Chapter 45 Sadie
SADIE
The penthouse is eerily quiet after the chaos of the garden. Blood has dried in rusty patterns on my emerald dress. I don’t care. All I can think about is Landon sitting on the edge of his bathroom counter, jaw clenched as I examine the knife wound on his arm.
“You need stitches,” I say. “I can’t fix it with butterfly bandages.”
Landon shakes his head. “Just clean it and wrap it. I’ve had worse.”
The first aid kit he directed me to is more comprehensive than anything I’ve seen outside a hospital. I find antiseptics, gauze, suture kits, and prescription-strength painkillers. This isn’t a kit for occasional cuts—it’s prepared for serious injuries.
“How often do you get stabbed?” I ask, keeping my tone light as I clean around the wound. The gash is deep, at least four inches long across his forearm.
Landon doesn’t even flinch when I apply the antiseptic. “Often enough to be prepared.”
His eyes haven’t left my face since we returned. I feel his gaze sweeping over me while I work. The weight of his stare is almost palpable.
“You shouldn’t have intervened,” he says suddenly. “Orlov could have killed you.”
I pause, cotton pad hovering over his skin. “He was about to kill you.”
“I would have handled it.”
“Really? Because from where I was standing, you were about to get your throat cut.”
The memory flashes vividly—Orlov’s knife arcing toward Landon’s neck, the split-second decision to move, to act, to protect. I hadn’t thought; I’d simply reacted.
“Why did you do it?” Landon asks. “After everything I’ve done to you. Why risk your life for mine?”
I don’t have an answer that makes sense, so I ignore the question, pressing a clean gauze pad against the wound.
“Hold this,” I instruct, guiding his hand to the gauze. “I need to get the bandage ready.”
I unwind a length of bandage, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions within. Everything about tonight feels surreal—the charity gala, Jolene’s kidnapping, the gunfight, and now this intimate moment as I tend to Landon’s wounds.
“You first,” I say, meeting his gaze directly. “You put yourself between me and Orlov’s men. You positioned yourself as a human shield.” My voice catches. “Why would you do that? You could have been killed.”
He looks away, his shoulders tense as I begin wrapping the bandage around his arm.
“Hold still,” I murmur, leaning closer. The scent of his cologne mingles with sweat and the metallic tang of blood.
“I didn’t think about it,” he admits finally, voice low. “It was instinctive.”
For the first time since I’ve known him, Landon seems almost fragile beneath my hands. The man who’s dominated every one of our exchanges now sits quietly as I care for him, his walls momentarily lowered.
“That doesn’t sound like you,” I say. “You calculate everything. You plan for every contingency.”
Landon winces as I tighten the bandage, securing it with medical tape. It’s not from physical pain—I can tell that much. It’s the discomfort of confronting what he doesn’t want to acknowledge.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he growls.
“The truth would be nice.”
His eyes find mine, stormy and conflicted. “You’re mine, Sadie. You’ve been mine since the moment I chose you for the Hunt.” He reaches up with his uninjured arm, fingers grazing my cheek. “You’re mine to claim, mine to possess.” His voice drops lower. “And you’re mine to protect.”
The words are possessive, territorial—pure Landon—but there’s a tenderness in his tone, lingering beneath the claim of ownership.
“There,” I say, securing the last piece of tape. “You’re all patched up. It should hold until you can get proper stitches.” I close the first aid kit, aware of how close we’re standing, my body between his knees as he sits on the counter.
“Thank you,” Landon says.
I start to step back, to create some distance between us, but his hand shoots out, fingers encircling my wrist. The grip isn’t painful like so many times before.
“Sadie,” he whispers, tugging me closer until I’m pressed against the counter, his legs on either side of me.
My heart hammers against my ribs as he lifts his uninjured hand to my face, thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone.
Then he leans forward and presses his lips to mine.
This kiss is different from all the others, just the soft pressure of his mouth against mine. His hand slides from my wrist to my palm, fingers intertwining with mine.
I melt into him, unable to resist the sweetness of this moment.
Oh god. I’m falling for him.
The thought strikes with terrifying clarity.
No, that’s not quite right. I’m not falling.
I’ve already fallen.
Despite everything he’s done, everything he is, I’ve fallen for Landon Blackwood. The monster. The protector. The man who would kill for me and die for me in the same breath.
Landon releases me, and I step back. His expression shifts, the vulnerability disappearing behind his mask.
“You must be hungry,” he says, his voice casual as if we hadn’t just experienced trauma and gunfire. “We should order some takeout and just relax. I think we both need it after the night we’ve had.” He hops off the counter.
The normalcy of the suggestion catches me off guard. My stomach growls in response, reminding me I haven’t eaten since the hors d’oeuvres at the charity gala.
“That sounds good,” I admit. “I’m pretty hungry.”
Landon nods, grabbing his phone. “Pizza?”
“Perfect.”
While he places the order, I slip into the bedroom to change out of my ruined dress. I find one of his T-shirts in his drawer and pull it on with a pair of shorts.
When I return to the living room, Landon has changed too—gray sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. He’s pouring red wine into two glasses.
“Pizza will be here in twenty minutes,” he says, handing me a glass.
I take a sip, letting the rich alcohol wash away the anxiety. We settle on the couch, a careful distance between us.
“Thank you,” he says suddenly. “For what you did tonight.”
“You already thanked me for patching you up.”
“Not for that.” His eyes meet mine. “For saving my life.”
The wine feels warm in my chest. “We saved each other.”
Landon’s gaze drifts toward the window, his profile sharp against the city lights. He takes a long sip of wine, then sighs deeply.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, setting my glass on the coffee table.
He turns to me, his expression uncharacteristically troubled. “This wasn’t meant to happen.”
“What wasn’t?”
His fingers tighten around the stem of his wine glass. “I care about you.” The words come out strained, as if they’re being pulled from the depths of his soul. “I don’t... I don’t care about things. Or people. I never have.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I ask, unsure how to process this confession from a man like him.
“It’s not supposed to be anything.” Landon sets his glass down with deliberate care. “It just is. And it terrifies me.”
The admission of fear from someone like Landon Blackwood feels momentous.
“I can’t think of life without you by my side anymore,” he continues, his voice dropping. “I’ve tried. I’ve imagined you walking away when this year is over, and it feels...” He pauses, struggling for words. “It feels like drowning.”
My breath catches. This is as close to a declaration of love as someone like Landon could possibly get. Not flowery words or romantic gestures, but the stark admission that he’s come to need me in a way he never expected.
“Landon, I—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts, reaching for my hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I just need you to know.”
His fingers tighten around mine, and I watch his throat work as he swallows hard.
“I’ve never said this to anyone before,” he continues, voice rough.
“I don’t even know if I’m capable of saying it right.
” His eyes lock with mine, intense and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen.
“But you’ve become essential to me, Sadie.
Not as a possession or a prize. As someone far more vital. You’re the air I breathe now.”
My heart pounds against my ribs as I recognize what he’s trying to say.
“I want to give you more space,” he says quietly. “Not to hold you, not to keep you caged—I want to stand beside you. As an equal. As a partner.” His thumb traces slow circles on my palm. “I want you to choose me, not because of a contract or the Hunt, but because you want to.”
This is Landon Blackwood—cold, calculating—offering me a choice he’s never given anyone.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits. “But I want to try. For you.”
I lean forward and press my lips to his, a kiss that says everything I can’t put into words. His uninjured arm wraps around me, pulling me closer.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against his. “I choose you,” I whisper. “But Landon, I need you to understand something.”
He waits, eyes searching mine.
“The dominance—don’t take that away,” I say. “After what happened, I felt broken, cut off from myself. But with you, when you take the lead…” I falter, searching. “It makes me feel whole again. Like I’ve reclaimed what was stolen from me.
Understanding dawns in his eyes. “You want both,” he says. “Freedom and submission.”
“Yes.” I nod slowly. “In the world, I’ll be your equal. In bed, I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
His lips curve into that familiar, wolfish smile, which sends heat coursing through me. “That,” he says, voice dropping lower, “I can definitely provide, little butterfly.”
I stare at our intertwined fingers, still processing the gravity of what we’ve discussed. I’m sitting beside a man who drugged me, carved his initials into my skin, and tonight killed to protect me. A man I should hate. A man I should fear.
A man I’ve fallen for.
How did this happen? When did terror and desire blur into something deeper?
For weeks I’ve tried to fit Landon Blackwood into a box—psychopath, monster—but none of them fit anymore.
He’s still dangerous, still possessive, still steeped in darkness I can’t fully grasp.
Yet beneath it all, another layer waits. Real. Unshakable.
The strangest part is how clearly I see myself now.
The assault left me fractured, disconnected from myself.
I buried the part of me that craved submission, convinced it made me weak or broken.
But Landon dragged that part into the light, forced me to acknowledge it, to embrace it.
With him, I don’t have to pretend. My darkness recognizes his, calls to it, dances with it.
Maybe we’re both broken in complementary ways. His need to possess perfectly aligned with my need to be claimed. His darkness recognizing mine. Two damaged people finding their safe harbor in each other in a way that would horrify anyone looking in from the outside.
However, I feel more like myself than I have in years.