Page 102 of Moonlit Thorns

It’s then I know what I have to do. It will kill me to do it. I’ll never be the same.

But I love her too much to let her be in harm’s way because of me. I can’t let her be in danger because of me, the same way my mother was. That would make me just like my father.

Chapter

Forty-One

ANABELLE

When we arrived home last night, the doctor was there to meet us. He didn’t think I had a concussion, but I did need stitches on my forehead. My injuries gutted Asher. The expression on his face as the doctor sewed up the gash on my forehead was so tortured it’s embedded into my memory.

Asher undressed me, helping me into a silk nightgown, pulling back the covers and tucking me in. Sleep came quickly, but for how long I’m not sure. I wake up stiff and achy, darkness descending. Confused, I roll over to feel the bed empty beside me. Searching the room, I find him sitting in the same chair he was the night he found me in the basement.

“What are you doing all the way over there?” I ask, my hand stretched out for him to take.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” His voice is gravelly and heavy bags sit under his eyes showing he hasn’t slept at all.

“What time is it?” I yawn even though I slept the day away.

“Just after seven in the evening.”

I nod and stretch but wince from the bruise on my arm. Asher cringes and glances away from me.

“Are you hungry? I can have Mrs. Potter make you something.” There’s no love in his voice. It’s monotone and devoid of emotion.

“A little maybe.”

He stands and starts for the door without a word. What has happened to the man I love?

“Asher, wait.” My own voice barely a whisper in the big room.

He stops but doesn’t turn around.

Having no choice, I ask his back, “What’s going on? Why are you being different?”

At first, he doesn’t look like he’s going to respond, but he slowly circles around, and I gasp seeing the water filling his eyes. “You could have died, Anabelle,” he croaks.

I frown. “But I didn’t. You made sure of that.”

His face transforms to wrath, all hard lines and sharp edges, and he strides toward the bed. Resembling nothing like the man I know. “You would have died because of me!” His fingers jam into his chest, his eyes lighting with fury.

My head rocks back. “I have you to thank for still being alive.”

“Thank me?” He spits the words out with disgust. “You wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for me.” He pushes a hand through his hair, his calming mechanism.

I stand from the bed and pad over to him. “Asher…” I gently pull his hand out from his hair. “Preston made the decision to take me, not you. That’s on him.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s on me because I couldn’t leave well enough alone. I had to stick it to him and embarrass and shame him publicly. If I hadn’t taken his company away from him, he never would have kidnapped you.”

“That’s not true.” I shake my head, attempting at every angle for him to look at me. See the truth in my eyes.

“It is!” he bellows.

I step back from his anger, and he sighs.

“It is,” he says softer this time and places each of his hands on either side of my face, cradling it. “I can’t do this to you. I can’t let your fate end up like my mother’s.” Then he releases me and turns his back to me.

I still, my stomach drops, and my body shakes. Tears well up threatening to fall. “What do you mean?”

---