I knock a few times, barely having to wait before his voice orders me to come in.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I push it open, instantly enveloped in his earthy scent. His eyes are steady on mine withamusement. He doesn’t even need to look at the box to know why I’m here.
“I see you got my gift.” I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday, and the warmth of his voice is a shock to my system.
Preston stands, moving around the dark wooden desk that contrasts nicely with the deep forest tones of the room, lit only by the natural light flooding through the windows.
He stands in front of me, making me swallow.
I turn the box over in my hands. Itching to get it out of my proximity, I hold it out to him. “Most men give a woman jewelry.”
Ignoring it, he lifts his arm to let his fingers drift over the chain adorning my neck. Goosebumps skate across my skin when his skin brushes against mine. “I did give you jewelry.”
“No,” I correct. “You gave me a collar.”
“You’re right. Maybe I should’ve gotten you a matching leash to go with it instead.”
I slap his hand away with more playfulness than I intend to. I’m kind of hurt that he thought this would make a good gift. My lip trembles. “Why would you give me this?”
His hand bounces back to cup the back of my neck tenderly. “What better way to take back your power than learn to wield the thing that stole it?”
My brows pull together, my voice small. “You want me to use this?”
He nods. “I want you to learn to fight with it. Protect yourself.”
My eyes drop from his to the box as if the knife is going to grow legs and jump out at me—still hurt me somehow despite it being perfectly contained.
I push it toward him through the small space separating us. “I can’t. It’s too soon.”
“Maybe I should’ve gotten you a gun.”
I press my lips in a line, shaking my head.
“I’m going to teach you to use one anyway, because you should learn. But we’ll start with this. You need to be able to protect yourself.”
“Protect myself. From who? You?”
“From me. From whoever you're running from.” I swallow at the reminder. Preston’s gaze locks on the scar below my ear. “To protect your mind from thinking that you can’t fight back when you and I both know you’re more than capable. Carrying this around will give you a new sense of safety, which is why,” he releases me and walks over to his desk drawer, pulling out a black strappy sheath. “I got this for you. I thought it would be safe for you to have it against your thigh. Easily reachable if you ever need it. It's not just for whoever you’re running from, Kate—or me. It's for any situation you may find yourself in where having a weapon could determine whether you live or die.”
The anger and hurt sizzling in my stomach twist into interest. The way he peers longingly at me stirs a sense of confidence. It’s small, but it’s there.
“I want to teach you to use it. Please let me.”
I always thought I needed to run. I’ve never felt as hopeless as I did when Xander caught me at that motel and painted the sheets scarlet with my blood as his body took what he wanted from me before he left me with the scar under my ear as punishment. I absentmindedly reach up to touch the raised and rough skin.
But what would it feel like to know I could fight back?
Hold my own.
Take some of Xander’s power away if he ever finds me again.
My lips tilt upward, my pulse still racing with uncertainty, but I’ve made up my mind.
TWENTY-FOUR | PRESTON
Usually, patience and control are a constant surge that flows through my veins. They impact my actions, my deliberate thoughts, and the decisions I make throughout the day.
I can’t function without them.
