Page 28 of Stained Protector

“You have no one to rely on, pretty.” His lips caress my temple, and a kiss strays to my cheek as he frowns.

“I’m being very patient with you, and you don’t want to know what happens when it’s gone.”

Heat escapes my fingers, pulling back the blood to my heart as he cups my cheeks with stark brutality raging in the twisted smile.

“I’ll come to get you when lunch is ready,” he quips without a hint of exuding terror. “You’re the star today. So, any suggestions?”

“Good girls get rewarded,” he hums and pinches my cheek lightly. “You’re taking this much better than I anticipated.”

The name of the food splinters in my throat, spewing sharded syllables as it scores bloody lines on my tongue.

“There’s a fresh glass of water on the nightstand,” he mentions, still indifferent to the changed demeanor. “And I made a dinner reservation for later. The festivity can cheer you up.”

I jerk my face to the window, unable to stomach his anticipating smile.

Chapter Eight

Levi

She’s stunning.

Silk embraces her delicate form and accentuates the soft curves, the pitiful strings on the sultry slope of her back tie in a bow, and the hem dances over her supple thighs. The dress alone steals my breath away. Anya ducks her head shyly and tucks a curl behind her ear as she squirms from my unnerving gaze.

The light shines through the small crystals of her earrings, rocking to the motion as she stammers a squeaked mumble. What she said doesn’t matter; her rosy lips are the thief that stole my attention.

I take her hand and kiss the back of it, murmuring heartfelt compliments to the silence. She returns a compliment, her words hobbling along the way, but my heart croons at the imperfection.

And it’s her imperfections that stopped her from bolting out the door the other day. The way I exposed myself to her came out stronger than necessary, but I suppose it worked in my favor. She saw a shift of attitude, something that triggered her instincts, and either ignored or welcomed the crackling façade.

Strange girl.

From the recounts of her sister’s relationships, I’d say she’s used to a vulgar demeanor and foolishly filters them into the realm of normalcy.

Credit goes to where it's due, and her sister earned half a seat at our wedding.

“It’s time for our reservation,” I say, steering her to the door where a pair of elegant heels are.

Shoes, other than indoor slippers, do not leave the designated area by the door. And barn animals need to learn it. Countless times, I've been invited to a function by business connections, and they wear shoes at their own or the host's home. Every time, a small amount of respect is lost.

The elites have their standards, but I’d rather follow what is comfortable. I can be rich and not host parties, just Anya and me in our home, laughing at trivial things and smearing paint on clean skin.

Staying home for Valentine’s Day is ideal, but she could use some fresh air after being cooped in the house for days. I get to see her dolled up, inviting the devious beast to devour her while she blinks innocently up at me.

My throat bobs, swallowing heavily as I palm the bottom of her feet to slide the heels on. The dainty strap around her ankle emphasizes the vulnerability of her bones. My hand can wrap around her ankle and snap it with a little force, not too much to have broken bone tear her skin, but to render her unable to escape.

Once the seed is planted, it’ll grow on days that nobody expects. Plucking the irritating roots and pouring a slab of concrete on it would surely kill her desire to run.

Where we stand is a complex matter. After our last conversation, an intervention on my part, we start cohabitation again. I deleted her resignation email when she browsed for job listings, and she resumed as my assistant.

She mentioned rent and showed excessive pride in being independent, so I let her pay.

Neither of us talk about the rings on our fingers. It’s a symbol of who I belong to, and I care dearly for the band.

I’ll keep the old ones in a safe place when we exchange rings as legal husband and wife. We were hasty in choosing, and there are more fitting ones than what she has now. It won’t be difficult to find someone to customize the rings, one unique as our love story.

“Ready?” I ask, flattening my suit as she nods.

The restaurant is a ten-minute drive with traffic. Anya doesn’t mind the slowness, opting to stare in awe at the jolly decorations on the streets and couples giggling in each other’s ears.

---