Markev looks at the man, and the expression on his face is so unsettling that a shiver runs through me.
His gun is raised, pointed straight ahead, but it is his eyes that hold most of my attention. His icy blue gaze has gone dark, empty of anything I recognise.
It feels like something demonic has taken over him.
His eyes flick over me, assessing, and when it lands on my neck, I know he sees the bruising already beginning to form there.
He doesn’t shoot the man, and the man in question doesn’t even finish reaching for his gun. He looks caught in a trance, rooted to the spot, unable to move.
Markev closes the distance and starts punching him, over and over again, not stopping until the man’s face and body are unrecognisable.
He stops abruptly, his hands slick with blood, pulls out his phone, and lifts it to his ear. “I’ve got another one for you,” he says coldly, then ends the call and slips the phone back into his pocket.
He is on me a second later.
Both hands cup my face, forcing me to look up, probably smearing my skin with blood.
His touch is frantic, searching, his hands are everywhere.
“Are you hurt?” he demands. “Fuck, gorgeous, tell me you’re okay.”
I smile.
A real smile.
Which is so unlike me, but at this point I couldn’t care less.
“I’m fine,” I say softly. Then I narrow my eyes at him, the smile still in place. “I had it covered.”
His eyes stay dark, but when he sees me smile, he smiles back. It is small, and so mesmerising that it knocks the breath out of me.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “You fucking did.”
He rests his forehead against mine, breathing hard. “Fuck. I can’t believe I let you get hurt.”
I close my eyes and inhale his scent.
His hands still cradle my face, and without thinking, I lift mine over his.
Everything quiets.
The rush of guilt is strangely absent, and so are the voices. The void is no longer threatening to swallow me whole.
This is either very good or very damn bad.
I wouldn’t actually know, because this has never happened before. I have lived with those bloody voices for as long as I can remember.
“It’s not your responsibility,” I whisper.
“Like hell it isn’t,” he replies instantly. “You’re my woman, and I protect what’s mine.”
I step back at the words. His hands fall from my face, but he catches me again, one hand sliding to the back of my neck, pulling me firmly against him. I gasp when my chest meets his.
“Don’t,” he says low. “Don’t walk away from me. Don’t hide. Don’t shut me out.”
His voice drops. “I want all of you. Even the parts you think are broken.”
Something in my chest cracks.
