“Your mother is fine.”
She vehemently shook her head.“You don’t know that.The day I was taken, she warned me.Said she saw a man with a raven tattoo.I thought it was just her nonsensical rambling, but what if?—”
“Ariana.”I leaned closer, firm but steady.“I swear to you.She’s fine.Would you like to see for yourself?”
Her breath caught, and she snapped her eyes to mine.“How?”
I smiled faintly and stood, sliding my phone back into my pocket.“May I?”I gestured down her frame.
She frowned, not understanding, but nodded anyway.
I bent and carefully lifted her into my arms.
“What are you doing?”She gasped, clutching at my shirt, the heat of her touch searing through the fabric.
My god, it felt good to feel her again.To have her body against mine.To have her hands on me.
“What I promised.”I adjusted her gently, mindful of her ribs.“Taking you to see that your mother’s fine.”
ChapterEight
Ariana
Henry’s arms felt impossibly steady around me.I shouldn’t have taken comfort in it.Not after what he’d just confessed.How he’d planned to abduct me.How he’d studied me.How I’d been nothing more than a means to an end.
Every instinct I possessed should have been screaming at me to get away.To run as far as I could.
Instead, my body leaned into his warmth like it remembered something my mind refused to accept.His chest rose and fell against me, the scent of cedar and citrus clinging to his shirt as he held me with a tenderness I rarely experienced.
Victor seemed gentle once, too.His hands careful.His voice soft.His concern convincing.
Until it wasn’t.Until his care became a cage, his love a weapon.I swore I’d never mistake protection for possession again.
And yet here I was, allowing myself to be carried in the arms of a man who’d confessed to abducting me.
But was he really as bad as Victor?
He’d never taken any accountability for his actions.If anything, he’d repeatedly placed the blame on me.
Henry didn’t do that.Didn’t make excuses.Just gave me the cold, unvarnished truth, regardless of how I might respond.
Shouldn’t that have been enough for me to believe him?
I wasn’t sure.
The air shifted as Henry moved through his home.I expected dark wood and oversized furniture, like the cabin he’d kept me in.
But this house was a contradiction.Bright.Open.Comfortable.
I got the feeling this place was his true home.The place he felt most at ease.It made me want to search every inch for greater insight into who he was.
He carried me down a winding staircase and through a great room drenched in what felt like late afternoon light, his footsteps a steady rhythm against the polished wood.The French doors opened, and a petite woman slipped inside, sunlight catching in her auburn hair.
“I was just coming to check on you,” she said, her kind brown eyes meeting mine.“How are you feeling, Ms.Summers?”
The name hit me like a soft blow.
Ms.Summers.
