Daniil guides us out through a back exit, and the car is already waiting. I collapse into the back seat, and Rafail slides in beside me, and then we're moving.
My hands are shaking as I dig through my purse for tissues, before finally finding some. When I reach for Rafail's blood-coated knuckles he lets me take his hand.
"It's not mine," he says quietly as I wipe away the evidence.
"I know." I keep cleaning because doing something with my hands helps. "I can tell. You're not hurt."
"Covered in someone else's blood after beating him to death for touching you." His free hand comes up to cup my undamaged cheek. "Are you going to run now? Now that you've seen what I'm capable of?"
"I'm not running." The words come out steadier than I feel. "He tried to rape me and you stopped him. You protected me."
"You watched me kill him." His thumb strokes my cheekbone. "You said yes. You crossed a line tonight, Jana."
"I know." The handkerchief is dark with blood now but I keep working. "And I should be horrified. But he would have done it again. To someone else. Now he can't."
He pulls me against his chest and I let myself sink into his embrace because holding myself together is exhausting.
"You're remarkable," he murmurs against my hair. "Most people would break after what you just went through. But you're here accepting what had to happen."
"I don't feel remarkable." The admission costs me. "I feel like I'm going to shatter if I stop moving. I keep seeing his face when he grabbed me and then seeing it again when you were hitting him."
"Violence leaves marks—on the people who experience it and the people who witness it. But you survived. You're here. You're safe."
"Because of you." I tip my head back to look at him. "Because you came through that door and stopped him."
His expression shifts into something intense and satisfied. "Always. I will always protect you. No matter what it costs. No matter who I have to hurt, kill or destroy."
I don’t know how to respond to that. I don’t want him killing people for me. But I am damn glad he did.
At home Rafail carries me straight to his bathroom despite my protest that I can walk. He sets me on the marble counter and starts the bath running before turning back to me.
"Let me see." His fingers are gentle tilting my chin up under the bright lights, and I watch his jaw clench when he gets a clear view of the damage—the swelling, the blood still seeping, the bruising already starting to darken.
"It's not that bad." The words come out slurred around my injured mouth. "Just split. Will heal."
"He hit you hard enough to split your lip and you're telling me it's not that bad." His voice carries an edge. "I should have made it slower."
"You did enough." I catch his hands, uncurling his fists. "He's dead,” I whisper. “He can't hurt anyone else. It's over. You can't kill what's already dead."
His eyes narrow. “I can find every living relative. Make them know the hurt he caused. Every single one of them dying as I take them apart piece by piece.”
“Or,” I say. “You could take care of me. That’s all I need.”
His eyes hold mine for a long time. When he finally releases me, he puts his forehead to mine, and I barely hear his words. “You’re too good for a man like me.”
I let him undress me. When he lifts me into the bath the hot water finds scrapes I didn't know I had—elbow that hit marble, knees that scraped tile. Every time I wince, his face darkens.
He tends each injury with angry attention, wiping with vicious swipes as if he could clean me not of blood but of the man’s touch. "Stop," I tell him, catching his hand. "It’s over. You saved me."
The words penetrate through his rage, shift his focus. He reaches for the soap and resumes washing me with gentler strokes.
When he's satisfied I'm clean, he helps me from the bath and wraps me in the softest towel before carrying me to his bed.
"Stay here." He strips off his blood-spattered clothes and disappears into the bathroom. When he returns, he's naked and damp and looking at me with an expression I can't read. But I know what I need right now.
"I need you." The words come out raw. "Need you to touch me. Need to feel you instead of him."
"Are you sure? You've been through—"
