Page 164 of Brutal Savage

When he turns, his expression is tense.

But that’s not what stops me dead in my tracks.

Blood.

So much blood.

I rush toward him, grabbing his bruised-up knuckles, crimson covering them too. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Frantically, I look him up and down. That gets a small crack of a smile to burst through.

“If I knew almost killing someone would get you to be concerned about me, I’d have done it sooner.”

I suck in a harsh breath. “What? Who? Why?”

He cups my face, his brows snapping, emotions riddled in every crevice of his features. And I’m lost to it. Lost to him. Lost to the utter and beautiful way he consumes me.

He lowers his mouth a fraction at a time until he’s kissing me. Invading my heart and my soul. So much so, I don’t even care that he’s touching me with bloody hands.

This kiss is slow, yet deeper somehow. In meaning and intention. I can feel it pulsing between us, like it’s alive.

He pulls me closer, pinning his forehead to mine.

“Tell me what happened,” I whisper. “Was it that man? The one who said he knew me?”

He snaps back, anger radiating in his gaze. “Did you remember him?”

I shake my head. “But what if he does know me through Jerry’s family?” Panic sucks me whole, my inhales and exhales battling for space. “What if he tells everyone about me?” I move past him, grabbing my hair. “I’m so sorry…”

My body grows shaky until I’m close to collapsing.

But his strong arms hold me from behind, his soft voice lulling me. “Shh, relax. No one will hurt you anymore, Elara. That’s over now.”

I want to believe him. I really do.

But I can’t.

Not until I see Jerry and his father dead for myself.

“Take a shower with me, baby.” His palms splay across my abdomen, like he’s cradling a child that isn’t yet there.

“What?” I drop my head against his chest and take deep, calming breaths.

“I need to get cleaned up, and you need help relaxing.”

“Okay.”

His mouth finds my neck before he starts stripping all my clothes, taking his time, until I’m bare before him. As he turns me, his eyes drift down my body, and I don’t feel an ounce of shame like I once would’ve.

I like it when he looks at me.

And I realize somewhere between the time he forced me to show him my scar to this very moment, I stopped feeling uncomfortable with him looking at my body. It’s freeing. This feeling of letting all that go.

He runs a hand down his face and mutters something in Gaelic before he’s stripping his own clothes, bringing them to the bathroom with us.

Taking my hand in his, he brings us into the shower, the water sluicing down our bodies. With the back of his hand, he tugs my chin up, his eyes lost to mine.

“I’ll always keep you safe. I need you to know that.”

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