Fire on His Skin
1087 Words
The storm didn’t wait.
It came like it had been holding its breath for days, then exhaled in a roar that shook the pines. Wind screamed across the cliffs. Rain hit the roof in sheets. Lightning cracked, white and violent, tearing the night open.
Thunder chased after it, low and heavy, like the earth growling back.
Aria sat bolt upright.
Chest heaving. Skin is damp with sweat.
The room blinked with every strike of lightning, shadows chasing each other across the walls. Her side of the bed was warm.
He was cold.
Empty.
Again.
She pulled the blanket tighter, stepped into the hallway barefoot. The wood chilled her soles, but she barely felt it. Her hand hit the window glass. Rain streaked down in erratic lines. Branches tossed violently in the wind.
A night like this—wolves didn’t wander.
Unless something had gone wrong.
Unless someone was hurt.
She didn’t think. Just ran.
By the time she reached the stairs, the front door slammed open.
And then he was there.
Xander. Standing just past the threshold. Drenched, breath ragged.
The storm backlit him in flashes—his shoulders tense, blood trailing down his ribs, shirt torn and clinging to muscle like it didn’t want to let go. One gash shimmered faintly, the glow of magic laced with pain.
She froze at the top of the landing.
Then moved.
Fast.
He looked up as she reached the bottom step. His eyes were dark, jaw locked, every inch of him radiating pain; he refused to speak.
“Don’t—” he started.
“Sit down,” she said.
“I’m fine—”
“Xander.”
Just his name. But it held a sharpness that stopped him mid-step.
He obeyed.
Not because she demanded it.
But because her fear cut deeper than the wounds.
She cleared the kitchen table in one sweep, pulled the lantern closer, and lit it with shaking hands.
“Shirt off,” she ordered.
He blinked. “That’s not how you usually ask.”
“Now.”
He winced as he peeled it off. The soaked fabric clung to his skin, sticking to the cuts. He pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor.
Aria’s breath caught.
Not just because of the injuries.
Because of him.
Bruises bloomed purple and blue across his chest. Silver shimmered along a jagged gash slicing from rib to hip. Rain traced the lines of his body, each drop catching the light like a secret she wasn’t supposed to see.
She swallowed.
“You need stitches.”
“I’ve had worse,” he muttered.
“That’s not the point.”
Lightning flashed. For a second, her face looked carved from fury.
“What happened?”
“Ambush. Northern Pass. Two rogues. One enchanted.”
She didn’t swear. Not out loud.
He added, “I ended it.”
“At what cost?”
He didn’t answer.
She knelt beside him. Pulled out the healer’s kit. Gauze. Tinctures. Needle. Her hands moved like they’d done this a hundred times. Because they had.
“You should’ve called backup.”
“They’d have slowed me down.”
She didn’t argue.
She pressed gauze to his chest. The moment her skin touched his, he flinched. Not from pain. From something else. Something quieter. Sharper.
She felt it. But said nothing.
She cleaned each wound, wiping blood away in slow, steady circles.
“You were going to walk in here like nothing happened,” she murmured.
“I’ve had worse,” he repeated.
“But I haven’t.”
That landed.
She stitched one cut, then the next. Her hands shook more with each pass of the needle.
“You’re angry,” he said.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m scared.”
Thunder rumbled.
She leaned in.
He hissed.
“Sorry,” she said.
“I’m not,” he replied.
She froze.
“What?”
“I’m not sorry it’s you touching me.”
It wasn’t a declaration.
But it landed like one.
Her breath trembled. She reached for new gauze, but his hand closed around her wrist. Not harsh. Just enough to stop her.
“Xander—”
“I wanted to come home.”
“To the estate?”
He shook his head.
“To you.”
Her heart stuttered.
“You never say that.”
“I am now.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re still here. And I know I don’t deserve it.”
She tried to pull away.
He didn’t let go.
“You patched me up the first time I came back bleeding.”
“I remember.”
“I didn’t deserve you then either.”
“I’m not your patch job,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Then stop treating me like one.”
They were close now.
Too close for lies. Too close for silence.
“Why haven’t you left yet?” he asked.
She didn’t look away.
“Because I see something in you. Something no one else bothers to look for. And I’m scared that if I leave, it’ll disappear.”
His eyes closed.
She didn’t move.
Neither did he.
When she finished wrapping the final wound, she stood, walked to the sink, and scrubbed her hands clean. Blood spiraled away in quiet red coils.
She turned.
He hadn’t moved.
But he was watching her like he had finally seen her.
Saw her.
“I’m not Sienna,” she said softly.
“I know.”
“I won’t be invisible.”
“I don’t want you invisible.”
“Then show me I’m not.”
It wasn’t a challenge.
It was a plea.
Xander rose slowly.
Not like a soldier.
Like a man.
“Come to bed,” he said. “Not because it’s late. Not because it’s yours too. Because if you don’t lie beside me tonight… I won’t sleep.”
She stared at him.
Then nodded.
No words.
Just motion.
She helped him to bed. Careful not to tug the bandages.
He lay facing her.
This time, he didn’t leave space between them.
His hand reached for hers.
She didn’t pull back.
She held him.
Outside, the storm clawed at the world.
Inside, something cracked open.
And Aria, who had spent a lifetime in silence, finally let herself close her eyes.
Not because he held her.
Because he saw her.
Sometime before dawn, his voice brushed the dark like a promise.
“Aria.”
She opened her eyes.
Answered with truth:
“I’m not going anywhere.”
- Writer
