"Breathe, Goddess," Gavriel whispered, his lips close to my ear.
I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until he spoke. The air rushed into my lungs in a ragged gasp that threatened to become a sob. I clamped down on the emotion, refusing to show weakness before his men.
We reached a private suite, where he carried me right toward the bathroom. The space we walked through was masculine and bold, with dark green walls, black furniture, and a bathroom with brushed nickel fixtures and black marble that reflected diffused lighting throughout, creating a dark, soothing, calming space that helped ease the tension in my muscles.
"I've got you," he murmured, setting me gently on the edge of the massive marble tub. He turned on the faucets, steam quickly filling the room as hot water cascaded into the bath.
I stared at my hands, at the dried blood coating my skin slowly flaking off. "It's over," I said, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.
"Yes." Gavriel knelt before me, taking my blood-stained hands in his. "It's over. My father is dead. Juarez is dead. Rhea is safe."
"And that man . . . he just—" I couldn't finish the sentence. The image of the bodyguard's suicide kept replaying in my mind. I’d killed people in self-defense. Hell, I’d torn the heart out of the man who’d killed my father, but Juarez’s man willingly ending his life . . .
"Some loyalties run deeper than reason," Gavriel said softly, beginning to unbutton my blouse with careful movements. "His life was tied to Juarez. Without him, he had no purpose."
Gavriel’s words stuck to me like glue as I watched him strip me down, his eyes locked on mine the entire time. His fingers moved over my skin like I was some precious thing he’d found and was determined to fix. Every touch felt like an apology, like he was trying to wipe away more than just the blood.
I’m not broken.
I’m crashing from reality.
The blood had soaked through my clothes in places, sticking the fabric to my skin. He peeled it away gently, discarding each ruined garment on the tile.
When I was naked, he helped me into the tub, the hot water immediately turning pink around me. I sank into its warmth, watching as tendrils of red curled away from my body.
"Join me," I whispered, needing his closeness more than I'd ever admit aloud.
Without hesitation, he stripped off his own clothes, and after draining the tub of the brown water and refilling it, he slid in behind me, pulling me back against his chest. His arms encircled me, strong and secure, a barrier against the chaos we'd just unleashed.
"I called you my wife," he said after several minutes of silence, his voice rumbling against my back.
"You did."
"I meant it." His hand found mine beneath the water, fingers intertwining. "Not just for show. Not just for power."
I turned slightly, looking up at him. His face was open, vulnerable in a way I usually only saw mid-scene. "Are you officially proposing to me in a bathtub stained with your father's blood?"
A small smile curved his lips. "Seems fitting, doesn't it? Our relationship has never been conventional, and I’ve already agreed to wear your collar."
Despite everything, I felt a laugh bubble up in my chest. "No, it certainly hasn't been."
His expression grew serious again. "I love you, Elin. I have for longer than I've been willing to admit, even to myself. Today, watching you face down my father, I was so damn proud of you,and there was a part of me that wondered what I did to make you call me yours."
I thought of all we'd been through—the manipulation, the violence, the blood we'd spilled together. And beneath it all, the undeniable connection that had drawn us to each other from the beginning.
"You're Don Azzaro now," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Your wife will be expected to play a certain role. To be a certain kind of woman."
"I don't want that kind of wife," he countered. "I want my Goddess. I want the woman who holds my leash and keeps me human when the darkness threatens to consume me."
I reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with wet fingers. "The other Dons won't understand. They'll see it as weakness."
"Let them." His voice hardened with conviction. "Let them underestimate us. They'll learn soon enough what happens when they cross the Owl’s Talon and his queen."
Queen. The word echoed in my mind, powerful and seductive. Not a subservient wife standing in her husband's shadow, but an equal partner in his reign.
"Yes," I said simply.
His brow furrowed slightly. "Yes?"
