Page 48 of Hush, Little Baby

Nikolaus looks at me for a long second. “Oh, I am furious.”

My heart stops.

Then his gaze cuts toward the door. “But not with you.”

A stupid, terrible warmth blooms in my chest, and I hate it.

I hate it so much I almost want to claw it out.

Because it should not make me feel better that the man who kidnapped me is angry at the men who scared me. It should not make some stupid little piece of me look at his huge body between me and the door and feel protected.

He is the danger. He is the reason I am here. He is the reason there were guards in the hallway. He is the reason I am sitting on the floor in a hotel robe at four in the morning with my heart still trying to beat its way out of my chest.

But the guards are gone because of him. The hand over my mouth is gone because of him. And no one is touching me right now because he told them not to.

My brain holds those facts up side by side and makes something ugly and confusing out of them. Something that whispers that if I were closer to Nikolaus, other men wouldn’t be able to grab me like that. That if I were tucked against his chest, hidden behind all that size and hair and rage, nobody would ever be brave enough to try and hurt me.

That thought scares me, so I bite down on the inside of my cheek until the sting gives me something else to focus on.

Constantine clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him. “Do you think you can go back to sleep?”

The question is so normal it feels insane.

Sleep.

Like I can just go back to bed after that. Like I can crawl under the blankets, close my eyes, and trust the door to stay shut, trust the guards not to come back, and trust Nikolaus not to change his mind and decide I need to be punished after all.

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

Nikolaus’s gaze stays on me, heavy and focused. “Charlie?”

I shake my head sadly.

“All right,” he announces, “then we’ll just start the day now.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“Our car is scheduled in two hours,” he says, as if my failed escape attempt and mental breakdown have simply become an adjustment to his morning itinerary. “There is no point forcing you back into bed if your body won’t allow it. We’ll get you dressed, fed, medicated, and to the plane.”

Constantine rubs a hand over his face. “I brought the bag from his apartment to my room. I can go get it now.”

Nikolaus nods at the idea. “Yes, please do.”

Constantine looks right at me and says, “I’ll be right back.” And as he leaves, I’m once again left alone with Nikolaus.

He reaches for me, his hand closing gently around my elbow, and I let him help me stand because my legs are not having a good time being legs right now.

He leads me toward the sofa, not the bed, and that small detail makes it easier to go with him. The bed feels complicated now. Warm and enormous and too close to the memory of falling asleep beside him. The sofa is safer. Or at least different, which is sometimes the same thing when my brain is this messed up.

I sit at the edge of it while Nikolaus sits beside me. He looks down at his lap, then at me, and my face heats because I know what he is thinking before he says it.

“Come here,” he says softly.

I tense, expecting him to force me, but all he does is pat his thigh.

“You don’t have to sleep,” he says. “Just lie down.”

“I’m fine sitting.”