Page 2 of A Vow So Soulless

There are soldiers stationed in here too, but with a curt bark of “Out!” from Elio, they disperse in seconds.

And then we’re alone.

Elio carries me over to the plush sofa in the living room and sets me down so carefully it’s as if I’m made of glass. Maybe something even more delicate than glass. Because it seems like he’s worried that, even against the soft cushions, I might shatter.

Without taking his eyes from me, he gathers up a throw blanket and smooths it over my legs, tucking it around my waist so it stays in place. It had always felt so odd to me, that blanket being in this room. Like some bit of décor put out by a professional house staging company, tossed at a stylish angle, not something anybody actually used – certainly not Elio.

But it’s finally getting some use now. Warm and tight around me, locking my hands in place on my lap. I don’t even bother pulling them out of the bindings of the blanket. What would be the goddamn point?

“Oh,” I murmur softly, my gaze snagging on my feet. “My boots are still on. Elio!” My voice hardens with urgency, as if I’ve just discovered something of life-or-death importance. Something that has to get fixed, and fixed now. “My boots. The floor!”

“Fuck the floor,” Elio says, apparently not caring one bit about all the salt and slush pooling around my soaking soles. “It’ll be fine. And if it’s not, I’ll rip it all out and put in whatever you want to replace it. Hardwood or ceramic or fucking seventies shag carpet. I don’t give a shit. But Deirdre-” He grabs my chin, forcing my gaze up from my feet and into the endless abyss of his eyes. “I am not peeling one single thing off of you until you stop shaking.” He pinches my chin gently for good measure, then lets go and straightens, adding, “So just be a good little Songbird and ruin my floor already, would you?”

I hadn’t even realized I was still shaking. But now that he’s said it, I can’t think about anything else besides the stuttered locking of my muscles, the banging of my teeth against each other. I’m trembling so hard it hurts.

The cold has clawed its way in and I don’t think I can get it out now.

But Mom always said…

Always said that there was never a cold so deep nor a problem so big that tea couldn’t make it better. Or, at least, make a hell of a good start.

“Tea,” I whisper. But then I blink in confusion, because I’m saying it to no one. Elio is gone. I hear noises from behind me in the kitchen, most notably a kettle already boiling, which means he started making it before I ever even said the word. Before I even thought it.

And my whole world tilts. Forces me to once again acknowledge how my monster knows what I need even when I don’t.

But my instincts rebel against that.

He just dangled the threat of my father’s death in front of me to force me into marrying him! He doesn’t actually care about what I need.

And yet…

He’s making me tea all the same.

Elio brings me a large mug with the string of the tea bag still hanging out of it. Fine by me. If ever a night called for strong tea it’s tonight. It almost seems impossible how much has happened. The swallowing grief of the date marking my mother’s death. Visiting her grave which I haven’t done in years, only to be shot at. Having more men die right in front of me.

And losing my virginity.

The man who took it stands before me now, muscled arms crossed over his broad chest. He abandoned his jacket at some point while in the kitchen, but not his gloves of course. As I hold the blissfully hot cup in my hands, I let my gaze track up and down his tall form.

When I get to his shoulder, the place where he was shot last time, I jolt so hard I nearly spill the tea in my lap.

“Are you alright?” I ask, stunned that I never thought to ask before. He could have been bleeding out somewhere on that massive, black-clad body and I wouldn’t have known it until he keeled over from blood loss.

If keeling over was even possible for Elio. Frankly, I can’t imagine it. The man would probably still be standing on his own two feet the second he goddamn died.

I just…

Don’t want that to be tonight.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he replies, his tone giving nothing away.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious that I’m not,” I say shakily. “But I’m not bleeding anywhere at least.”

But then he cocks his head, and I cringe, because that isn’t even true, is it? This night has made me bleed after all. I’ve got the pad stuck to my panties to prove it.

“I didn’t get shot,” I clarify flatly. I stare at him as steadily as I can. “Did you?”

“Tonight?”

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