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“Relax,” I tell her, cupping her face in my hands. It’s so small compared to my palms, the urge to protect her grows even bigger in my chest. I wipe the tears off her cheeks with my thumbs. “Those fuckers aren’t gonna get anywhere near you ever again. I promise you that.”
She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand, trying to back away from my clasp. My jaw tightens, and I keep her in place. Forcing her to look into my eyes that feel like they’re blazing.
“You’re under my protection, pretty poet. If I haven’t sworn it to you before, I’m doing it now.”
She goes completely still, her eyes wide as they search mine.
She knows what that means. A Heathen King swearing protection to someone is sacred. Once made, such a promise cannot be broken. In the outside world, we don’t need a code of conduct. But we do have a code of honor. And once those words are spoken, in that shape, they’re an adamant chain around our necks. Which is why she stares at me like I’m an alien right now.
“So relax, you’re not going to jail,” I whisper close to her face. Then, before I know it, I plant a soft kiss on her forehead. My eyes closed, I enjoy the feel of her skin on my lips.
When I make some distance between us to look at her face again, she’s utterly stunned.
“Why would you–” she tries, but her voice cracks.
“Because I owe it to you. After what happened at the party, I–” I fail to find an excuse for myself. I followed the urges of a jealous man. It made me bitter to the bone that she’d given her virginity to someone else. It enraged me that she put herself in a situation where porn footage of her made the rounds.
Not anymore. I don’t care about that damn video, I know who she is. I looked inside her heart before we even spoke a word. When she still believed I was a distant rich boy that didn’t even acknowledge her existence. But before I realized that nothing she could ever do would quench this fire I have for her, I hurt her. I scared her. I unleashed my demons on her. For that, I deserve to go through that mock execution again, and have my whole face riddled with cuts. I’ll do that for her myself one day, if that’s what it takes to heal her, but right now she needs me to kick some ass.
I expect her to hiss at me like a cat, pushing me away, but she doesn’t.
“It wasn’t your fault. I was an idiot to give myself to Dean.” She shakes her head as much as the clasp of my hands allows, casting her eyes down, trying to hide from me. I hold her face up.
“That bastard played his part well. He’d put on the mask of the benign nice guy, Mr. I Hear You, Mr. Feminist. You couldn’t have known. Nobody could.”
“When he asked to film me the first time–”
No, I can’t go there yet. My teeth grind together dangerously.
“Don’t.”
She stops abruptly, trying to control her sniffling. I pull her into my arms, and she accepts it, even though I believe she’s doing it more out of shock than any need for my warmth the way I need hers.
“Do you know what really happened to Dean?” she whispers, her body turning mellow against mine.
The muscles in my back tighten. “Why do you care what happened to that piece of shit?”
“I just wish–” She stops for a beat, then decides on pure honesty. “I can’t let him get away with having taken my dignity.”
“He won’t.”
