Page 102 of Dangerous Beginnings

Because I haven’t been able to protect anyone before. I fucking failed before.

I stop dead in my tracks, staring at her sleeping form. My heart clenches with the worst realization of all—not just that I might fail to protect her from the outside threats, but that I might be the danger she truly needs saving from. My emotions have turned violent, and possessive, something I barely recognize in myself- for someone.

With a growl, I stride into the living room and hurl the empty whiskey bottle onto the floor. Glass shatters, shards scattering across the hardwood. It’s not enough. The fury, the fear—it all bubbles over. My arm sweeps across the kitchen counter, sending glasses crashing to the ground in a symphony of destruction.

But none of it quiets the voice in my head.

I mixed a sleeping pill in her water earlier, watching her gulp it down without question. She looked exhausted, her shoulders heavy with the weight of the world I dragged her into. She doesn’t deserve another sleepless night, haunted by fears she doesn’t yet know are waiting outside the door.

I sink onto the couch, head in my hands, as the rage inside me simmers. My pocket is heavy with sleeping pills, the weight of them a temptation I can’t resist. I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to feel.

I take four.

The darkness comes quickly, like a wave pulling me under.

Isabella

As I slowly awaken, I notice the absence of Aslanov beside me. Sitting up in bed, I wince at the soreness that spreads through my body, a lingering reminder of our passionate night together. I groan slightly. But the ache is faint and no longer painful.

Pushing aside the covers, I swing my legs over the edge of thebed, my muscles protesting with every movement. Wrapping the sheet around me, I make my way to the window, drawn by the soft light filtering through the glass.

Glancing over at the chair in the corner of the room I slowly turn around. It’s positioned directly at the bed and the light above it still shines; he’s been watching me. I scrunch my nose at his absence. A slight panic rises in me.Did he leave?

My bare feet tap onto the wooden floor that cracks beneath me as I make my way over to the door. I push it open. An eerie creak fills the cabin and as I’m just about to set foot in the living room I stop. My bare feet rested above the shattered glass.

My gaze slowly moves up, a confrontation with the mess of the room. There’s glass everywhere around the counter, and some furniture has been knocked over.

I carefully make my way into the living room without touching the shattered glass around me. And when I reach the fireplace next to the couch I stop in my tracks.

My heart skips a beat at the sight of him, a mixture of apprehension and longing swirling within me. He looks so distant, so untouchable, and I can’t shake the feeling of vulnerability that washes over me.

He’s knocked out cold.

I carefully approach him, a wave of concern washes my face as I spot a bottle of pills in his hand, clutching tightly. I gently take the bottle out of his fingers and set it down on the table next to the couch.

My hand comes down on his forehead, he’s not hot. He’s simply in a very deep sleep. Despite my own raging emotions, I gather the bedsheets from the bedroom and carefully place them over his large body. I tuck the sheets in under him and gently lift his arm from underneath the blanket. He stirs a little, a painful expression on his pale face. It’s in this moment that I can see behind the hardened exterior, and meet a more tender, unsuresoul. The curtains are still closed in the living room and the entire cabin is a mess. I look around as my eyes fall onto his gun, openly on the table. I swallow down my emotions and gather my thoughts. What the hell have I done? What am I doing? Seriously, check me into a mental asylum.

I groan as I rub the sleep out of my eyes. My body is sore everywhere. His entire DNA is spread over me, under me, and in me.

My wrists look like shit, my feet as well, and honestly my face too. My neck is covered in his doing, marking my pale skin. Reminders of what we did last night. Does he regret it? He looks ever so regrettable. Acid creeps its way into my veins. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did.

Aslanov

I groan as sunlight hits my face. I check my watch, “Blyat!”Fuck.

It’s already afternoon. I’m covered in bedsheets and when I check my gun holster, it’s empty. Where the fuck is my gun? I sit up and rub my stubbles while adjusting to the sudden light. Gazing around my eyes, I fall onto the kitchen table where my gun rests. I take a deep breath, but as I begin to calm down my nerves speed up again within a second. Where is she?

I immediately get up, throwing the bedsheets behind my back on the couch. I pull my boots on as I scan the room, “Isabella?!”

No answer.

I tie the laces together and secure the gun back in my holster. Beside it is my coat, putting it on over my hoodie I call out her name again. This time silence greets me again. My chest begins to rise and fall a little faster and uncertainties fill me, panic. And it’s slowly rising, like the tide. A wave, a storm inside of me at her absence. And as I scan the room, I notice the shattered glass is gone. Did she clean? Where did she go?

I make my way to the bedroom, the bathroom, and any otherroom of the cabin but she isn’t anywhere. I burst through the front door as a warmer breeze hits me, immediately followed by a colder one. I scan the view laid out in front of me, nothing. No small redhead woman.

“Isabella!” I thrash around the cabin, maybe she’s in the garden. But she isn’t. She’s nowhere. And just as I begin to lose my sanity and almost want to call for help, for a fucking searching for her, I catch a glimpse of her. Instant relief fills me.

She’s on the opposite side of the lake. Immediately I make my way over to her, the walk taking longer than I want it to. I clutch my knuckles to my sides, anger consuming me at her absence. Yet I know she has not intended it the way I perceive it.Gentle Aslanov.I mentally laugh at my comment. Never thought I’d have to use that word again, let alone act on it. But here I am, doing exactly that.

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