Page 18 of Savage Sin

I cross the room to her and slide my palm along the back of her neck and settle my thumb over the beat of her pulse. Strong. Steady. Like this, she’s defenseless and I feel a surge of protectiveness come over me. Bruises in the shape of fingers cover her shoulders and breasts. They didn’t show up the first night, but time has brought them out. I didn’t mean to look, but it was impossible not to when I checked for other wounds. Those same markings are on her abdomen and throat. Someone brutalized her and when I find them, I’m going to do the same to them.

I run my thumb along her jaw, memorizing the silky softness of her skin. She’s warm, but not hot. That’s good.

I trace the tips of my fingers over the smoothness of her forehead. “What secrets are you keeping, my sleeping princess?” I ask hoarsely. I consider her sleeping form. I tugged off that ratty shirt or dress or whatever it was. Dirt, grime and blood stained almost every inch. But I didn’t exactly have much to offer in its replacement except for the one thing I had on hand.

A spike of unbidden arousal shoots through me. I’m a rotten bastard for liking the way my cotton drapes over her breasts. More so for appreciating the view of her nipples pressing against the thin material. Is it my touch that has her body responding? The gentle breeze of the air conditioner?

I tug the blanket up higher and move back to my hard chair in the corner before my curiosity and intrigue test my morality.

Shadows cling to her delicate features. These are remnants of a fading high fever and not effects of poor lighting. Dark circles color the underside of her eyes and damn if it doesn’t make her look like a warrior instead of a frail, innocent woman near death.

She is far from innocent. Castel blood runs in her veins. But sleep gives her an angelic aura that has me thinking of ways to save her from myself and whatever fate had in store for her before we met.

For now, the medicines Seth dropped off yesterday are working.

Relief pushes out the desire to see her dead and damn if that doesn’t have me examining my head. What? Have I suddenly grown a damn heart?

I drag my hands through my hair.

I didn’t spend the last several days fighting to keep her alive out of kindness or because I’m a good man. Far from it. Ice pulses through my veins. Memories of my childhood. My father forcing a gun into my hands and all the blood my hands have spilled in the years in between then and now all collide with the weird need to protect this woman. What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with me?

A familiar grip of guilt tightens around my guts as my head and heart seesaw between killing her and keeping her alive.

Death and the weight it leaves behind on me are reminders I am here for a reason. And so is she. Saving souls and keeping people alive for no good reason is not part of the plan. I push to my feet and cross to the bed again. I take a few strands of her hair between my fingers. My dead heart heaves when hazel blinks up at me once. Twice. And then she goes back under. Seth’s pain medication is an asskicker.

I move to the door and pull out another smoke. I kept her breathing because I want to be the reason she’s dead. I need to remember that.

I light up, inhale. Release.

“Wake up sleeping beauty,” I urge with a singsong voice.

Another flutter of lashes and this time her fingers move. She blinks a few more times and I keep still. It’s not long before those pretty eyes start scanning the room.

I watch. She notices the empty bottle of whiskey. The metal pan filled with the now cleaned utensils I used on her. The empty chair.

And then she sees me.

Razor sharp focus hones in on my spot in the shadows and I swear to God, it’s as if she knows how to identify the danger in the room on instinct alone.

I’ve made a life out of reading people and using their weakness against them. And then I made sure not to have any of my own to keep them from being turned against me.

Then why haven’t you killed her?A voice asks me.

Because she pulls on heartstrings I thought I cut and burned the second my feet hit American soil. Connections and dreams make a person weak. I never wanted ties to anyone, but this woman has me thinking being alive is not entirely bad.

She flips from nearly dead to fucking viper mode between one eye blink and the next. I’d be turned on and throbbing hard if she were anyone else. Okay, fuck. I won’t lie. My dick is rock hard. The fight I recognize in her brings out the gold in her eyes and it pulls at the survival instinct in me. I want to cut those ropes and see just how far she could make it before I caught her.

My demons smile.

I roll her name over my tongue silently and play with the exotic enunciation.

Persephone.

Curiosity and anger brew a toxic potion and spread through me. I swallow the bitterness and ignore the burn in my veins. Her chest rises and falls because of me. She breathes calmly at first, but starts breathing heavier. She inhales deeply and exhales.

Should I touch her? Her sleeping self seemed to like my touch? Would she remain calm and talk to me?

“Who da fwuk aww uw? Whew da fwuk am I?” Her voice comes out as a soft, muffled croak, but I understand. I guess I have my answer, too. No touching and nothing will be easy with this one.

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