Page 65 of Vengeful Vows

I allow his snapped comment to affect my vocal cords for only the quickest second. “Th-that’s the point I’m trying to make.Theychose to abuse.Theychose to act on their delusions.Theychose to ignore consent and a person’s God-given right to give it.Theychose, Ark. Just likewechoose to do the opposite.” It hurt to hear him say he believes all survivors turn intoabusers, but I know in my heart he doesn’t honestly believe I am capable of hurting Tillie. “We know the pain, so we would never…” My words fade to silence as my eyes slide to Tillie’s bedroom door. “I wouldneverdo that to her.”

I choke back a sob when Ark mutters my name in vain. “Mara…Fuck. That wasn’t what I meant. You wouldneverhurt Tillie.” He steps closer, the honesty in his eyes bursting through the protective bubble into which I’m trying to fold myself. “I know that.”

He stops just before he reaches me when I reply, “Just like I know you would never harm her either.” I dance my eyes between his, the pain in them weakening with each bounce. “What happened to us doesn’t make us monsters, Ark. It makes us strong. We survived. Wesurvivedthem.”

My eyes stop stinging with tears when Ark snatches up my wrist and pulls me into his chest. They stream down my cheeks and soak into his shirt until there are no more left to shed.

28

ARKADIY

Acreak discloses Mara’s tiptoe into the kitchen half a second before her scent. I take a moment to gather my thoughts before placing a dollop of milk into a freshly brewed coffee and then spinning to face her.

My breath catches when our eyes lock. She should be looking at me in horror, disgusted by the ugliness of the skeletons in my closet.

Her expression isn’t anything close to appalled.

She looks radiant and relaxed. I’d even go as far as saying free. She doesn’t look close to a woman who fell asleep on my lap for two hours with her hands knotted in her dressing gown so her fight to touch me would never be defeated.

A shiver racks through me when I recall how desperately I wanted her to lose her battle. Our stumble from the entryway of her apartment to the sofa in the living room presented the perfect excuse, but she was as scared to touch me as I am to admit I want her hands on me.

I’m not scared because I believe she is capable of physically hurting me. It is wondering how she will react to a quirk Iobtained from years of abuse, and if it will change the headrush that bombards me every time she looks at me.

The crinkle between my brows smooths a smidge when Mara asks, “Have you eaten this evening?”

It is a struggle for her not to stutter. It is only achieved with conscious effort, but I appreciate how far she will go to hide her fear from me. She is determined to prove I am trustworthy, and I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve her faith.

Her smile when I shake my head shoots a rush of desire through me, soothing some of the agitation our nap on the couch didn’t take care of. “Are you hungry?”

Her smile doubles when I murmur, “More like starving.”

“Shall we eat in or out?” Her nose screws up when she floats into the kitchen to check her cupboards and refrigerator for supplies. Her act of having guests over is so natural that it feels like we’ve been living together for years. “I have enough s-supplies to whip up a quick stir-fry, but that’s about it.”

“Stir-fry sounds great.” I join her by the refrigerator before peering at the limited supplies inside. “Though I wouldn’t recommend using that chicken breast. It is looking a little funky.”

The expression I was expecting earlier jumps onto Mara’s face when she sniffs the chicken breast I purchased to make Tillie soup. “That’s bad.”

I fetch my wallet from the hallway table and stuff it into the back pocket of my trousers, happy to use a three-block walk to get my head screwed on straight and to check in with my team on Paarth’s choice of punishment. “I’ll run down to the grocer. Is there anything else you need bar chicken?”

A dark lock not secured by Mara’s loose braid falls into her face when she shakes her head. It barely flaps in the briskness of her shake before she says, “Can I come with you?” Whensuspicion highlights my features, she adds, “I often don’t realize I need something until I s-see it on the shelf.”

I know what she is doing, but I don’t hate her inability to give a man space when he needs it as much as I do Rafael’s clinginess.

“Okay. If you think your ankle is up to it, I’m fine with you joining me.” I lower my eyes down her body in a long, dedicated sweep. “Though you should probably get dressed first. You still have another fifty-plus years before you’re close to the age where you’ll get away with wearing a dressing gown in public. I’m considering a change-up next week.”

I’m hinting at the obvious difference in our ages, but she acts oblivious.

“I’m allergic to cats, so if dressing gowns are your thing, go for it.” She smiles at me in a way that gets my heart racing before she exits the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

For several long minutes, I watch the direction she went before I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and send a quick text.

Me:

We’re heading to the grocer in ten.

As expected, Darius answers without delay, proving he is as on alert to answer my every whim during ungodly hours as he is during the day.

Darius:

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