Page 117 of Sanctuary of the Shadow
Her ecstatic cry filled the cabin. Her head dropped back and her whole body shook with tremors. His own climax came suddenly, his control shattered at the sight of her ecstasy, and he erupted in the space between their bodies, slicking their skin with his release.
Harrow went limp and sagged against him, so he gathered her in his arms and held her close. His own body trembled, every nerve tingling with life. His lust may have been sated, but his passion burned on. He didn’t think it would ever cease with her.
The way she laid her head on his shoulder with a soft hum of contentment made him feel like the most powerful being in the world.
For a man with no memories, it should have been impossible to feel such belonging so soon after experiencing isolation, but he couldn’t deny it. It was not a fleeting sensation, brought on by the frenzy of their ardor. It was deeper than skin and bone, deeper even than thought.
Whatever it was, whatever strange twist of fate had landed him here, he would not squander his blessings. He would cherish and protect his Harrow, shower her with love and affection.
Yet it was she who lifted her head and stroked his hair back, telling him how wonderful he was, how strong and capable. And in the end, all he could say of his feelings was, “You are mine.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I’m yours, and you’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.”
Eventually, they rose from the bed to wash. Harrow cooked them a small dinner with what little remained of her food supplies. He tried to help, but she insisted he rest, though he no longer felt weak.
While they ate, she told him how she’d spent months in the desert searching for him. He couldn’t believe the loyalty this woman demonstrated, couldn’t fathom what he’d done to deserve it, but he swore he would do everything in his power to be worthy of it.
If only he could figure out why his chest still ached. If only he could understand why he still felt he was missing some crucial detail.
Tomorrow, they would travel north, Harrow said, out of the desolate South into fairer lands. From there, they would decide together where to go, but Harrow said she wanted to intercept the circus she’d once worked for to visit her friend Malaikah. Raith would go wherever she wanted to go. He didn’t yet know where he fit in the world and looked forward to discovering it by her side.
He just wished he could understand the aching hole in his chest.
He knew he had done something wrong. Something terrible. Something that might be unforgivable.
But he couldn’t remember what it was.
How could he move on with his life with Harrow if he couldn’t find forgiveness for his terrible deed? How could he ever let this go if he didn’t know what haunted him in the first place? Despite her constant assurances, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong in Harrow’s bed—that she deserved so much more. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d hurt her in some horrible way.
Looking at her sleeping beside him later that night, a gentle smile touching her lips, he couldn’t imagine how he could ever do such a thing. He loved her. He wanted her safe and happy.
So why would he hurt her?
But he had. He was certain of it, and it tore him up inside like a knife stirring his guts. If he’d hurt her before and couldn’t remember it, what was to stop him from doing it again? How could he ever trust himself in her presence? He should leave her now and spare her from the harm he might inadvertently do her.
No.His arms tightened around her, a growl rumbling in his chest. He was never leaving her. Never. His cold, dead arms would have to be pried from around her to separate them.
Still, the thought haunted him. How could he trust she would be safe with him if he didn’t remember what he’d done?
Finally, he drifted into an uneasy sleep, praying to the Goddess he wouldn’t accidentally hurt his love while he rested. As he slept, nightmares plagued him.
He woke with her lifeless form in his arms, blood dripping from her mouth. He had crushed her in his sleep. He screamed.
No! It was just a dream. He was still asleep.
He awoke again. Wet blood soaked everything. He had stabbed her with his claws in his sleep. His cries of horror filled the air.
No! Still a dream. He awoke.
Her neck was torn open—he had ripped it open with his teeth in his sleep.Dream.Her throat was slit.Dream.Her body was burned to a crisp.Dream.
Her blood was on his hands. Always, her blood coated his hands.
…
“Harrow!”
Harrow drifted on a cloud of bliss, annoyed at the panicked voice trying to drag her from the realm of pleasant dreams.
