I hate that I haven’t stepped up. That I’ve used her limp as an excuse. I should’ve given her a real battle by now. Dominated her. Shown her what it feels like to be fully claimed by a warrior.
I know she can take it. She’s stronger than all of us combined. I just—I’ve held back. Because Raphael already broke her once. Rory sets her on fire. Jude patches her up. Seth keeps her smiling.
And what the fuck do I offer? A hoodie that smells like bonfire and hay? A map of inked regrets across my skin? A barn full of goddamn goats? A punching bag where I visualize anyone who would try to hurt her?
She deserves more than a shadow that watches from the corner, too afraid of his own damage to touch her the way she needs.
But I will. Soon. I swear.
I just have to stop being afraid of breaking her and start trusting that she might be the one who breaks me instead.
Rory is talking about her ass again. I mutter about leaving him in the mulch, getting close to that point.
Just as I finish setting the other bundles on the cart, I notice him.
Blonde hair, neatly parted, early-fifties, well-groomed. His coat’s city-cut, pressed sharp at the collar. He’s too focused, too still. He rounds the corner behind a stack of Douglas firs and stops dead. Zeros in on Briella like a goddamn hawk.
She doesn’t notice him. Not yet.
But I do. And across the aisle, Rory’s already clocked him, too. I meet his gaze over the tips of a pine. Subtle nod exchanged. No words needed. We’ve both seen that look before—the kind that doesn’t belong at a tree lot.
The stranger pretends to inspect a spruce, but it’s the last thing he sees. We scatter across the rows, casually. No need foralarm yet. He’s likely a peeping tom ogling our beautiful girl—easily intimidated.
Briella’s oblivious, murmuring something to herself as she stops at a tall, snow-dusted fir with thick, sweeping boughs. “This one.” She rests her hand on the trunk like she’s claiming it.
“Nice eye,” I murmur, hauling it onto the cart with a grunt. The cart creaks under the weight.
That’s when she goes stiff beside me.
I turn, and the blonde man is closer now. Too close. Briella glances at him before the color drains from her face. She sways and stumbles right into my side, fingers gripping my jacket like she’s trying to melt into me. She wraps her scarf around her neck tightly and pulls up the collar of her coat.
The man steps forward.
“Bri? Gabriella Weston?”
He’s too calm. Too cool. “Sorry. I think you’ve got the wrong person.” She lowers her chin to the ground. “I just have one of those faces.”
The man doesn’t blink.
Rory steps in, his accent thick and full of gravel. “Ye keep eyeballing my woman like that, I’ll knock all yer teeth in and make ye swallow ‘em, one by one.”
That gets the point across. The man backs off—slowly but not scared. Just…watching.
I don’t like how he stares at her as I steer the cart toward the checkout. Briella’s trembling beside me. I keep one hand on her lower back, grounding her. He’s from her past. Some demon. And she’s petrified.
Now she has five bigger demons, including one who beat the Devil himself.
We’re almost done checking out when he reappears.
Before I can react, he reaches out and yanks the cap off her head.
“Not your face, little Bri.” He inspects her like a jackal. “I’d know that hair anywhere.”
Briella recoils. Rory moves faster. He steps between them, fury in his jaw, his shoulders, his hands clenched like loaded weapons.
The man doesn’t flinch. “Prophet Alden will be so pleased to hear you’re alive and well.”
Her breath turns shallow, her eyes wide with terror.
