“I’m not here to hurt you,” I reassure her softly, willing her to believe me this time.
And when she nods against me, a dizzying relief infuses my blood.
“Can I take you back inside?” I suggest. No more commands. Now that I understand what’s going on, I’m going to have to be much more careful about the way I handle her.
Again, Anika nods, her sobs easing into harsh sniffles as she tries to rein her tears back in.
Heart hammering an irregular beat against my ribs, I slowly relax my grip on her, careful to see if she’ll make another break for it the moment I let her go.
Thankfully, she doesn’t, and I wrap one arm around her, taking her hand so I can guide her back toward the house.
I would rather just pick her up, but I don’t want to do anything that would feel like I’m forcing her.
Not when she feels like she’s hovering on the brink of fight or flight.
Anika takes several hobbling steps, seeming to register the abuse of her feet for the first time now that she’s not running on pure adrenaline, and my chest squeezes. I slow down, then stop abruptly when I spot the bloody footprints.
“You’re bleeding,” I state, my stomach knotting. I’ve seen plenty of blood in my life—much of which I spilled myself. But seeing Anika injured releases a fierce protective instinct inside me. “Let me carry you,” I insist, then tack on a “please” so it won’t sound too commanding.
Anika levels me with a small, watery smile. “Thanks,” she breathes.
Dipping low, I scoop her into my arms and carry her back inside the house. Several sets of eyes watch us as we enter, concern written across the faces of the household staff.
To their credit, they seem ready to step in if Anika asks for help.
“Please have some dinner brought up to our room.” I direct my request to Alfonzo, the butler that followed me and my brothers from the ruins of our family home.
“Of course,” he says with a nod, turning to head toward the kitchen as I carry Anika to the stairs.
Several servants already kneel around the broken vase, sweeping up the sharp shards. That must be what Anika cut her feet on. I don’t think she even tried to avoid the mess.
Silence stretches between us as we reach the second floor, broken only by her sniffles that slowly soften as she calms down.
But my heart is still thundering in my chest, my adrenaline like fire in my veins as I try to wrap my mind around what just happened.
I’m dying to ask her, but the last thing I want to do is trigger another unexpected response. So I need to take my time. Show her that she can trust me.
Without setting her down, I twist the handle to our bedroom door and step inside, kicking it closed behind me.
I take her straight to the bathroom counter, which practically glistens it’s so clean. I can smell the bleach in the air, and I’m grateful I’ll have a sanitary space to work in.
Lowering her gently onto the countertop, I set her feet into the sink basin, then grab the vanity bench to sit on so I can assess the bottom of her feet.
Air hisses sharply through my teeth when I find several sizeable shards buried in her skin.
“I’ll need to take out the broken pieces before I clean you up,” I warn, knowing it’s not going to be a pleasant process.
“Okay,” Anika says, her soft voice oddly calm.
Digging through the drawers for the first aid kit and a set of tweezers, I collect my necessary tools, then settle back on the bench and collect her left foot.
“Ready?” I ask, hovering the tweezers over the first shard as I glance up to meet her eyes.
Anika nods, her cheeks flushing delicately as she leans back to brace against the counter with her palms.
Doing my best to be gentle about it, I capture a corner of the broken vase and carefully extract it.
Anika’s breath catches, her foot twitching slightly in my grasp, but she doesn’t pull away, and when I drop the first piece onto the counter beside her, she seems to relax slightly.
