Corrupt Me

Chapter 9

"Ever," Tristan's soothing voice enticed. "Ever," he murmured again when I didn't respond.

My fingers pressed into the firm muscles of his back as a shudder rocked through me. I was afraid to speak, the images still too fresh and raw in my head. I needed another few moments in the protective shield of his arms.

Inhaling, I drew in more than just air and his sinful scent. His strength gave me courage. The steadfastness of his arms held me up when I wanted to crumble. I wasn't ready to let either go.

"You're all right," he assured, his warm voice chasing the chill that had imprisoned my body as his fingers ran gently up and down my spine. "I got you."

And he did.

Which made no sense... and yet made perfect sense at the same time, at least to my body.

He didn't say things like, it was just a nightmare or it wasn't real, because Tristan knew damn well what haunted my dreams. And it had been very real that night six months ago.

"Tristan," I whispered, the horrors in my dreams slowly receding. Part of my brain couldn't fathom that he was in my bed, holding me.

It had been weeks since I had a proper nightmare of that night. They never really went away but the vivid memories were less frequent now. I hated the fear that gripped me, clawing inside me like a terrorized beast trying to get out. I thought I had conquered the nightmares, but every now and then when I felt vulnerable or overly emotional, my defenses dropped and the memories slipped in like an unwanted dark ghost.

My face buried into Tristan's neck. I didn't want to move, because the moment I did, his arms would drop away and I'd lose his safety and warmth. I wasn't ready to be alone—to let go of this feeling.

Tristan kept me in his arms, not saying anything until my breathing evened out. It was as if he'd done this before.

Hadn't he?

Another time. Another place.

I barely remembered the days...weeks after that night.

Another minute passed and my common sense came back, along with a dose of shame. Pulling my head back, I blinked at a shirtless Tristan. My eyes made the mistake of glancing him over and I bit my lower lip. How the fuck did I find myself alone in a bed with Tristan again? At least he was wearing shorts this time and wasn't naked. "What are you doing in here? In my room?" My voice came out sharper than intended, and I blamed his damn abs.

He tilted his head to the side, a dark strand of hair falling across his forehead. "I heard you crying."

My cheeks and ears burned. Thank god it was dark. I didn't want him to see my embarrassment, not that Tristan hadn't heard me cry before. He'd had seen me at my worst, the lowest point in my life. But it had been Tristan and I hadn't cared then. I certainly shouldn't give a shit now what Tristan thought of me. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," I apologize. Had I woken anyone else in the house?

There were six rooms total in Thorn Hall, which meant three other people could have potentially heard my whimpers. Fucking wonderful. I was going to be known as the screaming freak on the third floor. I didn't want to think about it.

The hand on my back continued to make comforting circles around my spine. "You didn't. Wake, me that is. I was already up," he confessed. What was it that was keeping Tristan up? Probably the redhead from earlier, if I had to guess.

I averted my eyes. "Oh." Why was this so awkward?

His finger hooked under my chin, tipping up my face. Hesitantly, I lifted my gaze, unsure what I would find when I looked at him. Pity? Scorn? Kindness? None of those emotions were present and a whoosh of relief left my chest. "How long has it been?" he asked, staring so deep into my eyes as if he was searching for the answer himself.