Page 39 of The Warrior's Salvation

“Then give me what I want.”

His knee shifts higher, his grip tightening in my hair, and I realize, with sickening clarity, that he’s not bluffing. He didn’t come here to scare me. He came here to break me.

He rips the robe open without hesitation, yanking until the fabric gives. The belt slips from my waist. My hands go straight to my chest, trying to hold the pieces together, but he grabs my wrists and forces them above my head, pinning me to the wall. My bare skin hits cold plaster. The shock of it tears a sound out of me—shame and panic and rage tangled in my throat.

I twist, kick, slam my knee upward, but he shifts his weight fast and traps my legs. His hips grind into mine. His breath is on my face. His hand shoves the robe off my shoulders completely.

He looks down at me like I’m nothing.

I scream, sharp and guttural, fighting like something cornered. My fingernails catch his cheek, and he hisses, grabbing a fistful of my hair and wrenching my head back hard enough that I see stars. My chest is heaving now, fully exposed. His hand moves lower.

That’s when the door bursts inward.

The sound is deafening, the wall turning to powder as the handle flies into it. Lochlan storms in with the force of a hurricane, and Darren doesn’t even have time to turn before he’s tackled off me, his back hitting the ground with a crack.

Lochlan’s on top of him in a blink, fists already swinging. The first hit snaps Darren’s head sideways. The second splits his eyebrow wide open. Blood splatters across the floor in a crimson puddle. Darren grunts, scrambles, tries to reach for the gun—but Lochlan kicks it across the room without breaking rhythm.

He doesn’t speak. He beats.

Each punch lands with a thud of knuckle against bone. One after another, merciless, rhythmless. Darren’s face collapses under the weight of it—lip shredded, teeth loose, nose flattened. He chokes, blood pooling in his mouth, but Lochlan keeps going. His breathing is ragged, teeth bared. His hands are covered in Darren’s blood, the skin across his knuckles already split and raw.

Darren claws at the floor, tries to roll away, and gets dragged back by his collar and slammed against the side of the table. It breaks under him. Wood splinters across the tile. He screams, arm bent wrong, face unrecognizable.

Lochlan lifts him again, slams him to the ground.

“I'll kill you,” he growls, voice deep, barely human. “I'll fucking kill you.”

Darren flails, throws an elbow, misses. He kicks off the floor and somehow, barely, slips free. He stumbles toward the door, slipping in his own blood, and disappears across the lawn.

Lochlan stands there, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides.

And I collapse to the floor, shaking, robe hanging off my arms, exposed and broken and gasping for air.

He turns to me, face wild, eyes locked on mine, and for the first time, I know I’m safe. Because he came.

Lochlan’s already halfway to the door, chest still heaving, blood running down his hands and forearms. His jaw is clenched so hard I can see the muscles jumping under the skin, and there’s a look in his eyes that says he’s not finished. Not by a long shot.

“No, don’t,” I gasp, stumbling forward. I grab his wrist with both hands, nails digging into skin before I even realize how tight I’m holding. “Please. Don’t go after him.”

He tries to pull away, but I don’t let go. I slide in front of him, pressing my body against his, desperate, still half-naked, shaking so badly I can’t get the words out in order.

“I couldn’t… I didn’t know what to do, he said… he said if I didn’t help him he’d–he’d tell everyone about my father, about what he did, and then the union would fall, and he’d go to prison, and it would be my fault and I thought maybe if I stalled them long enough, I could find a way out, but then I saw Connelly and?—”

I choke on my own breath. My knees start to give, and he catches me by the arms, holding me upright.

“I didn’t mean for it to get this far,” I sob. “I thought I could fix it. I thought I could hide it.”

“Hide what?” His voice is low, rough, still barely human.

“Everything. The files, the copies, what I gave them. I didn’t even know how much they were using me. They said if I told anyone, they’d kill him. Or you. Or both. And then I found out I was pregnant and Mum—she’s making me marry Elvin, like that’ll erase everything, like I’m just supposed to start over and pretend none of this ever?—”

He grabs my face and kisses me.

Hard. Desperate. Like he’s trying to keep me from shattering into pieces. I melt into it, hands still fisted in his shirt, sobbing against his mouth. The kiss doesn’t ask. It takes. And I let it.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.

“You’re not marrying him,” he says quietly.

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