Page 22 of Possessive Vows

“How long will we be here?” I ask.

“Tonight. We will meet your brother tomorrow. Call your sister,” he says.

I eye the closed curtains and locked and barred door but don’t dare ask to leave. No matter how much I long to avoid him, I can’t step outside the protection he offers.

Fearing I’ll break down and lose control, I step into the bathroom and close the door before dialing my sister.

She answers before it even rings. I become the protector as I assure her I’m okay. I give her a cliff notes version of what happened to appease her. Thankfully, she’s nursing Perla and can’t video call, so I escape explaining the bandage on my cheek.

Only my parents, Dimitri, and my doctors have seen the scars on my face. I spent the first several weeks after the accident in perpetual darkness, only allowing the lights on when the doctors came into the room to check me, so by the time Serenity stepped in, they were healed enough to cover with makeup.

I don’t mind that she found me after I cut myself, but the shame attached to the ones on my face is another matter.

With her satisfied about my safety, I end the call and lean against the back of the door, needing a moment to compose myself before I return to Dimitri’s presence.

I swing the door wide open and freeze. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of Dimitri leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed and his features relaxed. Even in a light doze, he seems scary and violent, but without his stoic expression, my fingers itch to touch and explore.

The air charges as his awareness returns. He opens his eyes and meets my stare.

I thank the heavens my natural tan hides my blush until his attention flits down to my cheeks. His lips lift in the tiniest of smirks.

He caught me ogling him and knows I blushed.

Mortification and self-disgust flow through me. I yank my purse off my shoulder, drop it onto the counter beside the sink, and grab the edges of the bandage on my cheek, intending to cake my face in makeup.

I can’t force myself to take off the bandage.

“Come here,so´lnyshka,” Dimitri murmurs from right behind me.

Fear locks me in place. He’s too close. Too big. Too masculine.

He waits with the patience of a saint as I work through my panic and slowly turn to face him.

I struggle to breathe from the intensity in his sky-blue orbs. Shock flows through me when he reaches for me and I don’t flinch. With a profound gentleness, he pulls the bandage off my face and skims his thumb over the scars. I fight the urge to lean into him.

If he knew what they meant, would he still touch me?

My veins ice over.

“I will never touch you without your permission,” he murmurs.

“Then why are you touching me now? I didn’t give consent,” I say through gritted teeth.

I may scream myself into tiny, shattered pieces if I open my mouth.

He drops his hands to his sides.

“Take a shower. Lock the door if you want, but I am not a threat to you,so´lnyshka,” he vows.

I wrap my anger tighter around myself and give him an extended glare before snatching my purse off the counter and grabbing my bag from the bed and shutting the bathroom door behind me.

He doesn’t get to choose whether he’s a threat to me or not. I do.

And he most certainly is.

I sit on the edge of the tub and drop my head into my hands. This is too confusing. He continues to thwart my every attempt at keeping him at arm’s length.

How can I even look at a man after barely surviving such a brutal attack?

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