The musty rot of mildew soaked the air as he came to. He was hanging by his wrists, the cuffs attached to the chain digging into his flesh. The door opened with a whine as his tormentor waltzed into the prison cell. Xander carried his favorite tool, his metal cane. Again with the same question, “Will you do as you were meant to and rebuild the Academy?” Again, the same answer, “Never.” The look of strange disappointment on Xander’s face before he swung the cane into Victor’s ribs.
Victor started awake, his eyes wide as it took him a moment to remember where he was. He looked over at Summer and pulled her close to him, willing himself to calm down. His eyes closed as he tried to fill his senses only with her scent. He let out a shaky exhale and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Tentatively, he ran his fingers down her jaw and over her cheekbone, recommitting her to memory in an effort to push out the remnants of his nightmare.
She was not going to — she was /not/ going to — the spark was still there. The one they’d blown into a raging blaze practically the day they’d met. It jumped from his fingers to her skin and chased down her spine. “Why?” she asked, pulling a knee up to drape over his leg under the covers, the length of her body pressed to the length of his.
“Because I never wanted t’ hurt you Summer an’ I’ve made a mess of things.” Victor bit his lip, happy for the contact and stared into her eyes. His hand cupped her cheek while his thumb brushed her lip. “Because I love you.” He hesitated for a moment then kissed her, gently on the lips. “An’ I’ll never stop.”
“Victor,” she mumbled. “D-don—” It was pointless to protest, given the way she was still pressing against him, the way she put her hand behind his head and pulled him into a harder kiss. She was still angry, she told herself, still angry. This didn’t mean she wasn’t angry. Just to prove that, she bit his lip.