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She collided with me like we were two stars merging, and the energy that triggered nearly cleansed my soul of its sins, that was how goddamn powerful it was.
"You were mine five years ago, Savannah," I rasped in her hair as I hugged her closer, so tight neither of us could begin to calculate exactly where she started and I ended. "You think I’m going to let go now?"
"I feel like you’re ready to run off."
"That’s because I did it once, but don’t punish me for trying to protect you—"
"You could run off to protect me."
"I told you in the car—you walked into danger. It’s not going away. Even if you release all those exposés, Savannah, there’s no guarantee you’ll get every Sparrow.
"Let’s face it, it’s actually unlikely that you will. Did you know the Archbishop of New York was a Sparrow?" When she stiffened in my arms, I had my answer. "Exactly. You’re going to have a target on your back for the rest of your life, and I can’t have that. As my woman, as my wife, you’ll be safe" I growled under my breath. "From everyone but me."
She didn’t tense up, if anything, she snuggled into me. "I was scared for you."
"I don’t care," I told her coldly, even as I tightened my arms around her, because Christ, I did care.
I cared so fucking much.
I mattered to my family, but to no one else.
To know I counted to her filled me with some messed up emotion I couldn’t begin to describe.
"Your safety is my priority. Do you understand me?"
She pressed her forehead into my chest. "I’m sorry."
"You should be." I muttered, "Come on, let’s get you inside."
"Inside? We’re not going to your family estate?"
"You’re worried about screaming too loud there. Here, I can make sure you’re as loud as you want to be."
She sagged into me. "Oh, God, don’t say stuff like that."
Rolling my eyes, I directed her through the front door and into the foyer. It was a massive vestibule with a central staircase that led to upper mezzanine floors, but I rarely used those steps, and instead hobbled down toward the elevator.
As I did, I rested some weight on her, and I had to admit, it helped ease the pain in my leg, making the walk smoother and less harried.
As we walked down the hall, I felt her gaze touching everything, drifting along the art and the ornaments that lined it, then dipping into the rooms that had opened doors.
When we reached my whiskey room, she paused, and asked, "Is this the room Jen was telling me about?"
"It’s where I house my collection, sure."
When she pulled away, I let her, because this was my favorite room in the house and, now that I thought about it, it was pretty fucking fitting that we christened this room first.
This, the first of all of them, because there was no way we weren’t about to scatter DNA throughout the entirety of this place. Maybe then it’d feel like a goddamn home instead of something I rattled around in by myself.
When we strode into the black on brown exterior, the woods dark, the metals cast iron, a hint of copper here and there, I started to tug on my tie. As I did, she oohed and aahed at the space.
The side wall housed two massive windows that let in a lot of light. Rich black velvet drapes diminished some of the glare on the back wall which housed backlit cubby holes in varying sizes. Small nooks that housed precious bottles, some that Napoleon himself had handled.
I turned on the lights so that the backlights popped on and she oohed at the warm amber gleam which filled the space, even in the daytime.
Opposite the shelves, there was a massive TV, but in between, there was a black corduroy sectional. That was going to be our destination. Leather would have been more fitting, but I hated the cold chill against my skin, and this was always more comfortable in winter.
As I ambled over to her, I murmured, "Savannah?"
