Page 67 of Lethal Saint

I reached for the buttons of my shirt, making quick work of them, and only faltered on the last button when my sly wife added, “And watch.”

I was painfully hard and she knew it. She’d decided to torture me. Or…to pursue sex. But I couldn’t. The cutting blade of Boris’s words might have been dullened for the moment, but it was still there, carving me apart. All the ways he’d hit her, kicked her, hurt her, broken her…

And there were yellowed bruises still on her body, not hidden by the sheer black fabric. I didn’t trust myself not to hurt her, too. Look at how I’d been the first time we had sex; I’d sworn to be gentle and in control but I lost it, rutting and growling and handling her with much less care than she deserved.

No, I couldn’t risk hurting her.

When I stripped down and turned on the shower, Vasilisa paused me with my name.

“Whose blood is it? Is it… Did you kill Armand Finch?”

My shoulders slumped, and I swallowed hard. “No, Vasya,” I said, turning back to look at her. “I’m so fucking sorry, but that bastard still eludes me. But I’ll find him. I never break a promise, and I swear to you, I’ll kill him before he can come anywhere near you.”

“Oh,” she breathed, visibly disappointed. Fuck. I’d let her down. “Then who…?”

“Your brother, Mark,” I replied, and she jolted, her breath cutting out for a moment as she stared at me. “And your father.”

She didn’t speak, just stared at me.

“I won’t apologise, Vasya. Boris hurt you and Mark let it happen when he should have protected you. They deserved death.”

They deserved far more, but at least now they’d never harm Vasilisa again.

“You—killed my family,” she rasped, still unable to look away from me. And I realised far too late that while they’d abused her, that even while her body bloomed bruises and bones broke, they were still her blood. Blood was everything to a Russian. Fuck.

“I’m going to swim. I’ll—I’ll be back later,” she said, shaking her head as she jumped down from the counter and vanished out the door.

“Take Lionel with you,” I shouted. I had no idea if she heard me; the flat was completely silent except for the splatter of the shower behind me.

I knocked my head against the wall, missing her already. Scared I’d ruined everything.

Fuck.

CHAPTER 23

VASILISA

Ifell into a routine over the next few weeks. Nightmares woke me up as always, but I managed to stop myself fleeing into the lift or the lobby downstairs once Damien began leaving sticky notes all down the hallway and living room, each in a gaudy colour and scrawled with heavy black words.

You’re safe.

Finch isn’t here.

He can’t hurt you.

You’re married to the Saint.

Damien is your shield.

Each one filled me with nauseating confliction.

I wanted to be mad at my husband because it was the right thing to do. What kind of daughter or sister would I be if I wasn’t angry at their killer? But I missed him.

Each night he slept beside me, some nights even making stars explode across my vision with his fingers or tongue, but itwasn’t the same as our wedding night. He was holding back, and I knew why. He couldn’t take his eyes off the smudges of bruises on my body. All but one were gone now, the big one on my stomach refusing to fade. He stared at it every time I removed my shirt, reminding me that while he was irresistibly attractive to me, even with my family’s blood on his hands, to him I was bruised and marred and ugly.

His surprise gift the morning after we went to the restaurant—after he came home covered in blood with haunted eyes and desperate, wandering hands—turned out to be dogs.Dogs.Two Rottweiler babies who were now my main source of comfort and support. Not that they were puppies; they were fully grown, massively heavy, and fiercely loyal to me. But they were my babies.

I named them Sparrow and Serenity because they deserved pretty names. Wherever I went, they followed like they were every bit as obsessed with me as my husband was. Or as much as he had been. I missed that most of all, missed knowing he wanted me.

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