Page 131 of The Delta's Rogue
I take a moment to breathe.
A moment. A second. A minute. An hour. I don’t know how long we sit under the steaming water, but neither of us moves. We let the water flow over us. We let it wash everything away, let it absolve us of our pasts and our transgressions.
When the tears stop, I turn off the shower. Then I scoop Sarina into my arms. Water sloshes in my shoes, gushing out through the seams with every step. It drips from my pants and my suit jacket and pools on the floor in asymmetrical puddles. I grab a towel to cover the slippery spots.
I set Sarina on her feet and wrap a second towel around her. She hugs it closed, and I rub her to help her keep warm before combing my fingers through her hair.
“Your suit is ruined.” Sarina’s fingers brush over a lapel.
“My suit?” I scoff and peel the sopping wet jacket from my torso. “I can replace my suit.” The coat falls to the floor with a plop and a splash, and I cup her cheeks with my hands. “I can’t replace you.” I kiss her forehead softly. Then I grab my T-shirt and wrap my arm around her waist as I lead her from the bathroom. “Let’s get you in bed.”
On the foot of the bed, I’m relieved to see a pair of sweatpants for me and a pair of leggings for Sarina. I don’t know if someone brought them in while we were in the shower, or if they were here before and I overlooked them, but I am grateful either way.
I stop at the foot and face Sarina. She stares at me, her eyes once more fractured and empty. Any trace of her former self—of that sassy spark—is gone, replaced by this broken version of Sarina.
She waits for me to tell her what to do. I feel it with everything in me. She’ll follow my wishes without a second thought. If I tell her to sleep on the floor wrapped in her wet towel, she’ll curl up into a ball at the foot of the bed.
When I finally get my hands on those fuckers behind that trafficking operation, they’ll wish they were never born.
“Is it okay if I dress you?” I ask through the lump in my throat.
She releases her towel as her answer. It falls to the floor, and she waits for me to dress her, arms hanging at her sides.
I hate the ease with which she exposes her body to me. It’s not due to a comfortable intimacy we’ve cultivated over the course of our relationship. It’s because of the brainwashing and the manipulation, and Goddess knows what else they put her through when she was with them, so she’d be a compliant plaything for the male who bought her.
I lift the shirt over her head, and she slides her arms into the sleeves. As the hem rolls down her body, I glimpse a series of tattoos on her ribs for a split second before the fabric hides them from my sight. My brow furrows, but I push the curiosity away for the time being. Instead, I grab the leggings from the bed and hold them out for her to step into.
“I’m going to change, okay?” I drape the towel over my shoulder. “It will only take me a minute.”
She nods, her fingers sliding around the waistband of the leggings as she adjusts their positioning.
I grab the sweatpants and race into the bathroom. I strip off the soaking wet suit and rub the remaining dry towel across my body and over my hair so I can remove as much water as possible. Once I’m dry, I practically jump into the sweatpants, hang up the towels, turn off the lights, then rush out of the bathroom.
Sarina sits in the center of the king-sized bed, hugging her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. She stares straight ahead, eyes vacant and exhausted, but her tension is persistent. Ingrained.
Goddess only knows how long it will take for it to lessen.
I crouch down next to the foot of the bed, bringing my gaze level with hers. “Are you ready to go to bed?”
She blinks, and her eyes dart around the room, landing on various spots before they meet mine. A strand of tension unwinds from the rope tying her into tight knots, and she scoots towards the pillows.
I rise and follow her, walking along the edge of the bed. We grab the top of the comforter at the same time, and I help her pull it down so she can slide beneath the covers.
“Will you hold me?” She stares at me from the bed, the blankets tucked beneath her chin and her damp hair fanning out behind her on the pillow. The fragile earnestness with which she asks me tugs at my heart.
My lycan whimpers. His soul aches in tandem with mine. Our worry for her weaves together, magnifying what we each feel separately.
Her brokenness and exhaustion permeate into my bones. A fatigue unlike anything I’ve known before settles into my being. It’s a fatigue that will only ease with time and care. A fatigue we can only relieve from each other.
“Of course I’ll hold you.” I turn the lamp on the nightstand off, then climb into the bed.
Our bodies drift together. We meet in the center, unable to be kept apart, and our arms wrap around each other. She clings to me, fingers linking behind me, and I rub her back in long strokes while my nose presses into the top of her head.
“I’m afraid to fall asleep,” Sarina confesses in a hoarse whisper, her voice betraying her emotions and her exhaustion. “What if you’re gone when I wake up?”
With a kiss to her hair, I shake my head. “I promise that won’t happen. I promise I will always be here when you wake up.”
She snuggles further into my embrace. Her cheek rests against my chest, and her hold on me tightens. To an observer, she’d seem relaxed, but her heart pounds and her muscles strain, hinting at the anxiety lingering within her.
