Page 43 of Vow of Silence

Motherfucker… Turns out I still have a heart.My chest aches with pressure from the swollen organ.

Her attention stays on me as I turn my head and place a kiss on her lingering palm.

I hate having to talk to you this way,

I tap out afterward, trapping her hand when she tries to pull away.

Let me try another way.

A gentle nod. A simple gesture. It’s everything in the grand scheme of things.

I use my redundant right hand to pull her closer, my palm wrapped snugly against her nape. She fights the tiniest bit, the barest pressure against my hold. Yet, my bride-to-be allows enough give that I can manipulate her to sit exactly how I want her.

Closer.

Nastasya may say she doesn’t want to forgive me, but her actions speak louder when she allows me control in this way. I run the pad of my thumb across her high cheekbone, then shift to drag the digit down her delicate nose. She pulls a deep, fortifying breath; her eyelids slide closed at the touch. I continue the caress, fascinated by the changes over the years. Muscle memory makes me want to seek out the supple lines I remember, yet I force myself to continue the gentle trace of her features to commit new contours to memory.

I’m certain she’s the same underneath, but my gut tells me that the additions to her character aren’t as brutal as mine. Where I hardened to the life we live, adding armor to my soul to protect it from the betrayal and heartache that time as a made man entails, she allowed the blows to make holes in her shield. I see the pain, the confusion, and the resentment toward a life we didn’t choose. Nastasya didn’t opt for the underworld, nor did I. We were born into this without considering whether our personalities could weather the constant storm.

You harden to your surroundings, or you let them consume you.

I’m solid as a rock. But there isn’t much of Nastasya left.

Her breath whispers across my lips, my mouth so fucking close. I ache to taste her, to run my tongue across the swell of her top lip. It thickens my armor to know that I physically can’t.

She sighs when my mouth brushes hers, tilting her elegant chin slightly higher to welcome my affection. I may not be able to kiss her with passion and fire, but I can fucking well do it with conviction.

I ghost my lips across hers once more, my armor slipping at the memory of how she felt all those years ago. It’s bittersweet to do so, but I mix the memories with the present to fill in the missing pieces: her flavor, the pressure of her tongue against mine.

The erotic nature of two people engaged in an all-consuming French kiss.

Fuck, I’d give my right nut to be able to slide my tongue across hers again. For one more taste.

“What’s wrong?” She presses her forehead against mine after breaking the connection, hands encasing my face in her hold.

I pull away and face the side window, wiping away the singular trace of my humanity before it can reach my jaw. I thought kissing her would make Stas feel better—help her forget why we’re here.

All it did was remind me of what I lost.

I entertain the fantasy of killing my uncle one more time. Ironically, I can taste his fear; the vision is so strong in my mind.

“What did I do?”

I whip my head around at her whispered words. Ineverwant her to blame herself for what I can’t provide—or receive. This wasn’t her doing, and it’s not her burden.

You did everything right,

I weakly tap out before shifting the Defender into gear.

I need to get her home. I need to put space between us before I do something stupid.

Like let love win.

NINETEEN

Nastasya

Ibarely slept a wink because of that motherfucker. My eyes burn, begging me to rub closed fists into the sockets. I roll to my back and stare at the daylight that creeps into the room around my blinds. Ivan arrives today to take over my watch from Marcus. I used that detail to motivate me to sneak out last night—one last hurrah before the king of emotionless assholes arrives. I knew stepping foot outside these walls would be dangerous without protection.

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