32. Thirty-Two
THIRTY-TWO
THEO
I watched her sleep for a while, not daring to wake her, even though it went against every fiber in my bones. After my conversation with Archer, Gage had told me that her vitals were stable. He’d also told me that he had divulged who their parents were and who Thomas was to us.
As I sat beside her, my mind raced with the implications of Gage’s reveal. Had it shattered the trust we’d built, or would it bring us closer?
I reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, marveling at the peacefulness of her expression. In sleep, the weight of the world seemed to lift from her shoulders, and I could almost imagine the carefree girl she might have been in another life.
But our lives were far from carefree.
Still, looking at her now, I felt hope. She was strong, resilient, and brave beyond measure. If anyone could weather the storms to come, it was her.
She stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. For a moment, she looked disoriented, her gaze darting around the room before settling on me.
“Hey, little bird,” I said softly.
She smiled when she saw me. “Hey, Devil. ”
I returned her smile, taking her hand in mine. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now that you’re here,” she replied, her voice thick with sleep.
“I was so scared I was going to lose you.”
She cupped my cheek, gently rubbing her thumb back and forth over the rough stubble on my chin. “You’re stuck with me, Devil.”
I chuckled, but the lightness quickly faded as the weight of what I needed to tell her settled in my chest. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” I began. “About the night your parents died.”
“You were there,” she said.
I looked at her in shock. “Gage told you?”
“He didn’t have to. I remember you . . . your eyes, your voice, your smell. I didn’t put two and two together until we talked about the accident, but you were the one who saved me that night. Igor tortured you because you sought vengeance for my parents. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t until I discovered your real name that I realized it was you. And I didn’t want to scare you away. If I told you I had rescued you and now I was obsessed with you, I was afraid you’d run the other way.”
She held my gaze, her expression full of understanding. “I could never run from you, Devil. Not now, not ever.”
Her words filled me with a warmth I hadn’t felt in years, chasing away the chill of old memories. I brought her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I never expected fate to bring us back together.”
She smiled, forming a soft, wistful expression that made my heart ache. “Maybe it was more than just fate,” she murmured. “Maybe it was something deeper, something that tied our souls together that night.”
I considered her words, feeling their truth resonate within me. She was right. The moment I’d touched her, an inexplicable pull—a connection that defied reason or explanation, had tethered me to her.
“Now that I have you”—I intertwined our fingers—“I’m never letting you go. ”
She laughed, a musical sound that filled the room with warmth. “You’d better not. I’ve grown quite fond of having you around.”
I grinned, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Well, that’s a relief. I was starting to worry that you only kept me around for my dashing good looks and charming personality.”
She rolled her eyes, swatting at my chest playfully. “Don’t flatter yourself, Devil. I keep you around for your cooking skills and your uncanny ability to attract trouble.”
I feigned a hurt expression, placing a hand over my heart. “You wound me. And here I thought you appreciated my many other talents.”
Her expression softened. “I do appreciate your other talents,” she said, her voice growing serious. “But more than that, I appreciate you. The real you beneath the charm and bravado. The man who risked everything to save a girl he didn’t even know.”
Her words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. I swallowed hard, fighting back the sudden sting of tears. “I couldn’t save your parents,” I whispered, the old guilt rising up to choke me. “I was too late.”
She shook her head, her own eyes glistening. “You saved me. And my brother. That’s what matters.”
“Little bird,” I whispered, my voice rough. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
She smiled. “I think I have some idea.”
I shook my head, marveling at the depth of her understanding. She saw me, truly saw me in a way no one else ever had. It was both thrilling and terrifying to be so utterly known.
I leaned in, resting my forehead against hers. “I love you,” I breathed, the words spilling out like a prayer. “I love you so damn much, it scares me sometimes.”
Her breath hitched, and I felt her tremble against me. “I love you. More than I ever thought possible.”
I closed my eyes, letting her words wash over me, soothing the jagged edges of my soul. For so long, I had been driven by a thirst for vengeance, fueled by a burning wrath to make those who had wronged her family—who had wronged us—pay. But now, holding her in my arms, I realized that desire for vengeance paled in comparison to the love and connection we shared.
Revenge may have brought us together, but our bond, forged in the fires of shared pain and understanding, would keep us together. She was my redemption, my reason for living, and I would do anything to keep her safe. Even if it meant I would meet death face-to-face and ask him what took him so long.