Salizar’s POV
The boy had forgotten how exhausting it was to fight himself.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Not the trees.
Not the fading light.
Not the dirt beneath Steven’s shoes as I walked back toward the house.
Him.
Behind the barrier, somewhere deep inside my mind, Steven slept.
Buried in the subconscious.
Quiet because exhaustion had finally dragged him under, not because he had gone anywhere.
I could still sense the shape of him if I reached deeply enough.
Faint.
Heavy.
Unmoving.
The barrier between us remained where he had left it after surrendering the front.
Not locked.
Not against me.
Against everything else.
Fang.
Panic.
Guilt.
The sight of Aqua unconscious on the sofa.
Steven had spent so long policing every part of himself that he no longer seemed to understand the difference between an instinct and a crime.
Every hunger frightened him.
Every movement of Amoris required permission.
Every Salvatore impulse that came before conscious thought became evidence in some private trial against himself.
Wanting love aura meant he might take too much.
Wanting Aqua meant he had to make certain wanting itself never became dangerous.
Feeling his Beast Core react meant tightening the leash.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Then apologizing for needing one at all.
The boy still behaved as though becoming Salvatore had been something he could undo through sufficient good behavior.
As though if he controlled the fire well enough, restrained every hunger, apologized often enough, and made himself small whenever instinct rose—
he might somehow become the person he had been before.
He would not.
That boy was gone.
Steven was not.
There was a difference.
One he had apparently failed to learn.
I flexed his fingers as I walked.
No shaking.
His lungs filled properly when no one strangled every breath with panic.
His legs remained steady beneath him.
His heart still beat harder than usual, but no longer attempted to batter itself out of his chest.
Salvatore bodies were not difficult things.
Instinct was not difficult.
The boy made them difficult because he believed every natural impulse required an apology afterward.
Pathetic.
Useful.
For now.
The house appeared between the trees.
One story.
Warm light through the windows.
French doors facing the yard.
One stood not quite shut from Steven’s exit.
Careless.
I crossed the grass.
With every step, I considered what waited inside.
Aqua.
Fang.
A serpent who knew Steven’s habits perhaps better than anyone besides his wife.
And a woman who knew the boy’s face well enough to notice sadness before he admitted feeling it.
Neither would be difficult.
Steven was not complicated to imitate.
Hesitate before touching.
Apologize frequently.
Look worried.
Ask if everyone was all right.
Occasionally rub the back of the neck as though uncertainty lived there.
The boy wore his feelings on his face so openly that impersonating him should have been insulting.
I slowed before the door.
Not because I was nervous.
Because Steven would be.
Then I pulled the French door outward.
Fang’s head snapped up.
He lay coiled beside Aqua’s head on the sofa, black scales gathered tightly against the cushion, yellow stripes sharp beneath the room’s warm light.
His eyes fixed on me.
Aqua had not moved.
For one heartbeat, the performance disappeared.
I crossed the room.
Too quickly.
Not running.
Steven would have run.
I corrected the movement halfway there and allowed urgency to roughen my breathing.
“I’m sorry.”
Fang’s tongue flicked.
I stopped beside the sofa.
“I shouldn’t have run out.”
His eyes narrowed.
You should not have left her.
The voice reached me through the bond he shared with Steven.
Interesting.
I had heard Fang before through the boy, but with Steven asleep and myself at the front, the serpent’s voice felt closer.
Still his.
Still directed toward the mind attached to this body.
I answered the way Steven usually did.
Aloud.
“I know.”
You were not listening.
“No.”
I crouched beside Aqua.
“I wasn’t.”
That seemed to take some of the tension from Fang.
Not much.
Enough.
“I just needed to think.”
You needed to stay.
“I know that too.”
His stare remained severe.
I looked at Aqua.
The boy had seen her and built death around what he found.
I saw exhaustion.
Severe exhaustion, perhaps.
Not death.
Her face remained pale.
Her breathing shallow, but regular.
Pulse—
I placed two fingers against her wrist.
Slow.
Steady enough.
Her skin remained cool.
Currena moved beneath it.
Sluggish.
But there.
Untorn.
Unbroken.
No damage to the core.
No poisoned channels.
No collapse of the water inside her.
Only depletion.
Repeated Amoris giving.
Then insufficient recovery.
Then, from the state of the room and what little Steven had seen before fleeing—
the woman had apparently continued moving around the house when her body had been begging her to stop.
I exhaled.
“She’s all right.”
Fang’s head lifted.
She is not all right.
“I know what I mean.”
His tongue flicked sharply.
I corrected.
“She isn’t dying.”
That was better.
Fang remained still.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
I studied Aqua again.
“She’s depleted.”
Because of him.
Because of Steven.
The distinction in Fang’s wording did not escape me.
Perhaps he still expected the boy behind these eyes.
I let the guilt Steven would have felt cross my expression.
“I know.”
Fang watched.
I touched Aqua’s cheek.
Cool.
Not dangerously so.
“She gave too much over too many days. Her core is fine. Her Currena is still moving. She kept replenishing the love aura I was—”
I stopped.
Steven.
“—I was taking.”
There.
“The drain wasn’t directly on her Currena, but her body still had to replenish what she kept giving. Then she kept moving around instead of resting.”
Fang stared at me.
Yes.
The agreement carried no comfort.
I glanced around the sitting room.
Book.
Blanket.
Little things out of place.
“She exhausted herself trying to act normal.”
Yes.
I looked back at him.
“You were right.”
That earned a slight lift of his head.
“I didn’t want to hear you.”
Also true.
Steven had not wanted to hear him.
“I thought because she agreed, and because I wasn’t touching her core, it meant we still had control.”
Fang’s stare did not soften.
“It wasn’t only me.”
The words came carefully.
“I know that now too.”
Fang remained silent.
“Aqua agreed. She hid how tired she was. She wanted to help.”
My mouth tightened the way Steven’s would.
“But I should have noticed sooner.”
That was the sort of guilt the boy would accept readily.
Fang’s coils loosened by the smallest amount.
Good.
The serpent did not need a perfect performance.
He needed the Steven who had finally listened.
I looked at Aqua again.
Her lashes moved.
Barely.
“Aqua?”
Nothing.
I touched her shoulder.
“Hey.”
Her eyes fluttered.
Once.
Then again.
Blue appeared beneath heavy lids.
Unfocused.
Searching.
They found Steven’s face.
Her lips moved.
“Steven?”
The question was barely breath.
Luckily, Salvatores had excellent hearing.
Otherwise, I might not have understood her at all.
There it was.
The first direct lie.
I could have corrected her.
I did not even consider it seriously.
“Yes.”
Her face softened immediately.
“It’s me.”
Aqua’s eyes closed.
The trust in that simple motion was astonishing.
I slid one arm beneath her knees.
The other beneath her back.
Fang lifted his head.
What are you doing?
“Taking her to bed.”
Careful.
I looked at him.
“When am I not?”
Fang stared.
Perhaps that had been too confident.
I softened it with a small sigh.
“I know.”
I adjusted my grip.
“I’m being careful.”
Then I lifted her.
Aqua weighed less against me than expected.
Or perhaps Steven had become stronger.
Either way, her body offered almost no resistance.
Her head fell against my shoulder.
Her hand shifted weakly across Steven’s chest.
Then curled into his shirt.
Trust again.
Instinctive.
Unquestioning.
Something uncomfortable moved through me.
I ignored it.
Aqua breathed against my neck.
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“Sorry.”
“No.”
Too sharp.
Her brow creased.
I lowered my voice.
“No. Don’t apologize.”
“But I—”
“You collapsed.”
I carried her down the hall toward their bedroom.
“Our argument can wait until you’re awake enough to win it.”
The faintest movement touched her mouth.
Almost a smile.
Good.
That line had worked.
Fang followed us.
Naturally.
Soft creatures and their rituals.
Rooms.
Beds.
Blankets.
Tea.
The endless importance placed on where one rested and beside whom.
Aqua shifted weakly against me.
“Steven?”
“Yes?”
“You came back.”
For half a heartbeat, I did not answer.
She remembered enough.
Not the forest.
Not what happened there.
Only that Steven had found her.
That he had been frightened.
Perhaps that he had left.
“Yes.”
I looked down at her.
“I came back.”
Her eyelids rose a fraction.
“You saw me.”
“Yes.”
“I scared you.”
That one required slightly more thought.
Steven would deny it first.
Then fail.
“A little.”
Even exhausted, her eyes narrowed.
“Liar.”
I nearly smiled.
“All right.”
I shifted her slightly higher against my chest.
“A lot.”
Guilt immediately creased her face.
Predictable.
Before she could apologize—
“But you’re here.”
She looked at me.
“So we’re not doing that right now.”
“Doing what?”
“Deciding which one of us gets to feel worse.”
That silenced her.
Interesting.
Perhaps Steven’s life would be easier if the boy occasionally told people what they were doing instead of apologizing until everyone forgot the original problem.
We reached the bedroom.
No stairs.
No grand journey.
Only the hall.
I lowered Aqua carefully onto the mattress.
She released a quiet sound when her body touched the bed.
Relief.
I drew the blanket over her.
Fang entered behind us.
He climbed onto the armchair near the bed.
Coiled.
Watched.
Of course.
I glanced at him.
“You’re staying.”
Yes.
“That wasn’t a complaint.”
Fang continued staring.
I returned my attention to Aqua.
Her eyelids had already fallen again.
“Water?”
A tiny nod.
The glass on the bedside table was empty.
I stood.
“Stay with her.”
Fang’s eyes narrowed.
Where would I go?
I almost laughed.
Steven would have.
So I let a smaller version escape.
“Fair.”
---
The kitchen looked as though someone had lost a very slow battle against ordinary chores.
One cup left out.
A book where it did not belong.
A towel folded badly.
Nothing dramatic.
That was almost insulting.
Steven had looked at Aqua on that sofa as though the house had burned around her.
She had exhausted herself over dishes and blankets.
Soft creatures and their rituals.
Keep the room normal.
Keep the kitchen clean.
Make the house peaceful.
Pretend the body is not failing because someone you love might worry if the towel is crooked.
Ridiculous.
I filled the glass.
Found fruit.
Bread.
Honey.
Something bland enough for later.
Dylan’s folder remained where Steven had dropped it.
Bent at one corner.
Pages shifted.
I picked it up.
The boy had carried the thing like scripture for weeks.
Training.
Control.
Better.
Safer.
Again.
Again.
Again.
I set it on the table.
Closed.
There would be no training tomorrow.
That decision required no discussion.
Aqua could barely remain conscious.
And Steven’s obsession with correcting himself had already caused enough trouble.
The boy thought if he trained hard enough, he might eventually reach some magical point where being Salvatore stopped requiring effort.
Where hunger vanished.
Instinct vanished.
Need vanished.
Where nothing dangerous moved inside him unless he personally invited it first.
Impossible.
Salvatore instinct was not a disease to cure.
It was nature.
Nature required discipline.
Not shame.
Steven confused the two constantly.
Every pull toward love aura became something to fear.
Every instinctive response to Aqua became something to restrain before determining whether restraint was even necessary.
Every moment of hunger ended with an apology.
The boy had forgotten normalcy because he had decided his new normal was something he owed the world penance for.
I looked down at Steven’s hand around the glass.
Perhaps that was the true difference between us.
Steven wanted to prove he could remain the man he had been before becoming this.
I had no interest in becoming less of what I was.
And I certainly would not apologize for it.
I returned to the bedroom.
---
Fang remained in the armchair.
Exactly where I left him.
Aqua had barely moved.
I raised the glass.
“Water.”
She needs more than water.
“I know.”
She needs food.
“I know that too.”
And rest.
I looked at him.
“Fang.”
His yellow eyes sharpened.
“I understand.”
That seemed to satisfy him enough to stop listing obvious things.
I sat beside Aqua.
Her eyes opened at the movement.
“Drink a little.”
She tried to sit.
Failed halfway.
I slid one hand behind her shoulders and lifted her carefully.
“Slow.”
Aqua leaned into me.
Again—
too easily.
The body she believed belonged to her husband was apparently somewhere she did not need to think before resting.
Interesting.
I held the glass near her mouth.
She drank once.
Twice.
A third small sip.
Then turned her face away.
“Enough.”
“You barely drank anything.”
Her mouth moved faintly.
“There you are.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Worrying.”
Ah.
Apparently I had become too competent again.
I lowered the glass.
“You scared me.”
That explanation softened her immediately.
“I know.”
“Then don’t make me do it twice.”
Warmth touched her cheeks.
Faint.
But visible.
I noticed.
Steven would have noticed too.
Then become embarrassed for having noticed.
Why?
Aqua’s reaction was information.
Useful information.
Something I had said made her blush.
Simple.
No apology required.
I stored it away.
Aqua settled against the pillow.
Her eyes remained on me.
“What happened?”
“After what?”
“After you found me.”
Fang shifted in the armchair.
I could feel his attention sharpen.
There was no reason to invent more than necessary.
“I panicked.”
True.
“I ran outside.”
True.
“Fang tried to stop me.”
Also true.
Several times.
I glanced at him.
“Yes. Several times.”
Aqua looked toward Fang.
Then back at me.
“I’m sorry.”
Again.
Perhaps the two of them truly had been made for each other.
I turned my hand beneath hers when her fingers weakly found me.
“Stop apologizing.”
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
Steven would probably have wrapped that answer in three softer sentences.
I added one.
“But not tonight.”
Her expression eased.
“Tonight you eat if you can, drink, and sleep.”
“Bossy.”
“I am learning.”
There.
Again.
The faint pink in her cheeks deepened.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The boy made this far more difficult than necessary.
He approached every reaction from her like something sacred enough to shatter if touched too confidently.
Aqua liked confidence.
Not cruelty.
Not force.
Confidence.
A useful distinction.
Her eyelids lowered.
Her hand remained around mine.
“Stay?”
There was no hesitation.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Her fingers loosened.
Aqua relaxed completely.
The words meant one thing to her.
Something entirely different to me.
I almost smiled.
She slept.
I sat beside her for some time.
Fang watched from the armchair.
I watched him when I felt like it.
Neither of us required constant conversation.
Eventually his head lowered.
Not asleep.
Not yet.
Merely less rigid.
Behind the barrier, deep inside the subconscious, Steven remained asleep.
I reached toward him.
Nothing.
No coherent response.
No resistance.
Exhaustion had buried him thoroughly.
Sleep, Steven.
Still nothing.
The boy had asked me to carry things until he could think.
Conveniently—
he was in no condition to think at all.
I leaned back slightly.
You wanted someone capable of handling this.
No answer.
So let me.
The thought amused me.
Not because I intended to return the front when morning came.
Helping Aqua had been useful.
Necessary.
But Steven had done something much more valuable than ask for assistance.
He had opened the barrier himself.
He had stepped away.
He had given me control willingly.
No fight.
No fire.
No battle over muscle and breath.
For the first time, I had not needed to tear the body from him.
He had handed it over.
And now—
I sat in his bedroom.
Beside his wife.
Inside his life.
Because Steven had asked me to.
I looked at the hand resting on the mattress.
Steven’s hand.
Mine while I controlled it.
The boy had spent so much time fearing I would steal his life.
Perhaps he should have been more careful before leaving the door open.
Fang shifted.
I looked toward him.
His eyes were open.
Still watching.
I rubbed the back of Steven’s neck.
Easy habit.
Almost embarrassingly easy.
“Can’t sleep?”
I am watching her.
“I know.”
And you.
That nearly made me smile.
“I figured.”
Fang said nothing else.
Neither did I.
Eventually his head lowered onto his coils.
His eyes closed.
Not deeply.
Serpents rarely surrendered that completely.
Enough.
I looked back at Aqua.
She had turned toward me in her sleep.
Searching.
Not consciously.
Her hand moved over the blanket.
Found the fabric near my hip.
Stopped.
Even unconscious—
she reached for Steven.
I knew that.
There was no confusion about whom she wanted.
I moved onto the mattress beside her.
If she woke, Steven should be there.
Simple.
Husband.
Wife.
Same bed.
Another ritual.
Aqua reacted almost immediately.
She turned toward me.
Her face settled near Steven’s chest.
I draped one arm around her waist.
Casual.
Natural.
Perhaps with less concern than Steven would have shown over where every finger rested.
Aqua exhaled.
Soft.
Content.
Then—
pink warmth gathered around her.
Faint.
Her body was too depleted for much more.
But unmistakable.
Love aura.
No conscious effort.
No deliberate offering.
It simply rose because she believed she was safe beside the man she loved.
Steven.
The boy.
I watched it gather.
Felt its presence.
Not Steven’s emotion.
His body did not tell me what to feel.
My feelings remained mine.
Always.
But Aqua’s love was difficult to ignore.
Even exhausted—
it reached for him.
The face.
The body.
The name.
Everything she believed she was holding.
I looked down at her.
So this was what Steven lived inside.
This much affection.
This much trust.
Every day.
And somehow the boy still behaved as though being loved required an apology.
Aqua shifted closer.
Her forehead rested against Steven’s chest.
The faint aura warmed around us.
Not mine.
I knew that.
Every bit of it belonged to the boy asleep behind the barrier, deep in the subconscious.
That should have made it meaningless.
It did not.
It had been a very long time since I had fallen asleep beside a woman.
Longer than Steven had been alive.
Longer still since someone had settled against me with no calculation behind the movement.
No bargain.
No fear.
No expectation beyond—
stay.
I looked toward Fang.
He had finally settled into the armchair, head resting against his coils.
Good.
Then back at Aqua.
Look at you, boy.
Steven slept.
This woman loves you enough to drain herself trying to help you.
Her fingers curled lightly into my shirt.
And you spend half your life apologizing for being exactly what you are.
That was what I understood least about him.
Steven acted as though every piece of Salvatore instinct had to be hidden beneath the man he used to be.
As though Aqua might stop loving him if she saw too much hunger.
Too much confidence.
Too much fire.
Too much want.
So he held himself back.
Then apologized for the effort.
Then apologized whenever instinct escaped anyway.
Why?
He was Salvatore.
That fact would not disappear because he blushed after wanting something.
Perhaps someone needed to show him what being Salvatore looked like when the creature possessing the instincts was not frightened of them.
Or perhaps—
I glanced at Aqua’s sleeping face.
I could simply show her.
Steven would be easy to imitate.
That much was obvious.
Hesitate.
Worry.
Apologize.
Make myself smaller whenever tenderness became too direct.
But I saw no reason to reproduce every weakness.
Aqua already loved Steven.
That was the difficult work finished.
Why not give her a version of the boy who knew how to carry what he had?
More attentive.
More certain.
Less afraid of touching his own wife.
Less likely to retreat because she looked at him too long.
The memory of her blush returned.
Bossy.
I am learning.
She had liked it.
Every woman liked being noticed.
Wanted.
Looked at as though the person doing the looking knew precisely what he saw.
Aqua would be no different.
Perhaps tomorrow I would test that.
Nothing obvious.
Nothing enough to frighten her.
Only confidence.
Attention.
A little charm.
Enough to make her wonder why her husband had hidden that side of himself for so long.
My mouth curved.
Aqua shifted against me.
The love aura stirred faintly again.
For Steven.
Always Steven.
I knew that too.
And yet, for one strange moment, I wondered what it might feel like if she looked at me—
knowing who I was—
and that same warmth appeared.
The thought came uninvited.
I killed it.
Irrelevant.
The goal was not Aqua.
The goal was the body.
The life.
Freedom.
Steven had been given all three and spent years treating them like burdens he needed permission to keep.
I would not.
Aqua settled deeper against my chest.
I adjusted my arm around her.
It had been a long time since I had slept this way.
I had almost forgotten the strange weight of another person trusting you enough to become defenseless beside you.
Perhaps that was why the room felt different.
Perhaps it was merely novelty.
Either way—
I would enjoy it while it lasted.
Behind the barrier, Steven did not stir.
Sleep well, boy.
My hand settled more comfortably at Aqua’s waist.
I will take care of your woman.
The thought amused me.
For a moment.
Then Aqua moved closer.
The humor faded.
She loved Steven.
Completely.
Foolishly.
Enough to hurt herself trying to make him whole.
And tomorrow she would open her eyes believing the man holding her was still the same boy she had chosen.
That was enough.
For now.
I closed Steven’s eyes.
Being him would be easy.
Being better than him—
that might prove interesting.
And I had no intention of giving the life back before I discovered just how well it fit.