Page 46 of Tattooed Vow

Her fingers clutch the front of my sweater. She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t pull away either. And for a moment, with the morning sun peeking through the trees and her warmth in my arms, I let myself believe that I could protect her. That we can survive this.

18

SANDY

Thankfully, the bear is gone now, but the tension it left behind stays coiled in my chest. The creature had appeared without warning, emerging from between the pines with deadly silence that defied its size. I’d stumbled backward, tripping over a log and twisting my ankle. A sharp pain sliced up my leg, causing my teeth to grind together.

Before I can fully assess the damage, Dimitri is there beside me. His touch is firm yet careful as he slips an arm around my waist, helping me to my feet.

I clutch the front of his sweater, hating how good it feels to lean on him. I hate how warm his strength feels and how easy it is to trust him with my weight, my pain, everything.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

His eyebrows snap together. “You’re not.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks that telltale sign of frustration I've come to recognize. Still, he doesn’t lecture me. He just shifts his grip and pulls me closer, his body shielding me from the stillness of the forest like the danger hasn’t already passed.

We walk slowly. More like hobble. Every step sends a dull throb up my leg, but I grit my teeth and don’t complain. The truth is the pain distracts me from the thoughts crowding my head.

Like the way Dimitri moved without hesitation when the bear came through the trees. How he’d stepped in front of me like it was instinct. How he would’ve died to protect me.

And for what? I’m not his wife. I’m not even his girlfriend. I’m a complication.

But when he looks at me and touches me, I don’t feel like one. That terrifies me more than any bear can.

“We're still a mile out,” he states, glancing at the darkening sky. “The path gets steeper ahead.”

Rain begins to fall, at first as a fine mist. It’s barely perceptible except for how it catches in Dimitri's hair, clinging to the waves like tiny diamonds. But within minutes, it strengthens, soaking through the shoulder of my jacket, making the forest floor slick and treacherous.

We barely take two more steps before Dimitri sweeps me into his arms. I open my mouth to protest, but his eyes silence me. It isn’t pity. I would have hated that. It’s something else. Something that makes my heart stutter against my ribs.

“Don't fight me on this,” he insists, already moving forward. “Not now.”

He carries me the rest of the way, his body warm and solid against mine. Water droplets cling to his eyelashes, and a muscle works in his throat each time I shift in his arms. I’m dizzy when the cabin appears, but not from the pain. From him. From thesteady rhythm of his heartbeat, the quiet strength in his arms, the way the world seems to narrow to just us.

The cabin stands like a sanctuary in the growing storm. Dimitri climbs the three steps to the porch. He shoulders open the door, carefully maneuvering us inside without jostling my ankle.

He eases me down on the couch with a gentleness that has no business coming from a man like him. Then he disappears, returning a minute later with a bowl of warm water and a first-aid kit. He kneels before me and begins unlacing my boot. His fingers brush against my skin, and my core tightens.

Those hands.

I can’t stop looking at them—strong, scarred, precise. They'd held guns. Broken bones. Taken lives. But they'd also held me. They'd tangled in my hair, traced fire down my spine, and anchored me while I unraveled beneath him.

His jaw clenches as he inspects the angry scrape along my forearm.

“I’ll clean it,” he mutters, dipping a cloth into the warm water. “It’s not deep.”

I flinch when the cloth touches my skin.

“Sorry,” he whispers, even though he doesn’t stop. “You landed hard.”

“I was distracted.”

His hand stills, his eyes lifting to mine. Heat surges between us. For a moment, I think he’ll lean in.

But then his phone rings. And just like that, the moment shatters.

Dimitri stands, wiping his hands on a towel.

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