Jason nodded, his expression softening slightly.
Inside, Muriel released his hand, only to slide her arm around his waist. “Upstairs,” she commanded.
It felt like heaven. For a while there, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to feel her touch him again, and he wasn’t about to squander it.
“When did you become so bossy?” he said, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.
“When I realized what losing you would do to me,” she said somberly.
They had so much to talk about, but now that the adrenaline was fading, exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. His ribs ached. His wrists burned. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been kicked and punched.
Because it had.
She guided him toward the stairs, taking most of his weight. “Come on.”
He let her help him up, enjoying the feel of her too much to protest. Then he was sitting on the edge of his bed while Muriel knelt in front of him. His mind—and body—went to entirely inappropriate places. It didn’t matter that he was running on empty, or that just a few hours ago, she didn’t even want to talk to him.
“I can do this myself,” he said as she reached for his boots.
“I know. Let me help anyway.”
The gentleness in her voice undid something in his chest. She unlaced his boots with careful fingers, then pulled them off along with his socks. Her hands lingered on his ankles for just a moment, warm and sure, and through the bond he felt her relief that he was here, safe, whole.
She really had been worried.
She got to her feet and said softly, “Arms up.”
He lifted them, wincing as the movement pulled at his bruised ribs. Muriel's hands were careful as she eased his shirt over his head, her fingertips ghosting over the worst of the bruises, trailing lightly over the runes that had been tattooed over his chest and arms.
“They hurt you.” Her voice was quiet, but fury simmered beneath it.
“I'm okay. It looks worse than it is.”
She blinked rapidly and looked down, but not before he saw the telltale sheen of moisture in her eyes.
“Hey.” Brandon caught her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. “It’s okay. We're safe. It's over.”
Through the bond, he felt her fear and something else. Guilt?
She couldn’t possibly blame herself for what happened tonight, could she?
Before he could lock onto that, she pulled away. “You should get some sleep.”
Just like that, the distance was back.
The tendril of hope he’d felt withered and died. Of course. She'd saved him because she believed she had brought the Collectors to Mythic and felt that this was all her fault. It didn't mean she'd forgiven him. It didn't mean she wanted to stay.
“You should rest too,” he managed. “You channeled a lot of magic tonight.”
“I will,” she said, pulling the door closed behind her.
Brandon lay back on the bed, still wearing his jeans because he didn't have the energy to take them off. The ceiling blurred above him as exhaustion tugged insistently at him.
Dimly, he heard Muriel moving around the apartment. Getting a cup of tea. Padding softly to the guest room.
At least she hadn’t left. Even if it was out of a sense of guilt, she was here, and he’d take it.
Tomorrow was a different story. With the immediate threat removed, she no longer needed him or his protection. She could return to the estate, or back to her own life, or anywhere that wasn't here.