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Her body doesn’t react to the touch of my skin on hers. I didn’t think she’d be left in a state of shock like this. Has she never seen a dead body before? She’s the daughter of Ludis. There’s no way he raised her for twenty years and she’s never seen a dead body. And on the off chance she hasn’t, I’ll give him credit for keeping her so sheltered.
“Moya lubimaya.” My love.
I force my mouth shut after the words suddenly slip through my lips. Her head turns slowly toward me, rocking as if she understands what I’m saying.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says in a calm tone, the total opposite of her mouthy sass. Her words contradict the look on her face.
“But I did,” I say in a soft voice I haven’t used in ages. “Men don’t get to talk to you like that, at least not when I’m around.”
“I’m sorry you felt the need.”
“Pokoinik.He was dead the moment he looked at you.”
I’ve never seen her so ... composed. I prefer the sass she always shows me over this. I don’t even know how to talk to her.
Her eyes slam shut for a moment before she reaches across the table and brings the bottle of champagne to her lips. She takes big gulps of it as if this is how she’s choosing to cope. I’m glad I didn’t find the same outlet after I took my first life. Sure, I drink every now and then, but I know I can handle my wrongdoings with a conscious brain. I had everything I needed after I placed that bullet in his skull. I knew I was capable of it.
I grab the bottle from Sloane’s lips and put it back on the table. If she continues to drink the rest, I have no doubt she’ll get alcohol poisoning.
“What can I do, Sloane?” I ask her.
She shakes her head back and forth.
“Kak ya mogu ubrat tvoyu bol?” How can I take away your pain?
We sit together for a while in silence as she processes everything. Then she lets out a sigh and stands up.
“I think I’m ... I think I’m going to take a shower.”
I grab onto her hand to help her walk, but her skinny fingers slowly intertwine with mine, and I instantly want to back away. I don’t do this shit. I don’t hold hands with women. I never kiss them either. It carries too much emotion, and then they expect things from me. Things I’ll never be able to give.
I don’t commit to anything but my family and my job.
As much as I want to take my hand away from hers, I hold onto it. My stomach turns because I’m going against everything I believe in, but this is what she needs right now. She needs me to hold her steady and comfort her.
She’s delicate. She’s a wilting flower.
Her feet stumble onto mine. She lets out a laugh and leans her weight into my arm until I’m practically carrying her. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a son?” she asks.
That’s a first.My brow furrows. “Because I don’t.”
“Oliver. He was talking about his mom.”
“How old do you think I am?”
“I—I don’t know ...”
“I’m twenty-eight, Sloane. He’s sixteen. There’s no way he could be my son,” I explain. “Oliver is my cousin.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to assume ...” All of a sudden, she acts shy.
We make it to her room, and I open the door. “You should go clean up. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“You’re right. I should shower.”
I glare at her. She’s acting different, like she’s helpless. The witch I know doesn’t ask for help. She figures out everything on her own because that’s just who she is. A mouthy little brat who has to have everything go her way.
“Can you help me with the zipper?” she asks, turning her back toward me.
