Page 41 of Burn Like An Angel

“That’s it, Xan.” My throat thickens as my conflicting emotions battle it out. “You’re safe.”

The urge to climb into bed with him and hold this fragile version of the psychopath I thought I knew is overwhelming. In this moment, he looks so lost. So alone. So irreparably broken.

I know what that’s like.

I’ve been so alone it physically aches.

Xander is evil, capable of inflicting incomprehensible cruelty. I know he craves pain and humiliation. To him, love is degradation. Power. Control. It’s all he knows, and that’s why he targeted me.

Being evil doesn’t mean the person is all bad, though.

We contain multitudes.

There are a million reasons why he deserves to be left to battle his nightmares alone. Anyone saner would take one look at the terrifying brutality inside him and run away. But… fuck, there’s something comforting about his capacity for violence.

How would it feel to have that power on my side? I’ve been alone for so long, I don’t know what it’s like to be defended by someone. To have the protection of another human being—even one who once hurt me.

When I try to put some space between us, a low moan rumbles from Xander’s throat. His eyelids move, and before I can pull away, his weapon-free hand snaps out to capture my wrist in an iron-tight grip.

His long fingers tense, digging deep into the barely-healing wounds that ring my wrist. The hot throb of pain makes my breath catch, and at that tiny noise, his eyes suddenly fly open.

“No!” he shouts.

“Xan! It’s me!”

Unseen ghosts haunt his shadowy cobalt orbs as the knife flicks out and swoops towards my face. I duck before he can stab me, trying to capture his attention so he can see it’s me.

“Xander! Stop!”

Panting hard, he looks at me. The palpable fear warping his face into a child-like caricature morphs into surprise when he realises I’m the one touching him.

My chest expands with relief when he lowers the pocketknife. For the first time, he stares back at me with no defences intact.

Holy. Shit.

The truth is plain as day, written in blinding lights. He can’t hide his secrets in this state. In his uncertain stare, I can see the tormented reality he hides behind cold smiles and indifference.

“Let go,” I whisper in a small voice. “You’re hurting me.”

“Ripley?”

“It’s me. You were crying out in your sleep. I thought…”

Not sure what to say, I purse my lips. He’s still clasping my wrist, blinking hard to clear the sleepy fog from his mind.

Xander licks his lips. “You heard.”

“Does this happen often?”

He looks away, blinking several times before answering. “Sometimes.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“Nothing,” he replies flatly.

“That didn’t look like nothing. You nearly stabbed me.”

I wouldn’t have put it past the old him to use physical violence, though that’s more Lennox’s style. Xander prefers mind games and careful manipulation.

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