His gentleness broke the fragile hold on her tears, and she began crying in earnest.
Venn responded instantly by gathering her into his arms. She leaned against him, gripping his loose shirt in tight fists as she let her tears soak his chest.
His palm smoothed up and down her spine and he tucked his head near hers. He whispered soothing words, murmured for her to let the tears fall. To let it all out.
She did.
Her grief at losing Ivonne. Her guilt for being the one to live—to berelievedthat she lived.
Her pain and shame for hurting Venn repeatedly.
Her terror at being abducted. For being tortured, both physically and mentally, for weeks. For not knowing which breath might be her last, or the moment Tariq would abuse her.
For leaving Clare in the hands of Salim. Leaving her to be punished for Vera’s escape.
For feeling so fates-blasted alone before she’d found Venn again.
Vera felt it all in this moment, and it was a torrent of agony, guilt, and helplessness.
Finally, there were no tears left.
Venn didn’t let go, though, and she didn’t pull away. Safe in his arms with her cheek pressed against his heart, she felt every breath he took as his chest expanded and fell. Every inhale drew her body closer to his, and for the first time in far too long, she was truly at peace.
Silence reigned for a long time. Then, “You said his name,” Venn whispered. “Tariq.”
Vera tensed.
His hold tightened, and she swore his lips brushed her hair. “You don’t have to tell me what you dreamed. But if you want to . . .”
She said nothing for a while, then—steadied by Venn’s heart beating beneath her cheek—she spoke. “He was the one who grabbed me during the ambush on the road. When we finally stopped in a clearing, he dropped me onto the ground and the way he looked at me . . . He never stopped looking at me.”
Venn’s breathing thinned, but he said nothing. Just waited for her words.
Vera pinched her eyes closed. “Sometimes I would wake in the night and he would be there, watching me, or touching my hair.” He’d had a fascination with her hair; she shuddered at the memory of his ghosting touch. “Clare would be asleep, and I would bite my lip until it bled so I wouldn’t wake her. Tariq feared Salim too much to really hurt me, but he was always there.”
Venn’s chin brushed her temple as he curled his body around her. She wasn’t even sure if he was aware of doing it, but his protective embrace loosened the knot inside her chest, making it easier to continue. “Right before I escaped, Salim said that once Clare was gone, I would be sold to slavers.”
Venn stiffened, and she realized she hadn’t mentioned that before. The Rose had hinted at such a thing, but for her to confirm it . . .
“It’s all right,” she hurried to assure him.
“None of what happened to you isall right.” His words were quiet, but rough.
“I know,” she whispered. “But I’m safe now.”
He grunted, and his arms flexed around her.
She almost smiled. “You’ve spent too much time with Wilf.”
Venn snorted. “Probably. If he develops a sense of humor, that will be proof positive.”
She chuckled.
Some of the tension eased out of him. “I’m sorry I interrupted. Please continue, if you’d like.”
Always her choice. She loved that about him. Everything between them, always, had been her choice. Venn never made a move unless she invited it—stated it. He was even more careful about that now, as if he knew she needed control now more than ever.
She took a slow breath, settling back into her story. “Tariq made it clear that, if I was going to the slavers, he would have me first. Salim didn’t argue. That’s when Clare made the decision to fight, I think. And when I ran, it was Tariq who came after me. He chased me through the streets, and I barely managed to lose him in the crowds.” She burrowed a little more against him, then whispered, “In my nightmare, I didn’t lose him.”
