Page 14 of Blade's Princess

Blade

The fuck?!

Instead of celebrating her nineteenth birthday, she was beaten, tossed out of the house, and forced to sleep in her car. The knowledge burns my gut like acid, fueling the rage I've barely contained since finding her.

She's beautiful even in sleep, especially in sleep—when the wariness leaves her face and she looks peaceful. Her golden hair spills across my pillow, her lips slightly parted.

I shift uncomfortably in the leather chair where I've spent the night. My body aches from the awkward position, but I don't regret it. I'd spend a thousand nights upright if it’s next to her.

She stirs, eyelids fluttering open. For a moment, confusion clouds her face, then recognition dawns, followed by a smile so sweet it makes my chest ache.

"Good morning," she murmurs, voice husky with sleep.

"Morning, princess." The endearment slips out again naturally. "How do you feel?"

She stretches cautiously, wincing as her movement pulls at her bruised ribs. "Sore, but good.”

I cross to the bed, perching on the edge to check her injuries. The bruise around her eye has darkened overnight, a purple-black stain on her fair skin. Her split lip looks slightly better, but I know from experience that her ribs will take a while to heal properly.

"You should've taken the bed," she says, watching me roll my shoulder to work out a kink. "I would've been fine on the chair."

"I've slept worse places," I dismiss her concern.

She sits up, and the neckline of my t-shirt slips off one shoulder. My mouth goes dry at the sight of her collarbone, the delicate hollow at the base of her throat. I force my gaze away, standing abruptly.

"Hungry?" I ask, my voice rougher than intended.

She nods, sliding out of bed. The shorts hang low on her hips despite the drawstring pulled tight.

"Bathroom's all yours," I tell her, moving to the door. “When you’re finished, we’ll go down to breakfast. I’ll be waiting outside when you're ready."

In the hallway, I lean against the wall, dragging a hand down my face. This is torture—having her so close, wanting her so badly, but knowing she needs time to adjust. The last thing I wan too to scare her by coming on too strong.

When she emerges, hair combed and face washed, she looks…young. And vulnerable. But there's a new light in her eyes that wasn't there yesterday—a tiny spark that I want to feed until it grows.

"Ready?" I ask, offering my hand without thinking.

She takes it, her small palm fitting perfectly into mine, and I tighten my grip slightly, irrationally afraid she might slip away.

The main area of the clubhouse is unusually quiet as we approach. I can hear low murmurs and the occasional clink of dishes from the kitchen. Sophie walks close beside me, not quitetouching but near enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body.

When we enter the kitchen?—

"SURPRISE!" a chorus of voices shouts, making her jump. I place a steadying hand at the small of her back.

The kitchen is decorated with hastily hung streamers and a banner that reads "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" in uneven letters. Angel stands beside a slightly lopsided cake with nineteen candles, beaming. Ghost, Cipher, Hawk, Saint, and several other brothers cluster around the table, looking awkward but sincere in their celebration.

Sophie's eyes are like saucers, her hand is over her mouth, and suddenly I’m second guessing myself. Did I do the right thing here? Damn, I probably should have let her settle in more before springing something like this on her.

“You said yesterday was your birthday," I explain softly. "Thought you deserved a proper celebration."

All I had to do was spread the word last night while she slept and my brothers stepped up.

Tears fill her eyes, and I panic. I fucked up.

But then a smile breaks across her face like sunrise, radiant and genuine.

"I can't believe you did this," she whispers, voice thick with emotion.

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