It was intense. Too intense. I need to remember she’s still new to all this. But she’s so eager to learn.
“You had a long day.” Our first full day together. The first of many.
She wipes her eyes one last time and finally meets my gaze. Her eyes are red, but she looks so innocent, and I want to kiss her mouth.
I brush back her hair instead. The platinum color illuminates her face. She doesn’t dye her eyebrows, and the contrast between them and the white blonde at her hairline is stunning. It calls attention to her dark eyes.
So much emotion. So much expression. I can read her moods; they’re fast and changeable. Intense like storms.
And never boring. I could study her forever and not get tired of it.
She lets her head drop, going limp against me. I love moments like this, when she’s calm in that way she gets when she comes. I feel like a hero, even though I know I’m the monster in her story.
“Father Francis told me you have questions about me.” Open up, earn her trust.
Her lip quirks in a half-frown. She’s learning that the priest didn’t keep her confidence and that he’s loyal to Fraternitas.
“He said you grew up on the streets. With your twin brother.”
I nod.
“Is that why you trained as a fighter? To escape?”
“I didn’t want to be a fighter. Fighting was the only way to survive. And I ended up being good at it. I had to be.”
“When did you start?”
Memories swirl in my mind. Leviathans in the deep. “Thirteen.”
“No way,” she gasps. “That’s so young.”
I don’t say anything; I’m lost in shadowy memories. Running away with my brother, living on the streets. Finding the underground tunnels where it was warm enough for us to survive the winter. Father Francis feeding us, teaching us. After a few years of that, Jaeger wanted to move into the dorm, but I refused. I was the reason we were hanging around the street fights long enough for Maestro to notice us. I wanted to find a way off the streets without Father Francis’ help. I didn’t trust him.
It was almost our downfall.
“Hey,” she says, her hand hovering close to my face, ready to touch me to bring me back. “You survived.”
Barely, but I don’t tell her that. I’m not ready to share that much with her.
I stroke the side of her neck. It’s red from where my stubble scraped her, the bristles harsh on her skin. I should be sorry that I rubbed her raw.
I’m not sorry. I want to leave my mark on her. But I am sorry that she’s so upset. That I’m the brute she has to marry.
But maybe I can be good for her. Be what she needs. Today, her father was cruel to her. Argos sent me a recording of their call that I listened to after I sent Bella to the bedroom. He didn’t say anything I haven’t thought of myself, but the way he said it… I could kill the Poisoner for the way he spoke to her.
But killing my future father-in-law is not the solution. Killing is all I’m good at, but for her, I can be better.
She needs care and protection. Someone in her corner. A champion.
I want to be that for her. A rock in the storm. A fortress.
A husband who doesn’t let anyone fuck with his wife.
I shift her to the side so she’s lying in the crook of my arm.
She yawns, her eyes fluttering. “I’m so tired.”
“Sleep.” I tug the blanket free so I can cover her with it.
