Promise of Protection
Nightshade
I watch from a distance as my Little Bird walks toward her cabin, Cade at her side. My jaw tightens at the sight of him—too close, too comfortable, his presence an unwelcome reminder that she’s slipping further from my grasp. He leans in slightly, saying something that makes her lips curve into the smallest of smiles, and something dark and possessive coils inside me.
That should be me walking her back. Me earning her trust.
I clench my fists, forcing myself to stay put. There’s no room for emotion—not now.
I wait. I watch.
Scarlet approaches, her presence like a gust of wind disrupting the balance. She tilts her head, arms crossed, eyes flicking between Aviana and Cade with a knowing glint. Her lips move, teasing, testing.
Cade stiffens, his fingers curling slightly at his sides. His jaw tics—just for a moment, but I don’t miss it. He’s irritated. Good. Scarlet might be insufferable, but for once, she serves a purpose.
Aviana sighs, tugging her sweater tighter around her.
As Scarlet leaves, Cade lingers, hesitating like he doesn’t want to leave. His stance is relaxed, but there’s something in the way he looks at her—concern, maybe, or something deeper. It makes my teeth clench.
Just walk away, Cade.
After what feels like an eternity, he finally does, turning toward the main path. I take a step forward.
“Hello, Little Bird.”
The sudden sound of my voice startles her. She jumps, her storm-gray eyes widening in fear.
“Wh-who are you? What do you want?” she stammers, her gaze darting around as if searching for someone—maybe even him.
“You. I want you.”
Her breath hitches. “Who are you?”
I step closer, closing the space between us until I can feel the warmth of her body against the night’s chill. My voice drops to a low murmur. “You can call me Nightshade.”
The name fits. It’s a reminder of the things I’ve done, the things I’m capable of when there’s no other choice. It’s not who I want to be, but it’s who I have to be sometimes.
Nightshade is beautiful, in its own way. People admire it without knowing how dangerous it is. The same goes for me. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect those I care about, even if it means getting my hands dirty, even if it means slipping into the shadows and becoming something the world doesn’t see until it’s too late.
She shivers—not from the cold, but from me. I see it in the way her lips part, in the way her breath stutters in her chest. I reach up, slow and deliberate, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. My fingers skim her skin, featherlight, but it’s enough to make her flinch. Enough to remind her that I’m here. That I’ve always been here.
“But if I were you,” I murmur, letting my fingers linger just a second too long, “I wouldn’t worry about that right now.”
She doesn’t hesitate. She runs.
I let her.
She weaves through the trees, not toward the safety of the office like before. No, this time, she runs straight toward the one place she should avoid most.
Toward my cabin.
She doesn’t even realize it .
I follow, silent, a shadow trailing her every step. And then—fate steps in.
She stumbles, her foot catching on an exposed root. Before she can hit the ground, I move—swift, calculated. My arms wrap around her waist, steadying her as she gasps in surprise.
“Hello, Little Bird.”
Her breath shudders, her body going rigid against mine. She barely has time to react before I press the needle to her neck, the sedative slipping into her veins.
She blinks up at me, confusion clouding her storm-gray eyes as the drug takes hold. Her body sags, her weight melting into me.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, holding her close. And this time, I’m not letting go.
***
I carry her into my little sanctuary. An empty cabin away from everyone else. It’s not about power, not in the way some would think. It’s about control, about teaching her how to take charge—of her own life, of herself. This isn’t the twisted fantasy of some other man. This is something different, something she needs, whether she realizes it or not.
The sedative will wear off soon, but until then, I need to make sure she’s safe, still, and calm. Her hands and feet are secured to the kitchen table, her arms stretched above her, but this is for her own good. For her safety.
Leaning down, I press a soft kiss to her forehead. My Little Bird. She is mine to protect now, and I will. I couldn’t keep her safe before, but I vowed to never let anyone hurt her again. This is a promise I’ll keep.
As she begins to stir, I make sure my mask is firmly in place, my hood drawn up to conceal myself completely.
“Wh-wh-where am I?” Her voice cracks with fear.
I place a calming finger to my masked lips, urging her to quiet herself. “Shh, Little Bird. No one will hurt you here.”
She struggles, her restraints pulling against her. “Then let me go!” she pleads, her panic rising .
“I can’t do that, not yet,” I reply softly but firmly. “Not until you understand.”
She narrows her eyes, frustration creeping into her voice. “What do you want from me?”
“I want to help you, Little Bird.”
Her confusion is palpable. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
I answer with quiet certainty. “Your name comes from the Latin avis , which means ‘bird.’ You’re flighty, but that’s okay. I understand.”
She stares at me, disbelief etched across her face. “You know my name? What do you want from me?”
“I’ve told you.” My tone is patient, but I want her to hear it—feel it. “I just want to help you.”
Her voice cracks with anger and disbelief. “And you think tying me up is helping? What kind of creep thinks this is helping?”
As she lashes out with words, I move my gloved hand up her ankle, slowly, deliberately. I feel her body tense, her breath hitching.
I pause, waiting for her to speak. “Please… Please don’t…” Her voice trembles, almost breaking.
“What are you begging for, Little Bird? Tell me what you want.”
Her tears start to fall as she pleads, but I stop my hand just above her knee, feeling her shudder. I know this is a trigger for her—this kind of touch—but I want her to know something. She is safe with me. She is always safe with me.
“Tell me, Little Bird. What did he do to you? What did he do?”
She looks lost, her confusion deepening. “Who?”
My patience snaps. I slam my hand down on the table between her legs, my voice harsh but not without purpose. “Quit pretending. Tell me what Widlow did.”
Her sobs break free, and the words spill out—words I already knew but needed her to say. Mr. Widlow’s hands had touched her in places no one ever should. I listen as she describes it, the hurt in her voice shaking me, but I have to hear it. I need to hear her truth, not the version in her files.
“You’re safe now,” I tell her softly, my voice low and full of promise. “He’ll never touch you again. I won’t let him. I promise.”
Through her tears, she looks up at me, still so broken. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I’m keeping this one,” I promise, my voice unwavering as I gently return my hand to her knee, moving slowly up her thigh. I can feel her body stiffen, the resistance in her movement, but this is different. I need her to understand I won’t hurt her—not the way he did.
“I’m not him, Little Bird. I won’t hurt you. You have to trust me.”
Her laughter is strained, bitter. “I don’t even know you. You kidnapped me… restrained me… and now you want me to trust you?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “Trust that I’ll keep my word. Trust that I won’t harm you. Trust that no one will ever hurt you again while I’m in your life.”
Before she can respond, I inject another sedative into her. Her eyelids flutter, her body going limp in my arms as I lift her from her restraints, cradling her against me. I hold her close to me for as long as I can manage before people start looking for her. I carry her back to her cabin, the weight of my vow heavy in my chest. I won’t let go of this promise. Not ever.