Page 10 of Blade's Princess

She shakes her head and rests a hand on her stomach. "I'm stuffed."

After a quick look at the food, still mostly uneaten, I nod reluctantly. "Okay, then I guess I'll show you where you can catch some Zs."

As I guide her through the clubhouse toward the back hallway, my brothers watch us. Saint rubs his throat, giving me a shit-eating grin as we pass. Fucker.

My room is upstairs near Ghost and Angel’s room. It's bigger than most, VP privilege, with its own small sitting area and bathroom. I unlock the door and let her enter first, watching to gauge her reaction.

It's not elaborate, but it's comfortable. King-sized bed with dark gray sheets and a black comforter. Heavy wooden dresser. Small desk with my laptop. One corner is taken up by two leather armchairs, a coffee table, and a TV. Weapons are mounted on the wall—my knife collection, some dating back to my military days, some antiques.

"This isyourroom?" she asks, standing uncertainly in the center, looking small and frail, but I instantly know I like her here in my space.

"Yeah." I close the door behind us. The room feels different with her in it—less like a place I crash and more like somewhere I might want tolive.

"It's nice," she offers, hugging herself.

"Bathroom's through there," I tell her, gesturing to the door in the corner. "Shower, clean towels. Help yourself."

She nods, glancing between me and the bed. The unspoken question hangs in the air.

“The bed’s yours,” I say, answering before she can ask. "I'll sleep in the chair."

Relief and something like disappointment flash across her face. Interesting.

"I can't take your bed."

"You can and you will." My tone brooks no argument. "You need rest, princess.Realrest, and not cramped in a freezing car."

Princess. It fits her—there's something regal about the way she carries herself despite everything, a quiet dignity.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks again, the same question from earlier. As if she can't wrap her head around someone helping her without expecting something in return.

I could give her any number of answers. Because it's the right thing to do. Because no one should live in fear. Because seeing her bruised and battered and sleeping in a freezing car made something primal and protective roar to life inside me.

Instead, I step closer, towering over her small frame. Her breath catches, but she doesn't step back. Brave little thing.

"Because you're mine now," I tell her simply. The possessiveness in my voice surprises even me, but it feels right—feels true in a way few things have. "And I take care of what's mine."

Her eyes widen, lips parting slightly. She doesn't understand yet what it means in my world—how claiming someone works in the MC life. In our club, when a brother puts a woman on the back of his bike, it's a statement. When he brings her to the clubhouse, introduces her to his brothers, defends herhonor, calls her his—that's a claim being staked. I've never done it before. Not even close. Not once in all my years with the Reapers.

Until her.

"I barely know you," she whispers, but there's no rejection in her voice. Just bewilderment. "I mean... you barely knowme."

"Doesn't matter. I know enough." I reach out, fingers hovering near her bruised cheek without touching, not wanting to cause her pain. I know her heart is kind and gentle. I know she’s been hurt by people who should have protected her. And I know I'm not letting anyone hurt her again.

Something shifts in her expression then, a fragile hope blooming behind her eyes. It makes her even more beautiful, that tiny spark of fragile trust.

"Go on," I tell her, nodding toward the bathroom. "Get cleaned up. I'll grab you a t-shirt and shorts."

She hesitates, then moves toward the bathroom, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. "Blade?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Chapter 5

Sophie

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