11
1167 Words
KATHERINE
The night air hit me like a slap. Cold. Merciless. Real.
Christophe’s grip was unyielding, his blood-warmed hand clamped around mine as he yanked me out into the shadows of the backyard.
The broken window rattled behind us, shards glinting under the wash of headlights spilling across the lawn. My bare feet scraped against the damp grass, but I barely felt it.
All I could hear was the rush of my pulse, the echo of screams and fists, and blood still pounding in my head.
We didn’t stop running until the glow of the house shrank behind us. My chest burned, lungs raw, but Christophe moved like the night itself carried him.
Even bleeding, even staggering slightly, he kept pushing forward until we slipped into the tree line, swallowed by darkness.
He finally slowed, pressing his back against a rough-barked oak. The breath tore out of him in ragged bursts. His face was pale, damp with sweat, his sleeve drenched crimson where the knife had caught him.
I yanked my hand free, stumbling a step back. “What the hell just happened?”
His head tipped back against the trunk, eyes half-closed, jaw tight. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Just breathed. Just bled.
Something inside me cracked at the sight. He was dangerous, yes, but right now, he was also human. Hurt.
Too much blood was soaking through the torn fabric, dripping into the leaves at his feet.
I swallowed hard, my anger fraying into fear. “You’re hurt. You need-”
“Don’t,” he cut in sharply, his voice hoarse but firm. His eyes opened then, pinning me even in the dark. “Don’t waste your worry on me.”
My fists clenched at my sides. “You almost died in there, Christophe. And for what? For me?”
A shadow of a smile tugged at his lips, humourless, heavy. “Not for you. Because they were mine to fight.”
The words lodged in my chest. Mine to fight. As if this chaos, this violence was stitched into him.
I hugged my arms around myself, shivering though the night wasn’t that cold. “You can’t expect me to just pretend this is normal.”
He tilted his head, watching me. “It isn’t normal. Not for you.”
The way he said it like I was something fragile, something untouched by the dirt that stained him made my throat ache.
Silence stretched between us, thick and uneasy. The forest hummed with the whisper of wind through branches, distant crickets, the faint rustle of something small in the underbrush.
All sounds I might have found comforting on any other night. Tonight, they felt foreign. Wrong.
Finally, I forced the words out. “Who were they?”
Christophe’s jaw worked. For a long moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer at all.
Then, quietly, he said, “Men who once wore the same chains I did. Men who think I should still wear them.”
Chains. The word struck deep, chilling in its simplicity.
My lips parted. “What kind of chains?”
He let out a low laugh, bitter, tired. “The kind you don’t see until it’s too late. The kind that teaches you to fight like your life is a currency, and you’re always in debt.”
His gaze slid away, back into the dark woods. “They’ll keep coming. Do you understand that?”
I swallowed, nodding faintly though my body screamed to deny it. “And I’m what? Stuck in the middle of it?”
“You’re already in it, Katherine,” he said, voice quiet but cutting. “The moment you looked at me and didn’t turn away, you were in it.”
The words sank like stones in my chest. I wanted to argue, to scream that I hadn’t chosen this.
But the truth was, hadn't I? Every time I could have told him to leave, every time I could have run… I hadn’t.
My heart clenched.
Christophe shifted then, sliding down the trunk to sit against it. The motion dragged a sharp hiss from him as his wounded arm brushed bark.
Instinct overrode hesitation. I dropped to my knees beside him. “Let me see.”
“I said-”
“Don’t,” I cut in, echoing his tone from before. My hands trembled as I reached for his sleeve, peeling the torn fabric back.
Blood smeared across my fingers, sticky and hot. The gash wasn’t deep enough to be fatal, but it was ugly, angry, and still bleeding too freely.
“You’re lucky,” I murmured, focusing on the wound so I didn’t have to look into his eyes. “Another inch and…” My throat closed.
He watched me silently as I pressed the heel of my palm against the cut to slow the flow. His breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away.
For a long while, neither of us spoke. It was just his blood on my skin, the sharp scent of iron, the uneven rise and fall of his chest.
When I finally glanced up, his gaze was already on me.
Not guarded. Not mocking. Just… watching.
Heat crawled up my neck. I forced myself to look away, whispering, “You should’ve let me call someone.”
“And bring them to your door?” His voice was soft, almost tender, though his words carried their usual weight. “I don’t want anyone else’s blood on your hands.”
The words struck deeper than I expected.
“You keep saying that,” I whispered. “Like protecting me is the only thing that matters. Why?”
His jaw tightened. For a second, I thought he would retreat into silence again. But then-
“Because I know what it’s like,” he said quietly. “To have everything taken. To wake up one day and realize you’re just a pawn in someone else’s game.
And I-” His breath faltered, and his gaze dropped to the blood staining my hands. “I don’t want you anywhere near that world. Not if I can help it.”
Something inside me shifted, fragile and frightening.
“You act like you don’t care,” I said, my voice barely a breath. “But you do.”
His lips quirked faintly. “Care is dangerous.”
“So is everything about you,” I shot back.
The silence that followed felt heavier than the words.
Finally, he leaned his head back against the tree, eyes slipping closed. “Rest while you can. We won’t have long before they find us again.”
The thought sent a shiver through me, but exhaustion weighed me down. I stayed there beside him, my hand still pressing against his wound, until the rhythm of his breathing steadied.
Somewhere in the dark, an owl called. The forest stretched endless around us.
And for the first time, I wondered if I could trust Christoph, but if I could survive, what trusting him would mean?
- Writer
