Page 43 of King of the Dawn

“We’re not going to kill him,” I grumbled, even though that would have been my instinct, if I didn’t have all the information in my hands. “We’re going to deliver her to him, and give her a chance at a real life.”

I placed my hand on the glass, swearing that I could almost feel her pulling me in. My imagination ran wild, thinking that she was calling to me, begging me to bring her home. To bring her happiness. To help her find the joy that she had been robbed of when she was no more than just a girl.

Aoibheann was still young. She still had a chance at a full life with the person she truly wanted. So she could become who she was always meant to be.

Yuliya looked confused, then angry. Then, resigned.

My sister liked her. They had grown to love her, as I had. But my sister, daughter and I were used to the pain of misery. We were numb to it. In all her years of sorrow, Aoibheann wasn’t. She had held on to her light, and it deserved to be unencumbered.

My sister turned from me, ready to do my bidding, when I called out. “Yuliya!”

She turned to me and tilted her head. “Change your mind already? I didn’t think you’d come to your senses this quickly, but…”

“Make sure the jet is ready to go to Ireland the moment she’s able to travel,” I interrupted her because I would not allow anyone to change my mind on this. I needed to be a good man, for once. I needed to be the good guy. “Set up an account under her name. Her maiden name. Make sure it draws from mine.”

“You’re insane, Jericho,” she said, slowly, her eyes cutting through the door. “Have you talked to her about this?”

“I don’t need to,” I turned away from her and whatever lecture she was about to give. “It’s the right thing to do.”

If she stayed by my side, she would die broken, and unhappy, jumping at shadows and running from bad guys. There would always be scars, bullets, and fire if she stayed with me - with us. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone who wasn’t forced into it by birth. If I could get her out, then I would.

Chapter Nineteen

Aoibheann

I sat in the hospital bed, cross-legged, with the tray before me.

“Rose insists that you eat ginger and chicken,” Jericho said, uncovering the dish he had the nurses heat up for me. The thick scent of the stew wafted up towards me, and I smiled.

“Our daughter is a delight,” I said, reaching out a hand to touch his as he placed the fork and spoon down.

Despite his attentiveness over the last two days, he hadn’t touched me. The little bit of contact jolted me, the way an old, beloved coat in your closet comes out for winter and touches your skin with a sense of home.

I clutched his hand with a desperation that overwhelmed me, as I pulled it to my mouth.

I saw the beautiful scar that marked him as mine, and brought his palm to my lips. He froze, staring at me with conflicted eyes, but I didn’t care. I darted out my tongue to taste his skin, moaning at the familiar salt and musk. Even the thickness of his callouses gave me comfort.

He was here. And he was mine. It was over.

“I love you,” I whispered against his skin. “I am so grateful for all you have done, and all you have given me. You’ve given me life, Jericho. You give me a reason to live.”

I bit at the pad of his thumb, then his index finger, tasting him, and feeling the longing and emptiness in my body.

“I swear I will make you happy,” I vowed. “I will be a good wife to you.”

His eyes closed, and I wondered if he found this appalling. My desperation to please him. Was it maybe a sign of weakness? I wasn’t sure.

“Don’t thank me yet, witch.” He bent down to kiss my forehead.

I wanted to move my face to let his kiss land on my lips, but I didn’t want to push him. Maybe he was afraid that I was too delicate in my recovery?

“The best has yet to come,” he said against my forehead. I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. “Things haven’t even started for you, yet.”

I grabbed the shoulders of his shirt, and pulled him in towards me. I needed him close. It was the only thing that could make me feel better. I wrapped my arm around his ribs, burying my face into his throat, and clinging on like he was a liferaft and I was adrift at sea. I sighed with relief when his arms wrapped around me too, and he squeezed me against him, until I could feel his warmth through our clothes.

A rude cough came from the doorway.

Yuliya was there;, tall and casual, standing with her shoulder against the frame, a foot crossed over the ankle. Jericho didn’t let me go. Not until I pulled away to look at his sister, swiping at my cheeks as a small tear came down.

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