Page 200 of The Sinner's Bargain

I put my hand over his lips. “You’re not doing that. It’s not cursed. It was never cursed. You’re not cursed.” I smooth my palm lightly over his cheek. “Your grandparents were terrible, awful accidents. They let the stories mess with their heads, and it consumed them. But your parents...” I hesitate, wondering if now was the time to tell him about his mom and Oliver.

I decided it was as good a time as any. I told him about his mom following Oliver to that room. Their argument. Her fall.

Thoran remained still, so still the entire time I spoke. He never even blinked.

When I continued with Elena, Constance, Anne, Penelope, and Danika, I felt him suck in a breath, but he didn’t speak. By the time I finished, he was practically a statue staring through me.

“Nineteen years,” he said finally. Slowly. Painfully. “He stayed in my home, sat at my table, acted like my uncle for nineteen years after killing my mother and making me believe I was cursed. That it was my fault all those women died.”

Fury and heartbreak radiated off him in columns of heat I could feel burning through his clothes.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could say as he blurred behind a wall of tears I couldn’t contain.

He shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. I should be sorry. I brought you into this. I almost killed you so many times—”

I took his face between my palms and made him look at me. “Stop it. You have done nothing but protect me. You were kind to me when you had no reason to be. You took care of me, trusted me, believed me. You gave me a voice and let me speak when I’ve been silenced my whole life. You have thrown yourself between me and things that almost killed you more than I want to think about, and you never hesitated. You never let me get hurt. This doesn’t count,” I added quickly. “If you hadn’t shown up, I would be dead.”

He kissed me. His facial hair tickled my cheeks and lips, and I felt myself smile at the odd sensation of it against my skin.

Thoran raised his head. “What?”

My grin widened as I stroked the hair. “This is interesting.”

His eyebrow lifted. “You want me to keep it?”

I shrugged, pulling him in to nibble on his bottom lip. “Kind of curious how it would feel—”

“Stop!” came a loud, desperate voice from the foot of the bed. “I can’t fake sleep anymore. I’m awake. Stop talking.”

Thoran met my amused giggle with his own grin. “Your brother is here.”

I kissed him lightly. “I see that.”

Both eyebrows lifted. “You don’t seem surprised.”

My nose crinkled. “I woke up a little earlier. You were sleeping.”

His humor vanished. “Damn it.”

“Told you he’d be upset,” Malcolm said.

Thoran glanced back over his shoulder, expression annoyed. “I’m not upset.”

I drew his face back to me. “I need you two to get along. For me. You’re both my whole world and it would kill me if you didn’t like each other.”

Both men, both grown men, groaned and sighed, and muttered, “For you.”

I smiled and kissed Thoran.

ONE WEEK LATER...

“I’m fine,” I promised for what felt like the ten millionth time as Thoran scooped me up and carried me up the porch steps. “I can walk.”

But I laughed as Malcolm opened the door and let Thoran haul me through.

“To bed. I’ll have Cooke—”

“No! No more bed. I’ve been in bed for a week getting poked and prodded—”

---