in a painful breath. She'd soaked beneath the water until it grew cold and her skin pricked with chills. Long after that, she whispered Nyx's name. He came into the bathing chamber immediately, as if he had been at the door listening. He gathered a towel and kneeled beside the tub, glancing between her eyes.

"Stand," he ordered gently. Theia frowned but grasped the edges of the tub and pushed herself up. He remained kneeled as he reached into the water and pulled the drain plug. As the water level fell, he ran the warm towel over her skin. He stood and squeezed the droplets from her hair before wrapping the towel around her. Theia didn't fight him when he took her into his arms again, she let him have his way.

All fear of Nyx seeing her nude body, having full access to everything intimate, disappeared when he carried her back into the bedroom. Her eyes locked on the bed, the sheets stripped and gone. He stood her up and pulled the towel away, yet her eyes didn't stray from where her mother had been.

Nyx pulled a nightgown up her legs and over her arms. Theia felt her nose sting and this time when he lifted her into his arms, she buried her face against his chest. She expected him to lay her on the bed, but he walked her out of the room and to his own. It was still dark, and the only light came from the hearth. Nyx laid her in his bed. Theia laid on her side, curling up into the position she had been in beside Maia. When her eyes closed, the bed dipped again.

Nyx laid beside her, arm looping around her waist and pulling her against his chest. Theia inhaled his pine and spice scent, burrowing her nose against the hard muscle. "I don't want you to hold me," she whispered, tucking her arms between them. She felt his lips against her hair, his arm tightening around her.

"I don't care what you want," he responded simply. Theia sighed, closing her eyes again. She'd savor the care from someone else only for tonight, the night she needed it most, and then she will leave. There was no reason to remain in this house, not without Maia. Theia would return to her home, broken or not, and live the life she was destined for. Immortal or not, she'd die eventually in that house, where she belonged, and not one person would utter her name again.

She felt tears burn her eyes and pressed her face further against Nyx's warm chest. His heartbeat surrounded her. She tucked her legs up, pressing her knees against his hips. Theia never had protection, never had someone to care for her, and with Nyx surrounding her fully, she was safer than she had ever been. The thought ached further.

"I don't like you, Nyx," Theia whispered against his heart. His thumb drew circles on the bottom of her spine, his lips moving against her hair.

"I don't like you, either, Theia."

It was another sense of security to say those words. Because even with this male taking care of her on a night she'd surely be lost, she hated him. Theia wondered what Maia had thought of Nyx; if she had liked him, or perhaps was irritated by him just as much as Theia. She'd be glad to know if Maia hated him, too.

Her need for comfort grew stronger than her dislike for the heir. For tonight, she would lay in his arms and dream to the sound of his heartbeat. She'd dream in a world of pine and spice, warmth and comfort, and wake in the frigid Hell once more. For tonight, she'd savor the touch of someone else, perhaps crave it more, and tomorrow, she'd leave and return to what she had always known.

                                    —————

Theia's plan to leave didn't happen the next day, nor the days after that. Her sorrow had eaten away at her bones throughout the nights. She remained in Nyx's bed, leaving only when he carried her to the bath or when her bladder grew too irritating to lay down longer. She decided to let herself indulge in the grief her mother had felt all those years, though she didn't want to force Nyx to clean up after her if she wetted herself like Maia had.

She had to admit, it was nice to have someone take care of her. Though today, Nyx couldn't ignore his training. It was afternoon now, and Theia was in the same curled up position she had been in hours before when he had left. She couldn't remember how long ago Maia had passed, how many days came and went. She couldn't decipher when it was night or day. Theia fell in and out of the sweet oblivion of sleep, occasionally waking to Nyx's chest against her face.

"Theia."

She peeled her eyes open, feeling her hand beneath her cheek. Nyx was kneeling beside the bed, shirtless but in his leather pants. She didn't say anything, couldn't. Her eyes trailed across his face, his chest, his hair.

"I don't like this," he murmured. She blinked in response. She wished to return to sleep, to dream of the mountains, her mother and her home. That first night, the one Maia died, had used every emotion she had. She was left with nothing, void of anything more than exhaustion. Her tears had run dry days ago; her words, too.

Nyx stared back at her, the muscle in his jaw twitching. She wanted to feel it beneath her palm, to feel his warmth once more. Theia had begun to crave the hours he'd lay with her. Never had she experienced such serenity, and now it was her greatest addiction. She stretched her fingers out on the mattress beside her, meeting his eyes. He glanced at her hand and back to her face.

"No. I don't like this version of you. You're like your mother, now. I see you laying in my bed and remember what Maia looked like when I first walked into your home. You've become everything that you hated about her, Theia."

His words flew into her chest like a thousand blows. Her hand went numb and she curled her fingers in, staring blankly at him. She watched the emotions filter through his eyes, his jaw tense and his nostrils flare.

"Look at yourself, Theia. You're just like her. You hated that she did nothing for herself, so why aren't you? You haven't been to work, you haven't left my bed in days. My father is coming to the village and he expects to meet you. What is he going to say when you're sprawled across my bed?"

The fire in the hearth stretched to her veins. It burned, agony similar to when Maia died next to her. He had spent his time caring for her, and now he's using every blow he knows against her. His effort ran thin, his sympathy spent. Theia should've known she stayed her welcome, but she didn't expect it to hurt.