Chapter Fourteen #2
I shook as urges came too thick, too strong.
I looked over my shoulder at the third man. The man who Victor had ordered to fuck her in front of me when I’d done my best to convince him I wasn’t a cop.
He’s dead.
Shifting on my knee, I went to stand...
But two things happened.
One, the softest puff of air shot past my face and a tuft of earth leapt from the ground.
And two, Ily touched my hand.
I froze as our eyes met.
My ears rang as the guards on the wall yelled in their loudhailer, “That was a warning fire. The next bullet won’t miss!”
I glanced at the pockmark by my knee. I waited for a kick of concern that a sniper could so easily end me.
But I didn’t care.
All I cared about was my little nightmare.
She’s still alive.
With every blink of her golden stare, her emptiness filled with everything.
Anger, sorrow, hate, and pain.
I felt her emotions as if they were my own.
I felt her.
Tangibly, invisibly.
I shuddered with goddamn relief.
The unfightable connection was still there.
Still humming.
Still haunting my every thought and heartbeat.
Words felt foreign on my tongue. “Est-ce qu'ils t'ont violé?” (Did they rape you?)
Tears welled in her eyes but didn’t fall.
With courage that made me hers for fucking life, she shook her head. “He...Y-You stopped him before—” Her face tightened. “No, he didn’t.”
All my rage snuffed out.
I bowed with relief.
Not too late.
Not too late.
I wanted to snatch her into my arms.
I wanted to kiss her. Hug her. Never let her go.
But she shifted away from me and tore out my putrid heart.
The animal inside me howled.
It couldn’t tolerate her disgust of me when I’d done everything I could to deserve her.
I cupped her chin and tipped her eyes to mine.
She looked at me with sunshine all while I drowned in shadow.
I wanted to apologise.
I wanted to scold.
In the end, I just whispered, “Tu es en sécurité maintenant.” (You’re safe now.)
She winced and looked down.
Her lashes lowered, refusing to show me just how badly they’d damaged her.
I’d stopped him in time...yet he’d still hurt her.
Rage siphoned through me again. My vision hazed red on the edges. My humanness drowned beneath homicidal violence.
Others had put their hands on her.
Another had dared scar her soul.
The only one with that permission was me.
Me.
No one else.
Fuck!
My teeth clenched as I resisted the urge to know everything in explicit fucking detail. I needed to know what they’d done. Needed to make them pay. I’d rouse them from the dead and murder them all over again.
My fingers tightened, tightened around her jaw.
“Henri...” She flinched and grabbed my wrist. “Y-You’re hurting me.”
“Putain.” Dropping my hand, I let her bury herself into her knees. “Je suis désolé.” (I’m sorry.)
I couldn’t seem to remember English. My first language thick on my tongue.
She shook her head, not saying another word.
In her silence, other things came to my red-coated vision.
The way she quaked with a thousand shivers.
The way she moaned as if she couldn’t breathe without mournful sound escaping.
But she didn’t cry.
Her eyes were dry even as raindrops poured over her strained, stunning face.
She rattled with aftershocks; goosebumps puckered her grass-stained skin.
Without a word, I undid my shirt buttons, yanked the hem out of my trousers, and tore the soaking thing off my body.
As tenderly as I could, I draped it over her trembling form.
Bundling her into the wet fabric, she gave the softest whimper as I pulled her arms through the sleeves and buttoned her from throat to core.
Only once her nakedness was covered in sodden black cotton did I stand and bend over her.
“We said don’t move!” ordered a guard on the wall.
“Va te faire foutre!” (Fuck you!) I shouted back.
I ducked.
She winced as I threaded one arm around her back and one beneath her legs. “W-What are you doing?”
I cursed her flinch.
I loathed her fear.
English returned along with human intelligence. “I won’t hurt you. You’re safe with me.”
She sucked in a breath and shook her head.
I didn’t know if she argued she was safe with me or didn’t want me to pick her up.
Either way, both were happening.
“Je jure,” (I swear), I breathed. “I’ll take care of you.”
She gave me nothing.
But I didn’t need her to speak to hear her judgement.
I’d whittled away her trust ever since I told her I wasn’t going to save her.
I would never get that back, and...in that storm with blood on my hands, it fucking hurt worse than anything.
Footsteps pounded behind me as I took her weight, plucked her from the ground, then hefted her into my arms. The cuts on my knuckles and radiating pain in my back didn’t bother me.
Her silence and broken softness did.
It did horrible, horrible things to me.
It confused and bewildered me because the beast inside still very much wanted to hurt her. To stamp his brutal ownership on her and replace whatever mark that cunt had left behind, but...beneath that longing lurked another one just as strong...perhaps even stronger.
It wanted to hurt her, yes, but it wanted to hurt everyone else a thousand times fucking worse.
“Henri. What the hell is the meaning of this?” Victor yelled as he marched into our battleground. Four guards trailed him while a fifth held a black umbrella over Victor’s head. The guard fought a war, trying to keep the wind from snatching it.
Words replaced the roars in my head.
I settled back into being nothing more than a man.
Swallowing back the taste of metallic blood—my blood—I cradled Ily close and shrugged. “They touched what was mine.”
Victor looked past us. “Who the fuck tied Peter to a tree? In a goddamn lightning storm?”
The skinny, pot-bellied man who I hadn’t managed to murder staggered to his feet. “I-I did, Vic, but it was only—”
“Are you trying to turn him into a barbecue?” Victor snarled. “Because one bolt of lightning and poof.” He snapped his fingers. “He’s Sunday’s roast.”
“Sorry, Victor.” The man dropped his eyes.
“Go release him and take him back to the stables.” Victor glanced at one of the guards.
“Yes, Sir.” The guard nodded and splashed through the grass to do what he’d been commanded.
“And you.” Victor pointed at me. “Explain.”
“I told you.” I shrugged, my biceps bunching with Ily’s weight. “She makes me irrational.”
“Mon Dieu, you test me. Je deviens trop vieux pour ces conneries.” (I’m getting too old for this fucking shit.) His eyes narrowed on the two men who hadn’t moved.
“Whatever you’ve done seem beyond the capabilities of Dr Belford.
” Pulling out a walkie-talkie from his blazer, he cupped it to avoid the rain.
“Call Captain Roderigo. Two need to be airlifted to the hospital.”
A crackle and a response. “Yes, Sir.”
Shoving the walkie-talkie back into his pocket, he pinched the bridge of his nose as if I’d once again tried his infamous patience. Finally, he sighed, dropped his arm, and glowered. “If they’re dead, you and I are having yet another fucking conversation.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“Just...” He flung up his hands, hitting the brolly edges. “Just go to bloody bed, Henri. Before I shoot you.”
I bowed my head. “As you wish.” My eyes caught the discarded gem that I’d found and hurled at some Master’s head. Clutching Ily tight to my chest, I grabbed it, placed it awkwardly on her stomach, then stalked through the thunderstorm. “Goodnight.”
I didn’t stop until I’d dripped all over Victor’s stone pavers in the foyer, left a path of rain up the stairs, and sloshed my way down the storm-drafty corridor.
My hand slipped on my doorknob as I shifted Ily’s weight in my arms.
She tried to get down, but I just shook my head, opened the door, kicked it closed, and carried her into the bathroom.
Placing her gently on her feet in the shower, I turned the water as hot as she liked it—boiling brimstone—and unbuttoned the same shirt I’d only buttoned up a few moments ago.
She didn’t say a word as I stripped her.
Didn’t move as I tossed the soaking material out of the shower, then tore off my own clothing. Only once I was bare as her did I reach for the sweet-smelling body wash and fill my palm.
Her eyes squeezed closed as I gently rubbed suds into her grass-stained skin. My teeth gritted as I fought prehistoric urges and focused on cleansing her from that other bastard.
I didn’t look at her face. Didn’t dare study her eyes. The only thing I could focus on was ensuring her bones weren’t broken and her body wasn’t destroyed. Her soul would come next...only once I was sure she was physically in one piece.
Keeping my attention on where I washed, I glowered at her shoulders, arms, wrists, and hands. My soapy fingers covered her in fragrant bubbles.
The cuts I’d given her a few days ago had healed nicely, slowly fading my autograph.
Was it wrong to hope those little slices would scar?
A permanent reminder that she belonged to me?
“Henri...I’m fine. You don’t need—”
“I have to,” I growled. “Just...let me, okay?”
Sighing, she nodded.
Her permission waked around me as I bathed her, scrutinised her, and kept my touch as detached as possible.
Her right arm was intact.
Good.
I turned to her left and repeated the inspection. Rinsing away green smudges, I glared at a couple of small scratches. A faint bruise on her elbow. A wince as I massaged her hand.
“That hurt?” I asked.
Her back tensed. “I hit Larry. I-I think something cracked.”
“You hit him?”
Not looking up, she just huffed. “Fat lot of good it did.”
My awe of her tumbled over. “You’re far too brave, little nightmare.”
“Not nearly brave enough,” she whispered back.
Silence fell.
Letting her hand go, I slid my fingers to her shoulders and down her front. She flinched as I rubbed my thumbs over her nipples and caressed her full breasts.
Her eyes snapped closed. She stayed stiff and unyielding.
My heart thudded as I dropped my touch lower.
With gritted teeth, I washed between her legs.
“How close did he get?” I grunted at how soft she was, so delicate.