She breaks in my arms. Tears, shaking, the kind of sobs that shake your bones and your soul loose. She buries her face in my neck.
And I hold her through it. I hold her like she’s the only thing worth saving in this fecking ruined world.
Because she is.
She lifts her head. Purple waves cling to her face, fracturing her eyes, but those hazel orbs don’t burn or glare or punish. They paralyze me.
She touches my beard again. Her lips part. And she whispers…“Red.”
Fecking lose it.
Lifting her, I pin her against the wet wall. I plant my hand on the wall above her, trapping her with her legs around me, breasts soft and full on my chest—and every twelve inches of my masculinity throbbing against her femininity.
But…I grip my base, stare her dead in the eye, and vow, “Briella, I’d take a fucking cleaver to this before I ever use it to hurt you again.”
Briella offers me the faintest smile. A ghost of one. Like she’s reaching for something in her past.
She reaches for me instead.
Every muscle in my jaw clenches when she combs her hand through my wet hair and leans closer to kiss my ruined ear. “Rory.”
I swear her speaking my name echoes like the howl of Cú Chulainn before war—mad, holy, and too late to stop.
She kisses my ear and breathes, “Bend me like a willow and wreck me like a pagan rite.”
I unleash the beast.
One thrust of my hips, I slam into her.
The pain from her nails raking the scars on my back and her teeth sinking into my neck is the best hell I’ve ever felt.
And my Queen of the Damned clenches around me…and takes me to heaven.
“You two have fun?”Seth asks when I carry her into the main room again.
She smells amazing after the shower. Looks every bit adorable with her cheeks all flushed to match her sweet, pretty cunt. She’s dressed in her cute green Christmas leggings with the reindeer print and Vincent’s sweater, which I grabbed for her after we got out of the shower. The cap on her head.
“Seth, my cane?” she asks when I set her down, and he jumps to attention. “Could you braid my hair again?” she follows up and yawns.
“Tired, Briella Darling?” He kisses her cheek and whips her thick, wet hair into a messy but pretty French braid.
“Mmm hmm.” She yawns again, her eyelids heavy.
I’d take the credit for it. But we all know her story, opening presents, everything tonight wore her out more than big Red.
“Let me see this, Babydoll,” Jude insists, taking her palm and leaning down to kiss it. “Bleeding stopped, but let’s get a fresh bandage on this.”
Tomorrow, we’ll pick this back up. Tonight, she rests. Tomorrow, she and I will make cutout cookies for decorating. I have a whole holiday feast prepped, but she can help with the final touches. We’ll go sledding. Snowball fights. And who knows?
But as Jude wraps her hand in a gauze, a thundering boom cracks the air.
The ground shudders.
Raphael charges to his feet. He pushes the stone above the fireplace.
Shit. Fuck. Bloody Christ. Never thought this day would come.
Protocol X.
