Page 84 of Ferocious Nightmare

Her hands were clasped to my side, her fingers trembling against the bare skin there.

We were so close.

The sensation between us more intense than with any other woman in my life.

I loved this woman.

With the realization of that knowledge, the feeling flooded my chest and up my throat, pouring out of me to fill the space between us. It surged through my veins, my lungs, my very breath. It was powerful. Roaring and protective and claiming.

And yet, somehow, as gentle as the beat of soft butterfly wings at the same time.

It was so overpowering and overwhelming, I wanted to give every single drop of it to her until there was nothing left of it inside me. She was the only spark of hope living within me, something that told me I could have more than this dreary life of existence.

And that's why I had to let her go.

She didn't deserve what I had to offer her: a cold, dead heart, and threat of death around every corner.

I would let her go, and cling to the memory of the most magnificent present anyone had ever given me.

Love. Hope. Happiness.

Her.

I pulled in another breath, straightening myself, determined to do this.

Her eyebrows furrowed, reacting to me. When she began to open her mouth, probably to sass me, knowing her, I didn't want her to speak.

I needed to give her something, one last thing, and her arguing with me would only ruin this moment.

And so, I leaned in, softly brushing my lips over hers, letting the emotions I was feeling inside trickle through my kiss.

Her lips parted, her words forgotten in the space between us.

I didn’t close the gap. I let it linger, the milli-centi-meter of distance, closing my eyes so that I could feel and taste and breathe the connection between us.

We stayed like that for seconds, minutes, hours, I wasn't sure how long. It felt like an eternity of breaths and almosts.

And then, reaching back, I took her hand on my side, and held it loosely in mine, gently leading it up and across my chest. Her fingers trickled over my skin, a gentle caress, until I placed it between us, her palm over my pounding heart.

Her eyes met mine, her throat bobbing, love pouring from her expression and I couldn’t believe it.

Couldn’t believe that someone as caring and loving as her, with a dazzling smile and an intellect that could conquer nations, would come back for me.

I’d been a fuck up my whole life, and had never been loved as much as this woman seemed to care for me. She didn’t pine after my money, my position or power, or my brother, but me.

Me.

She’d spent a lot of time with Dante and all the guards that worked for my father. She was a governor’s daughter, a woman with fire and spark, stunning and sexy. She could have anyone on the earth she wanted. And yet…

…she came for me.

For me.

Suddenly, my throat was full. “I want to tell you,” my voice bled out, and I couldn’t speak. So I gently moved her fingers over my chest instead. It was covered with fresh bandages, and smaller cuts and scrapes. There were other scars there, some older than others. Some thick and long, others small and barely visible.

The most important ones were invisible, slashed across my heart.

I settled on the three bullet-sized ones there, gathering my courage. "I want to tell you about these."

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