Page 20 of Lethal Saint

“He’ll make me bleed and scream,” I rasped, daring to meet Damien’s eyes. “You won’t. That’s not the same danger.”

Right now, I didn’t care who tried to use me against the Saint. Right now, all I cared about was keeping Finch as far from me as possible. My nightmare rose, even more vivid than it had been in my sleep, and I flinched. I could feel his hands on my thighs, feel his dick forcing into my ass.

“You can divorce me at any time,” Damien said, hauling me into a tighter hug than earlier, driving the ghosts of other touches from my mind, even if just for a moment. “Give me the word, and I’ll sign the papers.”

I nodded before I fully processed the meaning of his words, the intention. I startled, drawing back. My heart grew wings.

“Come on, little queen. Let’s have breakfast. You must be hungry, and that’s not going to help your stress.”

I resisted when he guided me down the hall, digging my heels into the plush carpet. “That’s a yes? You’ll marry me?”

I froze when he turned, leaning closer to lay a kiss on my forehead. “I’d be fucking honoured to marry you, Vasilisa. It’s a yes.”

My shoulders slumped, a physical weight cast off them, and relief expanded to fill my chest. I’d be safe with Damien. No matter what he said about me being in more danger, the Saint had a reputation. People were terrified of him, and those who didn’t fear him respected him. My fiancée—no,Finchwould hesitate to cross him. Armand Finch wasn’t my fiancée.

The Saint was.

I didn’t know whether the tears that veiled my eyes as I followed Damien into the kitchen/living room were of fear or relief. But I knew, without a doubt, what happened in the ballroom would never happen again.

My new fiancée would kill them if they even tried.

CHAPTER 8

DAMIEN

Ihadn’t slept in two nights, and I looked like shit. It was a wonder Vasilisa hadn’t noticed. A wonder she hadn’t changed her mind about wanting me as her husband. But she hadn’t. She wasn’t just strong, brave, and resilient. She was stubborn, and once she built up her confidence, I had no doubt she’d be a force of nature. She’d chosen me as her husband, and she wouldn’t back down.

The part of me that was obsessed with her safety agreed it was a good decision. The closer I kept her, the safer she was, and there was no closer than having her in my bed. My dick thought it was agreatidea, no matter how many times I reminded myself it was a marriage of convenience and she didn’t want a true marriage.

I stifled a groan at the thought of her in my bed. I’d seen her naked yesterday, but I was so fucking horrified by everything that happened, I never fully appreciated her. I’d get a chance to appreciate her as my wife—

Nope. Marriage. Of.Convenience.

I exhaled through my teeth, distracting myself with plans to murder Finch. I just had to find the bastard first. I slept an hour tops last night, scouring every contact I had for a sighting of Finch. None. And worse, no one even had a vague idea of where he lived, what neighbourhood he frequented most. Finch showed up for murders and galas and vanished into the fucking ether. The only time he’d been seen in the last four months was at Ivanov Manor when he signed Boris’s contract.

I couldn’t get a single trace on him.

“Out here, little queen,” I murmured absently, guiding her past the sofas and TV in the living room to the balcony door I’d left open, curtains blowing in a soft wind.

Vasilisa gasped suddenly, and I was distracted by the sight of her eyes going round, her hands flying to her mouth. All the rage in my heart softened when she turned that shocked, overjoyed look from the platter set on the glass table to my face.

I saw the moment she realised, watched her remember her words from last night.

“It’s everything I said,” she breathed, taking a small step onto the balcony, like she was scared it was all a mirage and would vanish if she moved faster. “Last night. It’s all the food I’m not allowed to have.”

“You’re allowed anything you want,” I said, guiding her into one of two seats at the table overlooking London’s grey skyline and the bright sprawl of Hyde Park below. Or at least it would have been bright if it wasn’t so damned overcast. Would it have killed London to be sunny for one fucking morning? I wanted everything to be perfect for my wife.

And I was getting ahead of myself. I didn’t even have a ring yet. Fuck.

I needed to go pay Seb Castro a visit to clear my head and calm the raging excitement in my body—and more dangerously,in my chest. I was already scarily attached to the idea of Vasilisa as my wife and I’d only agreed to marry her minutes ago.

Not that I didn’t spend the whole night indulging my fantasies while I searched for Finch. Everything I wanted, all my secret dreams, landed in my lap like a miracle. I didn’t want a one night stand, didn’t want a string of quick fucks; I wanted commitment, someone to understand me, care for me, and someone who would revel in my care, too.

I hated how we’d met, but I wouldn’t have been there without the Gent strongarming me, and it was starting to feel like fate.

“Still want to marry me?” I asked. Checking. Paranoid I’d lose everything she’d given me only minutes ago. She had no idea how badly I wanted the happily ever after, someone to collapse on the sofa with after a draining day, someone to kiss my bruises and make me laugh when I just wanted to rage at the world, or scream, or pass out.

It was too easy to give up after a rough day. I needed someone to remind me life had good moments too. Watching Vasilisa sit eagerly in her seat, staring in wonder at the spread of breakfast foods, cakes, and desserts. She gazed at them like they were diamonds and pearls. The whole thing had cost a couple hundred, but I’d never have guessed by her wide-eyed expression.

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