Page 3 of Securing Her Innocence
I grunt, pulling her door open. “It’s secure. That’s all that matters.”
My body aches with the need to haul her against me, to bury my face in her inky black hair and inhale her scent until the dark, hot hunger consuming me subsides. But it’s too soon. I can’t maul this poor creature. Not yet. I’m the dark, formidable monster, and she’s the sun I’m fighting not to swallow whole.
“Inside. Now.” The command is sharper than I intended, but I need her off the street.
She scurries out, her frame swallowed by the oversized coat I draped over her on the way to the car. Inside the safe house, I lay down the rules in a deep, stern voice, letting her know I’m in charge when it comes to her safety.
“No lights on the north side. Windows stay locked. You talk only to me. You eat what I give you.”
She nods rapidly, trying to absorb the rules, but her breath is hitching. “Understood. All of it. But… but Kai, I have a business to run. Oh, God, I have two important orders for tomorrow. Lilies for the mayor’s wife and a fancy baby shower. I still need to order the flowers and?—”
Her words dissolve into a ragged gasp.
I turn back from securing the inner door, and the sight of her stops my heart. She is sliding down the bare wall, clutching the collar of my jacket, her knuckles white. Her face is slick with sweat, her eyes darting like trapped birds.
Annika’s luscious curves are wrapped in my jacket, which does nothing to hide the soft roundness of her figure. Her long midnight black hair has mostly fallen out of the messy bun she'sbeen wearing, giving her an even more frantic look. Annika’s locks are a silky curtain against the pale skin of her neck.
Her wide, beautiful hazel eyes, which seemed to shift color from gold to green depending on the light, are puffy and red-rimmed, making the curves of her cheeks appear even softer. Even in this disheveled, panicked state, Annika is adorable, a word that has never appeared in my lexicon before now.
The fast, shallow breaths are doing nothing but starving her for air.A panic attack. It hits me like a physical blow, the absolute powerlessness I feel watching my strength be utterly useless against this internal storm.
The hands that have crushed bone and silenced men, hands that are wide and scarred and perpetually curled for violence… they feel impossibly huge now, like instruments of destruction that should never touch something so fragile.
I drop to my knees, careful not to loom over her, making myself smaller. My voice is rough, a low rumble I have to force into a gentle cadence. “Annika. Look at me. Annika. Focus.”
She can’t. Her focus is fragmented, scattering into the terror. Wide, hazel eyes stare right through me, hollow and haunted. With every frantic, shallow breath she takes, a new wave of suffocating emotion crashes over me. Each terrified thought I see reflected there tightens the vise around my chest.
I reach out, not with my hands, but with my presence. My massive shoulder brushes her much smaller one, an anchor. I instruct her to match my breathing, slow and deep, then step away for a few short moments, looking around the kitchen for supplies to make her a warm drink. The physical sensation of heat will ground her back into her body. I return quickly with a mug of steaming chamomile tea held carefully between my palms.
“Here. Drink this, little flower. Slow sips.” I manage to press the warm mug into her trembling hands, my large, brutalfingers encircling hers to ensure she doesn’t spill it. It’s a small, immediate comfort.
I pull her gently to her feet. The full weight of her luscious curves leans into me, and I wrap an arm around her, supporting her wobbly legs. I feel the disparity intensely: her softness against the rock-hard plane of my chest.
“You’re okay. You’re safe,” I murmur. “I’m right here. No one touches you. You’re mine now, Annika. Onlymine.” The possessive murmur is unconscious, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through her, a promise of absolute possession and protection.
I look down, worried that my outburst might be too much for her to handle in this state. Instead, I see Annika nod her head slowly, silently accepting my devotion. Or maybe I’m just projecting.
Either way, she relaxes slightly, her shoulders drooping as I take more of her weight. My poor girl is exhausted, the adrenaline of the evening finally wearing off.
“I… I…” Annika hiccups as a few tears escape her tragically beautiful eyes.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I tell her. “Let’s get some rest, little flower. You’ve earned it.”
I guide her to the small, military-style cot tucked away in a little cove that constitutes the bedroom. I’ve never been one for frivolous things, but right now, I wish I had a king-sized canopy bed with a dozen fuzzy blankets and a mountain of frilly pillows to offer her. This precious woman doesn’t belong on scratchy canvas cots. I’ll just have to make it up to her when she moves in with me.
Shit. Reel it in, asshole. She’s vulnerable and terrified. Stop thinking about fucking your kid into her.
I somehow shocked myself with how far my inner monologue took the fantasy. Do I want a family? Never thought about it,really. But one look at Annika’s soft features, magical, multi-colored eyes, and slightly trembling lips, and I know I want everything with this angel.
Shaking my head of those thoughts, I focus back on the present moment. I sit with Annika on the cot, one hand steadying the tea, the other smoothing back the damp strands of hair clinging to her forehead. This simple act, this gentle, tender care, makes my enormous hands feel capable of something other than violence.
She finishes her drink without saying a word, then looks up at me like she’s not sure what’s next. Jesus, her watery, red-rimmed eyes blink at me, making her look like a lost little lamb. I’m the damn lion, but I’d never hurt her.
“Sleep now, Annika,” I whisper as I stand and adjust her position on the cot. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.” I feel the need to remind her every chance I get. I’m a stranger to her, a big, burly brute with a chip on my shoulder, but she needs to know I’ll only ever use my strength to protect her.
When the color finally returns to her cheeks, and her breathing evens out into soft puffs, I watch her drift off, utterly drained of energy. I pull the heavy wool blanket tight around her, tucking her in as if she were a precious, breakable doll.
I stare at her sleeping face for five long minutes, the vision of her terror already fueling a brutal rage in my gut. I need to claim her, to mark her, to make the world see she is under my absolute protection. But she needs sleep. She needs gentleness.
