Page 25 of Sacrifice
"Will you? Because from what I saw earlier, she's not exactly receptive to handling."
"She will be," I say with more confidence than I feel. "One way or another, she'll let me protect her."
Even if I have to lock her in my fucking house to do it.
The thought of Saga in danger, of Los Coyotes getting anywhere near her, makes something primitive rise in my chest.
She can hate me all she wants.
Can date every boring accountant in Tallahassee.
Can pretend what's between us doesn't exist.
But I'll be damned if I let anyone hurt her.
"You know," Magnus says, studying me, "there's another option."
"Yeah?"
"Could just tell her the truth. That you're crazy about her and scared shitless something might happen to her."
"I'm not scared," I protest automatically.
Magnus just looks at me. We've known each other too long for bullshit.
"Fine," I admit. "But telling Saga I'm scared for her is like bleeding in shark-infested water. She'll see it as weakness, use it to push me further away."
"Or she'll see it as what it is—you giving a shit about her safety."
"You don't know Saga like I do."
"Maybe not," Magnus agrees. "But I know women. And sometimes they need to see we're human too. That we feel things beyond possession and anger."
"I'll think about it," I say, which we both know means I won't.
"You do that." He claps my shoulder. "I'm doing a perimeter check. You heading out?"
"Yeah. Early morning tomorrow, getting those inventory counts."
"Watch your six," he warns. "That scout might have friends."
I nod and head for my bike, scanning the lot out of habit.
Clear, but that doesn't mean much anymore.
The night air is thick with humidity, promising rain before morning.
I take a longer route home, doubling back twice, making sure I'm not followed.
The streets are mostly empty, just a few late-night stragglers and the occasional patrol car.
I pass by Saga's apartment building without meaning to—it's not on my way home, but my bike seems to have its own ideas.
Her car's in the lot, safely parked in its usual spot.
The lights are off in her unit, curtains drawn tight.
Is she asleep? Or lying awake thinking about our confrontation?
