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He drew a full breath, the first he’d taken since he entered the room, but I didn’t like the shadow that flickered in his eyes.
“You are … incredible,” he breathed, gravelly and raw in a way that told me tears threatened him as viciously as they did me. “What you did here, the strength it must have taken… I’m in awe, Vasya. But I’m so—” He had to swallow, his voice hoarse.“So sorry they were able to take you in the first place. They never should have laid a damnfingeron you—”
“Damien,” I interrupted, my voice soft and quiet. He closed his mouth, as if I’d shouted, that shadow still in his eyes. He wouldn’t quite look at me, his stare on my cheek, not my eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. Itwasn’t,”I snapped when he began to argue. “You were rightly distracted by the peopleshootingat us. You were keeping us safe. It’s not your fault one of your friends betrayed your trust, or that Artur paid him to drag me out of our reception and drive me to him. None of that is your fault. I don’t blame you, and I won’t let you blame yourself, either.”
His eyes warmed by degrees the more I spoke.
“I’m sorry our reception was ruined,” I murmured, tracing the unforgiving lines of his face. “And that—oh god! Artur said they blew up Marshall House and he had another bomb set. It’s got to be in our flat, Damien, we can’t go home.”
“I know,” he replied calmly, pulling my head to his chest and pressing a long kiss to my crown. “But the men he sent never made it past security. A bomb threat was called in and it was diffused hours ago. We have a home to go back to, Vasya.”
Relief made my knees weak. I hugged Damien tightly, those tears finally escaping but in a slow trickle instead of a fierce rush. “Can we go home?” I asked, my voice coming out small. “I just want to go home.”
He kissed the top of my head again, the tremble in his body easing the longer he held me. “If you’re hoping for peace and quiet and a calm house, I’m sorry to have to tell you my entire family is there waiting for you. They’ve been worried sick.”
“Was anyone hurt?” I asked, dread making my heart sink.
“Vincent got shot in his thigh, but it’ll only add more character, and we lost six guests. The rest of us got away with scrapes and grazes, and we’ve had far worse before.”
“You didn’t get hurt,” I said, pulling back to meet his eyes, my stomach clenching with the emotion breaking through my haze of violence—panic, not rage. “Right, Damien?”
“I’m fine,” he replied, pulling me back against him, like he hated the single inch I’d put between us. He obviously wasn’t fine, definitely not mentally and maybe not physically.
“Let’s go home,” I said gently taking his hand in mine and squeezing tight. “I’m okay, Damien. No one hurt me.” He didn’t need to know about the tenderness in my knee, ankle, and arms. Those would heal, but I was more worried about my husband with every minute. “And no one willeverhurt me. Either you’ll shoot them or I will. Okay?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, his arms flexing around me before he took a pace back, that single step seeming to require immense effort. “You’re okay, I’ve got you now.”
I squeezed his hand so hard it must have hurt. “And I’ve got you, Damien.”
He smiled, strained and small. “I know, my queen.”
I didn’t take my eyes off him as he guided me through the room, winding around pools of blood and unmoving corpses. Jonathan rushed ahead of us to get the car started while Damien crushed me against his body in the back seat, and it was so good to see them both together that I cried again.
The tears made it easier to miss the cracks forming in my husband.
CHAPTER 15
DAMIEN
Icurled my hand into a fist, carelessly crushing the blood-red rose petals in my palm before they could fall into the bath. I couldn’t get my hands to stop shaking. Even in a fist, they trembled uncontrollably.
“I don’t need rose petals, Damien,” Vasilisa said softly.
I jumped when her hand settled on my back, comforting me, and hated myself for that reaction when she dropped the touch instantly.
“No,” I said, too loud, too harsh. “You can touch me, Vasya. I’m just—wound tightly.”
I saw empty eyes behind my eyelids with every blink—one set of hollow amber, one of Marshall-black. I was used to seeing those eyes, but now Vasilisa’s had joined them, rich chocolate dullened by death, the gold flecks in her irises no longer glittering.
“And you deserve rose petals,” I added, ignoring the croaking quality of my voice. “So you’ll have them.”
Instead of replacing her hand on my back, Vasilisa wrapped her arms tightly around my waist from behind, resting her head against the space between my shoulder blades. I had to clench my jaw to fight back a devastating surge of emotion. My head dropped forward, a ragged breath punching from my lungs.
I nearly lost her. I nearly lost my wife, too.
“Talk to me,” she whispered. “I hate seeing you like this.”
“I’ll be fine when it settles in that you’re okay,” I replied, swallowing the guilt. I didn’t mean to worry her. That was the last fucking thing she needed after being held captive for twelve hours. “I just need to process everything that happened.”
