Page 17 of Lethal Saint

“Because of what happened to your family?” she murmured, finally beginning to eat. Thank fuck. I wasn’t above getting an IV into her so she didn’t waste away, but she’d end up hating me if I had to force a needle into her and pin her down so she didn’t rip it out.

“That and because my dad raised me to have morals. I know,” I said when she stared at her bowl, unable to hide her reaction, “surprising for a man who killed a room full of people. The difference between me and your father is I’ll never hurt an innocent, never fuck anyone who doesn’t want it, and I’ll only ever kill someone who deserves it. I’m not above killing Armand Finch.”

Vasilisa sucked in a sharp breath. “You’ll die if you try.”

“I won’t—”

“You haven’t met him!” she snapped, coming to life for all the worst reasons. Her eyes filled with panic, her hands shaking and breath racing. “He’s evil. He’s so much worse than my dad. I met him once, a month ago, and I wasrelievedto stay home for another few weeks. Even knowing about the auction and—everything that would happen to me. I wasrelievedbecause it meant a few more weeks away fromhim.”

I watched her eyes dart around, jumping from the cabinets over my head to the floor-to-ceiling windows to the door that led to the corridor—and the lift—outside. I knew that look, that instinct. She wanted to run. She’d probably try to, and I’d have to be the bastard who kept her locked up. At least until we figured out a way to eliminate Armand Finch.

“I haven’t met him,” I agreed calmly, trying to catch her gaze and failing. “But I’m going to put this building on lockdown, call in people I trust to add an extra layer of protection, and I’ll be here the entire time. He won’t get through me, little queen.”

“He’s a monster,” she whispered.

I couldn’t handle the break in her voice or the sudden redness in her cheeks, like she was about to cry.

“Keep hold of your gun for me, little queen,” I said, rounding the island. Anger and worry clashed at the way she hunched over on her stool, so small, too fucking thin even in the fleece onesie. “Shoot me if I make you uncomfortable, but I need to hold you.”

Her eyes darted up to my face, wide with surprise and a tinge of fear, but it was the silver of tears lining her eyes that caught my attention. My heart sank. I spun her on the stool and gathered her into my arms, holding her tight to my chest. A sharp little sob escaped her, like it had been trapped between her teeth all night, trying to claw its way free.

“Why are you hugging me?” she whispered, cries hiccupping from her. How often did anyone hold her? When was the last time someone touched her to comfort, not to take from her?

“Because I can’t stand seeing you upset.”

A fresh wave of tears rushed down her cheeks; she buried her face in my shoulder, not relaxing against me but not pushing me away either. I had to be careful that this was something she wanted, not something she was enduring because she thought I’d hurt her otherwise. I opened my mouth to ask if she was okay with this but she spoke first.

“When I met him, he—he squeezed my wrist so hard I couldn’t stay quiet. I always have to be quiet, but I couldn’t. I can still see where he touched me.”

“Hurt you,” I corrected gently. “Show me, little queen.”

She sniffled, but lifted her wrist. I wasn’t disturbed that it pointed the gun at my face; the safety was on, and I was too distracted by the yellowing bracelet around her wrist. How fucking hard must he have gripped her, to leave a bruise still visible a month later?

I shook with the need to kill him, to keep her safe, to pull her even closer even though she was pressed against me. Exhaling hard, I smoothed a hand down her wet hair and kissed the top of her head. Panic struck. Shit, I should have dried her hair; she could have a chill already.

“He told me he didn’t care who fucked me first. And—” She sucked in a sharp breath, shuddering against me. “And it didn’t matter if my pussy was tarnished because he’d take my ass and—and make me bleed. He said I’d cry and scream and he’d love every minute of it.”

I was going to make the bastard cry and scream andI’dlove every fucking moment of it. My heart pounded against my ribs, a shiver of lethal rage shaking my arms around her.

“I’m going to kill him,” I swore to her.

But Finch was a fucking ghost. The reason he was so powerful and dangerous was because no one could predict where he’d be at any time. Countless attempts had been made on his life, and they’d all failed. Finch very rarely made a public appearance, sending out others to do his dirty work. He was a damned ghost.

A ghost who would hurt my girl.

Shit. No, notmine.The girl under my protection.

“Saint?” Vasilisa whispered.

“Damien,” I corrected, stroking her hair again. “My name is Damien, and if I neglected to tell you before, I’m so fucking sorry, Vasilisa.”

She pulled back and swallowed, her pale throat bobbing. I jolted when she freely met my gaze, the gold in her brown irises shining like sunlight. Fuck, she was beautiful. I wasn’t supposed to be noticing how beautiful she was, but she fit perfectly in my arms, looked cute as fuck in the bear onesie, and every instinct in my soul raged at me to protect her.

The primal, caveman part of me was dangerously close to calling her mine. And that was the last thing she needed right now.

“I thought—” Her breath hitched but she continued, “Earlier, after the shower, I thought you’d take it from me. My virginity.”

“I’m obliged to tell you, by both my teenage sisters, that virginity is a social construct that doesn’t actually exist.”

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