Page 55 of Prince of Wrath

“Tomorrow morning,” I sign, repressing a yawn, “we give our statements. Deputy Garron said the investigation should be straightforward. After that…” I shrug lightly. “I suppose we live.”

“I feel…” She searches for the right sign, then smiles faintly. “…lighter.”

“I know.” She tucks one leg beneath herself, absentmindedly smoothing the fabric over her knee.

“I still want to keep seeing Dr. Voss.”

“Of course.” She deserves every hand willing to help her heal. Running a hand through my hair, I then look at the automatic fire crackling beneath the television screen, a ridiculous luxury I had only used three times before her. “There is something else I’ve been thinking about,” I sign. Her eyebrows lift. “I want mornings with you,” I sign. “Evenings. Weekends. Birthdays. Terrible movies. Books everywhere. You reorganizing my kitchen because apparently my system is wrong.” Her mouth curves. I let my gaze drift over her damp hair, her bare face, the T-shirt slipping slightly off one shoulder. What a beauty.

“Showers,” I add, the undertone heavy and unmistakable. Her breath catches as a blush spreads slowly across her cheeks, and the spark in her eyes nearly undoes me. “And I think this future, our future…” I swallow, watching every flicker of emotion cross her face. “I think you want that too.” She does not look away, and that is an answer enough. “I realized something tonight,” I admit. “When he took your hand.” My words scrape on the way out, and I have to glance toward the empty wall near the fireplace. It suddenly seems unfinished, like a place waiting for photographs and memories. One day, if life decides to stop baring its teeth at us for five uninterrupted minutes, perhaps for our family. “It has always been about revenge, year after year.” I pause. “I thought tonight would be the same, but…” Cole’s closed eyelids come back to me. “All I could think of was you. For one second, I imagined him getting away with you again, and- and the only thought that entered my mind was that I would have spent every last breath searching you.” I look back at her. “There’s not a place on this earth I wouldn’t search.” Her eyes fill immediately. “We’ve always been it, Ella.” My voice catches. “From the moment I first saw you, you were just…there, standing in my office, and the next day, I just… I couldn’t get you out of my head.” She crosses the space between us, climbing into my lap and hiding her face against my neck. My arms close around her slowly, mindful of her injuries. We stay like that for several minutes, neither of us in any hurry to disturb the peace. Eventually, she leans back just enough to sign.

“I’ve decided what I want to do.”

“About what?” She touches the scar beneath her shoulder.

“A tattoo.” I nod once, keeping my face still despite the wrath growing inside me.

“What are you thinking?”

“A butterfly.” I look at the place where the letter has been carved into her skin, then back at her.

“A butterfly,” I repeat. Of course. Freedom. “I think it’s perfect, yeah… Perfect.” She traces the outline of invisible wings over her shoulder. I kiss her forehead, overcome by her ability to take horror in both hands and shape it into beauty. “I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I wasn’t finished.” I give her a wicked grin as her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“I’m getting your name tattooed somewhere too.” She stares at me, her lips parting in a little oh.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” I chuckle.

“Because you’re…you.”

“I fail to see the issue.”

She laughs, then signs, “Gang members get names tattooed on themselves, not men like you.”

“I was a delinquent once. Perhaps I am reconnecting with my roots.” She laughs harder, then stops abruptly, resting her palm against the bandage at her throat with a slight wince. All humor drains out of me. Although the doctor said the wound was superficial, and that most of the blood on her skin had been Cole’s, I still hate the idea of a scar there. She deserves to look at herself in the mirror without one more reminder that he once existed.

“You are a chess-playing businessman who wears tailored suits and complains when there is dust on bookshelves,” she signs. I place a hand dramatically over my heart.

“Wait…are you suggesting I am not cool enough for a tattoo?” She dissolves into silent laughter again, careful and breathy, and I join her, feeling the pressure of the past hours finally leaving our bodies.

“So that’s a no?” She nods emphatically.

“Definitely no.”

“What if I ask nicely?” Leaning forward, she presses a featherlight kiss to my lips. When she pulls away, I cup her face between my hands and kiss her again, deepening it slowly, letting myself savor her mouth. Her fingers curl into my shirt. And I hear her breathing quickening. I inhale the air she exhales, and vice versa, until the room gets so heated I struggle to breathe normally. I break the kiss first because one of us has to remember she has stitches, bruises, and a throat wound, and apparently that unfortunate responsibility has fallen to me.

“Ella…” Her eyes open, dazed and dark. A man could build a religion around that look and still not feel he had worshipped enough. Brushing my thumb along her cheekbone, I fight the urge to bite it. “We don’t… We don’t have to do anything.” Her gaze drops to my mouth before lifting again, and I notice how dilated her pupils are. Jesus. She touches my chest, right above my heart, then signs with trembling hands.

“Today was a terrible day,” she signs, her jaw clenching. “It doesn’t have to end badly too,” she continues, running her fingers through her lush hair, folding it to the side and uncovering the other side of her throat, bare of any wound. With the grace of a princess, she lifts my hand and rests it against the side of her neck, embracing my touch as she closes her eyes. There are moments in a man’s life that make him understand exactly what kind of creature he is. This is one of mine, because I want her with a desire so fierce it almost frightens me.

Pressing my forehead to hers, I whisper, “We’ll go slow. Promise me you will tell me if you want to stop, if it hurts at any point, or if you change your mind.”

“Promise,” she mouths against my lips, her features so relaxed and secure in what she is seeking that it takes my breath away. Ella slips her fingers through mine and glances toward the staircase. I search her expression carefully.