Ambrose’s eyes darken, his tone lethal as he says, “I’ll fucking kill him.”
The vitriol in his voice surprises me. Even when he had killed Richard in the garden last week, he’d been cruel and calculated, lacking emotion. Now, he barely seems to be controlling the anger raging inside him.
“He’s dead now, so it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me. I wish he wasn’t dead so I could torture him myself.”
My mouth drops open as I stare at him, taken aback by his sudden intensity. I had expected his annoyance at me having done a sloppy job, maybe a little concern about me being hurt, but not this visceral protectiveness. It throws me off kilter even more than I already am.
It’s too much. The softness in his touch, the fierce possessiveness of his words, the tenderness with which he cleans my skin. I lean back slightly, putting a few more inches of space between us to catch my breath as I smile and say, “Well, lucky for you, I burned that motherfucker and his church to the ground.”
He chuckles. “Good girl.”
The phrase should irritate me just as much as his “pet” nickname does, but my chest flutters with something strange. I ignore it and stand up, needing to do something besides sit here and stare in his eyes with him kneeling before me.
“I’ll take a shower in a few minutes to clean up. No need to worry about the cuts. Can you just help me fix my shoulder?”
He stands and sets aside the washcloth, then takes a moment to examine my shoulder before saying, “Like I said, I think we can pop it back into place, but we’ll need to keep an eye on it in case anything gets inflamed.”
“Okay.”
He positions himself beside me and instructs me how to move my arm. He shifts quickly, helping me pop the shoulder back into place with a sudden, firm movement. A sharp pain cuts through me, and I cry out, gripping his hand. But as quickly as it came, the harsh pain subsides, leaving behind a dull ache.
“Wow, that already feels better,” I say, feeling suddenly awkward about my hand in his now that the intense moment is over.
He doesn’t let go, though. He traces slow circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, and I turn to look at him. We’re close—too close—yet I don’t pull away. I don’t have the energy to put my walls up after what I experienced today, and all I want to do is pretend like everything is alright.
Ambrose reaches up, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, and his fingers linger on my cheek. His touch iswarm and comforting, almost reverent, and I find myself leaning into it rather than pulling away.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I murmur, suddenly overcome with exhaustion.
He smiles softly, his thumb still tracing patterns on my cheek. “Because, despite what you may think, I do care about you, Brielle. Probably more than I should.”
Our eyes are locked, our faces only inches apart, and we’re suspended in time. My mind is a flurry of activity, yet no coherent thoughts surface. Only a strange, frenetic energy.
When he leans in almost imperceptibly, reality comes rushing back to me and I jolt backwards.
“I-I’m, uh, gonna go shower,” I blurt before rushing upstairs and wondering what the hell almost just happened.
CHAPTER 25
AMBROSE
September
I can’t allow myself to care for her this much, but I don’t know how to stop it. Even if I let her leave now, knowing she could fare for herself at this point, I would never stop wondering about her. She’s carved out a place in my heart, as much as I’ve tried to resist caring for her. At the beginning, I told myself it was simply curiosity, but even then, I knew that I was fooling myself.
I wanted her then, just as I do now.
Hell, I almost kissed her last night before catching myself. Now, kissing her is all I can think about. Those full, pouty lips and deep green eyes haunt my dreams, and I love every second of it.
I’ve tried to keep her at arm’s length, but it’s a futile effort. We grow closer each day, yet I can tell something new is bothering her. At times, she becomes distant, withdrawing into herself and retreating from any interaction I try to initiate.I’m worried that there’s something on her mind—something important—that she’s not telling me, but it’s difficult to read her. She has spent so long training herself to conceal her emotions that she’s become quite good at it.
I had wondered if my actions at the masquerade had caused irreparable damage to her image of me, as she had barely been able to look at me in the following days. If only she knew I had my reasons to kill that man, but explaining the situation to her would only heighten her anxiety and embroil her in schemes that even I’m not fully aware of yet. Better to keep her safe and unaware while believing I’m a cold-hearted monster. It’s probably easier for both of us that way, anyway.
But when she came in beaten and bruised from her last outing, I saw red. The only thing that allowed me to control my rage was the fact that my anger, even if it wasn’t directed at her, would have scared her. She’s grown so much, but it’s not a simple thing to heal from the sort of abuse she endured.
So I kept my fury in check and took care of her as best as I could, and that seemed to heal the rift between us—at least for now.
