Page 61 of Sinner's Salvation

He was probably looking at the entrance to the safe room. Men were always impressed with clever engineering.

She stripped off her borrowed clothing, folding it neatly and leaving it on the toilet seat. It didn’t take long for the water in the shower to get hot. She stepped inside and basked in the sensation hot water made against her skin. It washed away more than the blood. It reminded her that she’d survived, again. Survived another man who saw someone who was different and believed their tyrannical control gave them the power to use her in any way he wanted.

There had been many men like that in her long, long life. Many who looked at her and saw a woman, saw weakness, saw a weapon. Others had only fear once they understood she was a monster.

Fear and greed. They weighed a lot. They sat on her shoulders and there were days when she didn’t think she could resist their pull down into the dirt.

A knock at the door.

“Yes?”

It opened a crack. “Anna,” Evan said. “Do you need anything?”

She thought about it. “No, I have everything I need.”

“Let me know if that changes.” He closed the door.

He hadn’t said that sentence in a flirty tone, but she halfway wished he had.

She snorted at her own silliness. Like they had time to indulge in...what? Hot sweaty sex? Was that enough, or did she want more from him? Something to consider.

It had been a long time since so many things had gone wrong at once. Since World War II, actually. The stakes were even higher now.

Their entire existence was on the line.

It took a couple of washes to get all the blood out of her hair using Yvgeny’s handmade, unscented soap. She almost felt young again when she stepped out and toweled dry.

By the time she’d put on the same clothes and brushed out her hair, her youthful energy was gone.

Anna opened the bathroom door and found Evan leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door.

“Is there a problem?” she asked him.

“No, just standing guard.”

She studied his face and saw nothing of note at first. Then she saw a slight tightening at the corners of his mouth. He was worried. About her.

“Turn around,” he said. “Please.”

She turned slowly, taking several seconds to complete the motion.

He wasn’t leaning against the wall anymore, he’d moved a couple of steps closer to her.

Both his hands came up, as if to cradle something, but paused at his waist level. “May I...?”

Oh, he wanted to check her head. “Of course.”

He moved faster than she thought he would. Then he was in her personal space, his body brushing hers and his hands in her hair. His fingers threaded through her wet strands and cupped the back of her head. He pressed gently against her skull. Searching.

His movements were frantic at first, but slowed as he found nothing amiss. Finally, he looked down and met her gaze. He rested his forehead against hers.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “You looked pretty bad before and I don’t know how the healing thing works.”

She stepped into him, wrapped her arms around him, and just let herself rest in his arms. His hands slid down her body to wrap around her.

He was warm and solid, and she wanted nothing more than to stand there with him, wrapped in each other, for the next decade or so.

How long ago had she been last held like this? Years? Many years. His grandfather had hugged her. Hadn’t been afraid. Had treated her like family.

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