Chapter162 – I promise anything
Tears streamed down her cheeks like rain.
Atticus reached up, weakly brushing her tears away. “Do you believe me?”
“I believe you,” she whispered, lips trembling. “I believe everything. Just please… don’t leave me. Don’t you dare die.”
His breath hitched. “Then… promise me you’ll be mine. Be my woman, Clarissa.”
“I promise,” she choked out, hugging him close. “I promise anything. Just live. You’re all I have left. Mom’s gone… I can’t lose you too.” She didn't expect Atticus to have any other thoughts in this situation.
Atticus lay in her arms, pale and still, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he gazed up at the woman sobbing over him.
The white bandages wrapped around his leg were soaked but no longer spreading. The bleeding had stopped. Clarissa had tied it tight—painfully tight—but it had worked.
She had saved his life.
Atticus knew it was shameless, taking advantage of her fear and grief. But he didn’t care. He’d already made up his mind.
This woman would be his—by any means necessary.
He buried his face against her chest, breathing in her scent, then slowly let his eyes close.
Clarissa, meanwhile, felt his body slacken in her arms.
Her breath hitched in panic. “Atticus?” she called, her voice trembling.
She pressed trembling fingers under his nose. A warm breath brushed her skin.
Thank God.
She exhaled shakily, trying to steady her heartbeat, and gently laid him flat on the ground, adjusting his position so he could rest more comfortably. Then, picking up her coat, she wrapped it around herself again. She was still shivering, half-dressed, damp, exhausted—but she didn’t dare sleep.
Clarissa forced herself to her feet and did a quick sweep of the area, wary of wild animals. But she didn’t dare stray far. The base of the cliff was dense, unfamiliar terrain. She scouted just a short distance before hurrying back to Atticus’s side.
She crouched next to him, her hand brushing his forehead. His breathing was steady. The bandage was holding. The worst of it seemed to have passed.
Clarissa sat beside him, gasping for breath. Her body ached. Her mind was racing.
At the same time, above the cliff—
The scene was grim. The trail of blood, the dead horse, the silence.
No one in sight.
Lawrence dismounted and crouched down, examining the blood on the ground. His expression hardened.
Dorian, close behind, narrowed his eyes. “What is it? Did you find something?”
“I just got here like you.” Lawrence replied coolly.
"You—" Dorian stepped forward, his jaw clenched in fury, but just as he was about to let loose, David approached.
Dorian grabbed him by the collar. “What the hell happened to that horse?! Why was a dangerous animal even given to a guest? What kind of operation are you running here?”
David didn’t flinch. “Sir, please calm down.”
“Calm down?” Dorian’s eyes were wild. “If that damn horse hadn’t gone berserk, Clarissa wouldn’t be—”
“Dorian.” Lawrence cut in, gripping his arm firmly. “Yelling won’t help. Let him talk.”
With a deep, ragged breath, Dorian shoved David away.
“If anything happens to Clarissa, I’ll make sure the Loxley family pays for it. I don’t give a damn who you people think you are.”
David straightened his collar and spoke evenly. “There’s no body here. No sign of either of them. It’s very likely they fell.”
He paused, glancing at the edge. "And the blood—it may not just be from the horse.”
“Don’t you dare,” Dorian snapped, grabbing him again. “Don’t you fucking dare say she’s dead!”
“I didn’t say that,” David replied, voice calm as ever. “I said the cliff is steep, but there’s a waterfall below. If they hit the river, there’s a chance they survived. If we go downstream, we may find them.”
Dorian froze, tension coiling through every muscle.
A waterfall. A fast-moving river. For a man, maybe. But for a woman like Clarissa—fragile, petite…
Lawrence read the shift in his expression and stepped in. “Dorian, we don’t have time for this. We need to search—now. Let’s go.”
Gritting his teeth, Dorian let go of David and barked, “Get everyone. Spread out. Search the base of the cliff, the riverbanks, everything!”
He looked back once more at the blood on the ground, his fists clenched.
“If something happens to her… I swear—”
Then he mounted his horse and rode off without waiting for a response.
Clarissa stayed curled beside Atticus through the night, checking on him every so often, terrified that he might simply stop breathing in his sleep.
But his body was tougher than she'd ever imagined. With the amount of blood he’d lost earlier, any normal man would’ve been dead by now. Yet he held on.
Still, as the night deepened, Clarissa felt his body grow hotter and hotter beneath her touch—he was burning up.
Panic clawed at her chest.
She searched his pockets with trembling fingers. Hidden in the lining of his pants and tactical vest, she found a few emergency medical supplies: hemostatic powder, anti-inflammatories, and some unlabeled pills sealed in a waterproof bag. The ones she didn’t recognize, she left untouched. She wasn’t about to risk giving him something dangerous.
She pulled out what she knew—anti-inflammatory meds and clotting agents—and gently slipped them past his lips, coaxing him to swallow.
Then she ran barefoot to the river, soaking her handkerchief in the icy water and pressing it to his burning forehead.
But it wasn’t enough. His body trembled violently in her arms, heat radiating off him in waves.
Clarissa didn’t know how to make a fire. The night was cold and damp, and Atticus was already too weak. Desperate, she stripped off his vest and shirt, then peeled off her own coat and pressed her half-naked body against his.
Her skin against his was cool. His was feverishly hot. But pressed together like this, she could share her warmth, steady his shivering.
Clarissa wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. His face was pale, jaw clenched even in sleep, the sweat on his brow glistening in the moonlight. Her heart felt like it had been hollowed out, her chest physically aching.
"Atticus… you have to make it through this."
She hesitated, then whispered in a broken voice, “I… I love you…”
But she didn’t finish the sentence. The tears came anyway, hot and silent.
"Please… don't die. I can't—I can’t go on without you..."
She didn’t want to be alone again. Her tears rolled down her cheeks, landing on his face and sliding along his jaw, down the column of his throat.
Eventually, sheer exhaustion overtook her, and Clarissa drifted off, still holding him.
What she didn’t know was that the moment her breathing slowed, and she slipped into sleep—Atticus’s eyes opened.
Silently. Slowly.
He looked down at the woman curled into his chest, her cheeks still wet with tears. His expression was unreadable—calm, cold, calculating. But behind those dark eyes, something flickered.
Possession.
He reached up and gently touched her face, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, brushing a tear from her cheek.
Then he smiled faintly.
"Clarissa," he whispered, "you’re mine. You can't escape me anymore."
Morning came, harsh and cold.
Clarissa woke with a jolt, shivering and sore, stomach aching with hunger.
Atticus! She sat up quickly, eyes darting around in a panic.
He wasn’t beside her.
But then she saw him—limping through the trees, returning to their makeshift camp, his leg freshly bandaged and his arms full of wild fruit.
She rushed to him. “Where did you go?”
Atticus gave her a tired, crooked smile. “I re-wrapped it. It’s holding. I got hungry… figured you would be too.”
Only then did she notice the neatly wrapped bandages on his thigh and the sweat still clinging to his temples. He’d redressed his wound himself, without waking her.
He handed her some berries and fruits. The two of them sat by the river’s edge, eating in silence. The water was cold and pure, flowing straight from Butterfly Valley.