Page 44 of Sanctuary

“Don’t apologize.” I hesitated, then asked, “Want to talk about it?”

She drew her knees to her chest, making herself smaller. “It was Craven. He was...” She trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.

A surge of protective rage washed through me. “He can’t hurt you anymore. We made sure of that.”

“I know.” She looked up at me, vulnerability etched across her features. “Thank you for coming for me. For stopping him from raping me. For killing him. For not giving up on me.”

I nodded. “I would never give up on you… Was that the only time he tried to have his way with you?”

“Yes. And you stopped him.”

The woman before me seemed so different from the cold-blooded assassin she’d confessed to being.

“Try to get some more sleep,” I said finally, moving to return to my own bed.

Her hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. “Stay with me?” she asked, then immediately released me as if burned. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“It’s okay,” I found myself saying, though every instinct warned against it. “Move over.”

She shifted, making room, and I carefully lay down beside her, maintaining a small space between us. For a long moment, we both lay rigid, keenly aware of each other.

Then, gradually, she moved closer, until I could feel the warmth of her against my side. Without thinking, I lifted my arm, and she curled against me, her head finding that spot on my chest that seemed made for her.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” I said quietly into the darkness.

I felt her slight nod against my chest. “I know.”

“But I will protect you,” I continued. “From Matheson, from my family—from whatever comes next.”

Her arm tightened around my waist. “Why?”

It was a fair question. One I’d been asking myself since she came back into my life.

“Because despite everything, you’re still my wife,” I answered, the words surprising even me. “And I meant what I said in those vows.”

She was quiet for so long I thought she might have fallen asleep. Then I felt the wetness on my chest, warm tears soaking through my shirt.

“I never thought I’d hear those words,” she whispered. “Not from anyone, and especially not from you. Not after what I’ve done.”

I found my fingers threading through her hair, a gesture that felt both foreign and familiar. “I’m not saying I understand everything. Or that I’ve forgiven everything. But I need you to know that.”

The steady rhythm of rain against the windows filled the silence between us. Outside, the world was dark and dangerous, filled with people who wanted us dead. But in this moment, in this bed, we had created something like a sanctuary.

“When this is over,” she said hesitantly, “if we survive—”

“We will survive,” I cut in, surprising myself with my certainty.

“When it’s over,” she continued, “what happens to us?”

It was the question I’d been avoiding since discovering her identity. The future stretched before us like a minefield – my family’s expectations, her shadowy past, the violence that seemed to follow us both.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But we’ll figure it out together.”

She shifted, raising herself up on one elbow to look at me as my hand trailed along her back. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, her eyes searched mine.

“I’ve never had a ‘together’ before,” she said. “I was trained to be alone. To need no one.”

My hand stilled. “Oh really?” I replied, jealousy burning within me. “Would you care to explain who the man was that you were kissing at the altar?”

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