Page 24 of Possessive Vows

She will not relax if I lie alert next to her, so I lead her into slumber and smile when she reluctantly drops the conversation and follows a few minutes later.

The mattress shifts underneath me. I wake in a silent rush as Camilla whimpers in her sleep. She jerks and tucks herself tighter into the fetal position. Staying as still as possible, I say her name.

Her broken, whisperedstop, pleaseflays me alive.

“It’s just a dream, Camilla. You are safe. I am here.”

Her entire body trembles and her white knuckles gleam in the light from the bathroom as she fists the blankets tighter around her.

When she twitches in response to my voice, I gentle my tone as though speaking to my daughter.

“I am sorry my brother hurt you. I cannot take the pain away, but I can stay by your side and protect you for the rest of your life,” I promise.

She relaxes and takes a shivering breath.

“You are mine now,so´lnyshka. No one will ever hurt you again,” I vow.

She sighs and slips into peaceful sleep, and even though she isn’t conscious of my words, my soul lifts at her show of trust.

As I take a few calming breaths, my worry for my children worms through my defenses. They were always so bright and full of energy before Anastasia grew sick, but after her death, they became withdrawn and mere shadows of themselves.

Camilla could shine light back into their lives. Despite her trauma—or maybe because of it—she has a backbone of steel, enough caution to keep them safe, and wisdom beyond her years.

With visions of Zoya smiling and giggling with Camilla floating through my imagination, I fall into a much deeper sleep than I intend.

I wake to the bathroom door closing. After feigning sleep and extending my senses to the far corners of the room, I open my eyes and confirm no one lurks in the shadows before slipping to the window and peeking through the curtain.

A few cars pepper the parking lot, but since it’s almost midnight, I expect new additions. They’re all parked on the other side of the lot, the man behind the counter honoring the money I gave him to keep us isolated.

Greed is not an American-specific trait. Organizations around the globe work on greed. It is a useful tool.

Camilla emerges from the bathroom with her hair tied back. A different body spray precedes her into the room.

The subtle mix of lavender and vanilla is nothing like the fruity blend from before, but it still suits her.

“We need to talk,” she says.

Her bravery nearly brings me to my knees.

“Da,we will eat while we do so,” I respond.

She hesitates in the doorway before reluctantly nodding and heading toward the refrigerator. As she rifles through the choices, she speaks, using the mission I gave her as a shield.

“I’m sure my brother will ask you all the pertinent questions—how long you’ve been in America, how you know it’s your brother who attacked me, and why it took so long for you to get here—but I only want to know one thing,” she says.

Despite the emotions roaring through her, she peels the metal lid off a microwavable soup and sticks it in to warm with graceful movements.

“Are you going to kill him?”

I wait until she looks over her shoulder at me.

“His name is Feliks, and yes, I will kill him,” I say.

She nods and turns back to the microwave as it counts down. When it beeps and she reaches inside without thought, I dart across the room, grabbing a few napkins on the way, and stick them between her hand and the container before she burns herself.

My arm brushes against hers, but the moment she accepts the napkins, I retreat across the room.

For several extended moments, she stares at the napkins in her hand, but then she blinks and acts as though nothing happened.

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