Page 9 of Lethal Saint

But I didn’t like the idea of leaving Vasilisa alone when she was shaking from head to toe, and staring at every gilded hallway we took as if it wasn’t her home. As if the house itselfwanted to hurt her. I didn’t want to know what other horrors she’d suffered here.

The sheer bravery it took her to follow me was staggering.

A shadow moved into the hallway from a connecting corridor, and Vasilisa froze. She didn’t jump, didn’t scream; she went perfectly still like prey sensing a predator. Well fuck, that was a glaring trauma response—and she didn’t need any more trauma to add to it.

“I’m going to shield your view, okay little queen?” I asked calmly, drawing a gun I’d stolen from one of the bastards I killed at the same time I gently took Vasilisa’s arm, spinning her into my body.

Her breath hitched; that was the only sign of fear she gave as I curved my hand around the back of her neck, pressing her face to the shoulder of my bloodstained shirt so I could kill the fucker trying to run from his fate. Hispunishment.I wasn’t a judge but I was certainly an executioner, and for the trembling woman in my arms, I was happy to play god.

I’d have to pay close attention to her reactions, though. If she locked down her fear, I could do something that absolutely fucking terrified her and she’d never raise an alarm. Boris Ivanov had a lot to answer for. I was actually glad he’d escaped; he deserved far more than a quick death.

Protectiveness ran through my veins, and I kissed the top of her blonde head before I could process the intention.

“Come on, little queen, it’s safe now. Do you need me to carry you again?”

Her throat bobbed, but she didn’t say anything. She finally shook her head, and I let her pull away even if I wanted her closer by my side. I kept my gun in my hand, alert for more threats who’d hurt an innocent woman—and there was no doubt that every man and woman in that room would have touchedher without her consent, given half a chance. Every single one deserved to die.

“We’re close to the front door, aren’t we?” I asked, even the play of our shadows on the wall making me twitchy, my finger constantly on the trigger. The killer calm had faded, leaving only rage and violence.

“Vasilisa?” I prompted when she didn’t reply. “You can talk to me, little queen. You don’t have to, you’ll get no pressure from me, but you can speak freely.”

Her throat worked in a swallow. She kept her eyes fixed forward, and I would have killed—literally—to know what was happening inside her mind. The only consistent experience I had with women were the overly confident ones who chased my money and name, and my little sisters who drove me fucking mad, and my approach to neither of those was appropriate here. I didn’t know what to say to help Vasilisa, and it drove me crazy.

My instinct was to keep reassuring her she was safe, that I wouldn’t touch her, that she could shoot anyone who scared her—but experience held me back. Or rather, the words of my first and only girlfriend held me back.

God, you’re so fucking clingy, Damien. Stop stifling me.

Do Ilooklike I want to be bothered right now? You’re suffocating me, and this wanting to be with me twenty-four-seven shit is insane. The gifts are fine, and it’s nice to have someone else make me food, butgodyou’re so needy.

Women don’t want soft men, and heartfelt conversations, and cuddles and all that bullshit. You’re a killer, Damien, grow the fuck up.

Liz Fernandez, a woman of many, many words. Most of which had burrowed into my fucking head, even though she had no right to be there. But she was right about one thing; I was probably suffocating Vasilisa.

And yet… she’d clearly had a lifetime of brutality. She needed care and softness.

And I was the Saint, for fuck’s sake. Since when did I let anyone’s words fuck me up? I was an unapologetic killer; I could be an unapologetic, needy bastard, too. So what if I wanted to slaughter everyone who’d ever hurt my family and find myhappily ever afterin the same week? That was my fucking business, and everyone else could fuck off.

Vasilisa froze abruptly, and I reacted in a heartbeat, aiming at the dark figure who stepped into the open maw of Ivanov Manor’s front door.

“Shoot me and I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life,” a deep, gruff voice barked.

I lowered my gun, giving Jonathan a scowl. “That’d be more of a punishment for you than me, and we both know it. Vasilisa, this is Jonathan, my friend. You’re as safe with him as you are with me.”

But she’d frozen. She didn’t move an inch, didn’t even breathe.

Jonathan’s warm eyes slid from me to her and he grunted, “You could have given her some fucking pants, Saint. Come on, the car’s running. You can sit up front,” he told Vasilisa, managing not to look below her chin as he spoke to her, which was good. I would have shot him otherwise. Probably just a thigh or shoulder wound; I did actually need the grumpy bastard. “The front seats are warmer, and you’ve probably got hypothermia setting in with how fucking cold that ballroom was.”

She was covered in goosebumps, but I wasn’t sure how much was from the chill and how much was fear. She flexed her fingers around the gun and swallowed, her stare flitting from him to me.

“You’re safe with us,” I reminded her. I couldn’t stop myself; reassuring her was instinct and my instincts would not bedenied. But I needed to get her out of this cesspit of gold and crystal. “Your father won’t find you, I swear.”

Vasilisa glanced at her gun and nodded, walking when I gestured her out the door. Jonathan was already waiting by the passenger side door. “In, in,” he barked at her, his regular growl softened, not that she’d realise that. “The fucking heat’s leaving.”

Vasilisa’s blink was her only display of shock.

“I’m—” I began.

“Driving?” he finished, gently closing the door when Vasilisa was inside. “Yeah, I figured you’d go all protective caveman on me if I tried to get in the driver’s seat.”

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