Page 72 of Daddy's Reluctant Queen

Sofia is in her room, and I was tempted to lock her door, if for no other reason than to keep her safe from another attack. I didn’t even know she’d gone out to the pool. If she didn’t know how to defend herself, she’d no doubt be gone too.

It’s crystal clear to me now that she means more than I ever intended. I have to address it when this is all done. The only kind thing for me to do is to let her go, leave this blood vendetta unfinished for the sake of her life.

When I close my eyes, my mind wanders to her. Maybe as an escape from everything in front of me. I don’t know. What I do know is that if I let it go on for much longer…

I don’t know what comes next. It’s uncharted territory with her. I’m not even sure if we could ever really have a ‘normal’ relationship.

Suddenly, her scent surrounds me. Sweet roses and honey.

“Titus?” she says softly. She’s near me, maybe a step behind me. I can feel the warmth of her body.

“Yes?”

She hesitates, then, “It’s getting late. You should get some sleep.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She doesn’t say anything and yet it sounds like she’s speaking volumes. I want to turn to her, sweep her up in my arms, carry her to my bedroom and forget. Just forget for a while.

But, then what? What comes next for us?

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

I turn to look at her. She’s standing behind me, her head down and her hands clasped in front of her. “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

“I should have stayed inside,” she said. “Your door?—”

“Never mind that,” I say. “It can be replaced. You can’t.”

She looks up at me with those eyes that shine like sapphires and I almost melt. I turn away. “Go on to bed. I’ll be fine.”

She hesitates a little longer, then I hear her bare feet padding away from me and up the stairs. It’s better this way. I know it is. In the end, it’ll be better if I’m alone. When I talk to her after this is done and over with, she’ll understand that.

I turn from the window long enough to consider making myself a drink when headlights flash at me from down the road. I stiffen as the lights get brighter, flashing on and off in a frantic kind of panic. As the car gets closer, something clicks in my mind. The lights are giving an SOS signal.

I pull my gun out of my holster and run out of the room and then out the front door. The car speeds up the drive and toward my front door, and my men all start running toward the drive,their guns drawn. They form a human barrier, blocking the path about a half-mile away.

I stand out on the steps and yell out, “Hold your fire!” I hold my fist up as well for anyone who didn’t just hear me. I see guns lower as the car approaches and stops at the barrier of my soldiers. The car door opens and nothing happens for a second, then I see someone tumbling out. The closest of my men rush over to the body, then look up at me. I hear one of them say, “It’s Ignat!”

My feet move almost independently and I make it down two steps before I stop myself. “Bring him!” I shout.

He’s pulled to his feet, one arm over the shoulders of one of my men, and slowly, he’s walked the rest of the way up the drive. I watch and wait as the light of the moon and from my door and fog lights above me highlight Ignat’s beaten and battered body.

He lifts his head as soon as he’s close enough, but both his eyes have been swollen shit, his mouth is bloodied, and blood drips down his face from his hairline. His shirt has been ripped to shreds, showing streaks of oozing wounds through the fabric.

When he gets to the bottom of the stairs, I tell them to take him inside. As he passes me, he looks at me and says, “I tried… Titus… to protect him…”

I put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t speak. We can talk when you’re better.” I motion to my men to take him inside, then I pull out my phone to call the medic.

Doc is herewithin the hour. I put Ignat in one of the half furnished spare rooms where he is stitched and bandaged up. I wait outside the door, hoping that his injuries aren’t so severe that he can’t be helped. Doc medic comes out of that room with the grimmest expression I’ve ever seen.

“He’ll be all right,” he says, “but he’s been fucked up pretty good. Honestly, he looks worse than he actually is. Outside of his face being beat all to hell, he’s got a couple of broken ribs and some closed fractures along his knuckles. Lots of lacerations. He should heal with time.”

Time. That’s something that we have very little of. I wonder how long it will be before Cyrus decides to try again. I wonder if he’ll succeed this time.

Now, I’m sitting in my study, drinking and sitting on the couch as the fire I built in the fireplace crackles softly. The temperature dropped from summer to winter in the early morning hours and all I can feel is cold.

The alcohol doesn’t seem to be doing much to warm me as much as the fire. It sits in my hand on the couch as I stare off into it.