Page 53 of Lethal Saint

“I’m fucking not,” he said, flashing his wedding band with obvious joy. “You’re talking to a married man now.”

“You didn’t even invite me to the wedding,” she cried, her panic swallowed by outrage. “I’m your best friend!”

“Ah, that’s my fault,” I cut in, biting my lip and glancing up at Damien. I was so, so …proudto call him mine. That was the emotion battering my ribcage. Pride. “It was pretty rushed.”

“Did Jonathan get to go?” she asked, leaning the mop against the counter and crossing her arms over her apron. Her eyes narrowed on Damien, more fire in them than I’d expected to find. I fought a smile when he rubbed the back of his neck. This was a new side of him, and like all the others I’d found, I loved this one too.

“He was there when I met Vasya, so he came to the wedding by default,” he explained ruefully.

Rose’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Rude. Very,veryrude, Saint.”

“I owe you,” he said, hooking me back to him when I tried to escape. My mouth was dry after the nightmare and near-escape attempt. I needed a drink, but I accepted the clingy affection with no complaints, happy to be held.

“Mhm,” Rose agreed, getting a bucket from under the sink and filling it with water and floor cleaner, asmidgeirritated. “Better get thinking of ways to make it up to me, bestie.”

“You’re going to give me hell about this, aren’t you?” he groaned, stroking my hip.

“For the foreseeable,” Rose agreed, and then she surprised me by giving me a warm smile full of kindness. “It’s really good to meet you, Vasilisa. And don’t worry about the key thing, it’s an easy mistake. Let’s hang out some time, yeah? We canbothcome up with ways to punish Damien for not inviting me to your wedding.”

A thrill went through my belly. It had been a long, long time since I’d had a girlfriend. Any friend, really. I realised I was as greedy for it as I was for Damien’s sweet affection.I make the rules.“Deal.”

Damien let go of me with a sulky, offended sound. “Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“You were very mean not to invite your friend,” I told him, fighting a smile.

He crossed his arms over his distractingly bare chest and gave me a sullen look. “Fine, then I won’t give you the grand tour of our apartment like I was planning to.”

“I’ve seen the apartment, Damien,” I pointed out, making Rose snort.

“You haven’t seen the gym,” he disagreed loftily. “Or the library.”

“There’s a library? In here?” I looked around, like I might be able to see it through the walls.

“And a billiards room, where I plan to thoroughly destroy you in a game.”

I jabbed a finger into his chest. “That’s not fair; I’ve never played billiards before. I don’t even know what billiards is.”

His grin deepened, hooking into his stubbled cheek. Fuck he was hot. “Hence I’m going to destroy you.”

I shoved him lightly, a thrill rushing through my blood at being able to do that without fear. It would come back, it always did, but for this moment I felt a precious new ease around him. My nightmare hovered, eager to haunt me again, but I focused on Damien’s smile and pushed its spectre away.

“Have you never heard of beginner’s luck?” I taunted. “Maybe I’ll destroyyou.”

He stroked a slow path down my back to rest his warm hand over my ass, barely covered by my stolen shirt. “Promises, promises.”

I gave my husband a sharp look, blushing all the way to my roots, and unfastened myself from his side to make a cup of tea. I was going to need it.

CHAPTER 19

DAMIEN

Ilet her win at pool, because I was so deeply obsessed with my wife I couldn’t think of anything except making her smile or laugh again. For every shot she made, I had to answer a question, and for every one I made, she had to tell me something. Over the course of the morning and several games, I’d learned her new favourite colour was dark wine red like the blouse I ordered her, and her old favourite colour used to be pastel pink because that was expected of her.

Her favourite drink was a milkshake (which I already knew), her biggest dream was to have a streak of blood red in her hair (which broke my heart because it was such a small wish), she loved animals but hadn’t had a pet since her black cat was mysteriously killed (either by her father or brothers), she didn’t know how to drive (I was already making plans to teach her) and she’d never had a guard before (she was meeting her new guard tonight, when I took her out.)

I committed every detail to memory, ravenous for each new fact, and diligently answered every question she asked of me, too. How did I learn to play pool (Dad taught me one day when rage over Mum’s and Willow’s deaths threatened to swallow me whole), did I ever think I’d get married (I always dreamed of it), what did I do for work (managing boring accounts for a boring club), what did Ireallydo for work (I got an allowance from the family for taking care of their enemies, and occasionally outsourced my skills to our friends and allies), who was the first person I killed (a snivelling bastard who wormed his way into our family’s business and tried to rat us out), did I enjoy it (I did), what did it feel like (power and poison and the most dangerous kind of pleasure, the kind that could kill me if it got out of hand), and did I enjoy last night (more than any other night in my life.)

I thought of her questions now as I fastened my cuffs with platinum cufflinks forged in the shape of a horse’s head. Marshall was a name of French origin, even if my family was as British as they came, and could be translated tomaster of horses.I liked to think the horses were London’s criminal underbelly, and I was the master keeping them in line with a reputation of blood and terror.

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