Page 65 of Sanctuary of the Shadow
He did know, however, that he felt some unidentifiable, intense emotion for her that frightened him because he was powerless against it. Against her. It was why he’d asked about love in the first place—he wanted to know if there was a name to give the feeling.
But this did not feel beautiful or wonderful. It felt dangerous. Like he was standing on the edge of a precipice with his wings bound, about to fall.
Perhaps that was why he craved control over her in sex—because he needed to feel in control of something. She didn’t have a clue how much power she had over him in every other way. In fact, even when he dominated her in sex, she still controlled him.
He would kill anyone who threatened her. He would do unspeakable, terrible acts to defend her. He would annihilate anyone or anything to possess her. It consumed him.
He lay awake each night, Harrow asleep in his arms, and stared at her, wondering what she had done to take such a hold over him. He feared what he would become if anything happened to her. He feared what he would become if he was ever forced to live without her.
Whatever it was would be dark and deadly. A scourge upon the world.
He could only pray to the Goddess he never had to see it happen.
The last five days had been by far the most enjoyable of his short memories—something so obvious it hardly warranted acknowledgment. But those five days had also, in a way, been worse than any torture he had endured because they had done what torture could not—given him a glaring weakness. A breaking point. A definite end to his sanity outside his control.
Harrow had made him feel whole, with her radiant smile and compassionate heart and her perfect acceptance of him, and now, she could so easily break him.
“Does that make sense?” she asked.
He nodded because he sensed she would prefer not to discuss this any further, not because he was satisfied with his understanding. But it seemed this was a matter that could not be grasped after one conversation.
Indeed, his response seemed to relax her, and she lay back down. He drew her into his arms while she pressed her cheek to his chest, and he had to fight the urge to crush her against him. Sometimes he felt as though she would slip away like fine sand between his fingers if he didn’t clutch her tightly enough.
“What are you thinking?” she murmured after a prolonged silence. She often asked him that—he supposed he didn’t speak his mind enough. He was trying to do it more to please her. He would do anything to please her.
“I’m thinking that I would do unspeakable things to protect you,” he replied honestly because she’d told him she appreciated that quality, “and that frightens me.”
“Raith.” Her silver eyes softened as she tilted her head back and placed a hand on his cheek. “I feel the same way about you.”
Though he believed she did feel some kind of protectiveness toward him, he doubted she understood the full weight of his words. He didn’t think she’d believe the level of violence he was capable of in her name.
Again, he could only pray to the Goddess she would never need to know.
Eventually, they rose from the bed to wash and dress. They’d already eaten their evening meal—feeding each other bite by bite was what had commenced that night’s round of lovemaking in the first place—and Harrow placed the dirty dishes outside in the hall for the staff to collect.
When he emerged from the washroom, he found Harrow staring out the window. Her brow was furrowed, her fingers clenched on the frame, a small frown turning down the corners of her mouth.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, because two could play at her game.
“I’m worried about Malaikah. Wondering why she hasn’t visited us yet. And to be honest, I’m feeling a little claustrophobic. We haven’t been outside in days. I want to see the stars, the moon. Breathe fresh air.”
Disliking the idea of her being unhappy, Raith immediately tried to think of a solution. He couldn’t do anything about Malaikah—he’d promised Harrow not to leave without her agreement unless it was an emergency. But perhaps he could help with her second problem.
“We could go onto the roof,” he suggested.
“How? We can’t go out to look for stairs up there, and I’m not even sure they exist anyway.”
“I could climb through the window to the top with you on my back.”
Harrow turned from the window to stare at him. “You could? I mean, I already know you can climb, but wouldn’t it be too much with my added weight?”
He shook his head. “You’re not heavy.”
She started to smile, and a laugh bubbled out of her. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
He opened the window wide and then crouched before her, facing away. “Climb on.”
With another giggle that made that ache in his chest twinge, she did, and he climbed through, moving carefully so as not to hit her on the frame. Once through, he perched easily on the sill, unsheathing his claws before scaling the building. The rough stone surface had many easy handholds, and, just as before, he climbed without difficulty.
