Page 19 of Silent as Sin
“Blood… blood everywhere.”
My knees hit the floor. “Wren.” My voice came out rough, urgent, more plea than command. “It’s me. Ashen. You’re safe.”
But she didn’t hear me. Didn’t see me. Her eyes stayed shut, lashes trembling, her body shaking with terror that belonged to another place, another time.
Her scream cracked, breaking into jagged sobs, but she couldn’t stop. Her throat was wrecked, yet the sound kept tearing out of her, filling the small space with pure panic.
I reached out, slow, and laid my palm against her shoulder. She jolted like I’d struck her, but I didn’t pull away.
“You’re not there,” I said, soft, grounding. My voice caught, but I forced it calm. “You’re here. With me. He can’t touch you.”
Her lips moved, a ragged sound spilling free—words, her voice, broken but real. My chest clenched.
She had a voice. She’d always had one. She just chose not to use it. What torture she must have endured at Venom’s hands to have such fear.
The truth of it hit me like a blow.
I eased her toward me, careful, firm, holding her even when her nails scraped against my arm, even when she fought like she didn’t know who I was. “Easy, Wren,” I whispered against her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Her cries faltered, softer now, but her eyes stayed shut, tears leaking hot down her cheeks. She sagged against me, still trembling, her body trapped in a war her mind couldn’t leave behind.
And as I held her, fury burned white-hot through my veins, not at her, never at her, but at the ghost of the bastard who had carved this terror into her bones.
Venom might be rotting in the ground, but his shadow lingered. It clawed at her even now, choking her in the dark.
I swore then—silently, fiercely, with her trembling in my arms—that his shadow wouldn’t win. Not while I was still alive.
Her sobs came softer, but her body still shook with each ragged breath. She was like a bird caught in a storm, wings beating frantically even when there was nowhere left to fly.
I adjusted, pulling her into my chest, letting her weight rest against me. Her skin was clammy, her hair damp against my chin. I kept my voice soft, murmuring words that didn’t matter so much for meaning as they did for rhythm.
“You’re safe. You’re not there. Not anymore. You’re here, Wren. With me.”
At first, she fought me, legs kicking, hands clawing as though she could dig her way out of the nightmare with her bare nails. I held steady. Didn’t pin her down, didn’t cage her. Just anchored her. Let her feel something solid, something unshakable.
Her breath hitched, breaking on another sob. Then her fists loosened, catching the fabric of my shirt instead of tearing it away. I felt the tremor in her fingers, the desperate clutch.
“That’s it,” I whispered, letting the relief bleed into my tone. “Hold on. I’ve got you.”
I rocked us gently, instinct more than thought. Back and forth, slow, like I used to do for Stephie when she found me after one of her old man’s rages. The memory cut raw, but I shoved it down. This wasn’t about me.
Minutes passed, or maybe longer. Her cries thinned, broke apart into shallow gasps, then hiccuped breaths. Sweat cooled against her skin, leaving her shivering in my arms.
I snagged the blanket tangled at her feet, pulling it around her shoulders without letting go. Her head dropped against me, still tucked tight, her lashes wet and cheeks blotched.
Her lips moved, the barest whisper brushing the air. I couldn’t catch the words, but the sound… Christ. That sound nearly undid me.
“You don’t have to talk,” I said softly, my throat tight. “Not until you’re ready. But you can. I heard you. You’re not broken, Wren.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was heavy, thick with the weight of what she’d carried alone for too long. Her breathing steadied against me, slower now, less jagged.
I shifted, easing us out of the cramped closet. Carried her the short distance to the bed, moving careful, like she was glass that might shatter if I set her down too fast. She clung tighterwhen I tried to lower her onto the mattress, so I gave up the idea of leaving. Sat down with her in my lap instead, leaning back against the headboard.
Her body curled into mine as if she’d been shaped to fit there all along.
And I held her.
The minutes stretched, the night deepened. My arms ached, but I didn’t let go. Didn’t want to.
