Page 38 of Silent as Sin
Before I could second-guess, before I could talk myself down, I moved. My body carried me forward, crossing the space between us in a rush that startled even me.
I pressed into him, my arms wrapping around his middle, my cheek against the hard leather of his cut.
It was clumsy. Impulsive. Terrifying.
But real.
For one frozen second, his body went still. The weight of his breath stalled, the warmth of him locked rigid under my hands. I almost pulled away. Almost.
Then his arms came around me. Strong. Careful. Steady.
He didn’t crush me close or hold me too tight. He just let me stay. Like he understood what it cost me to make this choice, to touch him, to let him touch me back.
The warmth of him seeped into me, grounding, solid. My chest shook with the force of everything I couldn’t say.
And then, almost without thinking, my lips brushed the edge of his ear. The words scraped raw from disuse, but they broke free.
“Thank you.”
A whisper. Rough. Small. But mine.
I felt him still. His breath caught, his chest lifting hard beneath my cheek. His arms tightened fractionally, protective, like this hug had landed harder than any declaration.
Terror and relief tangled in me at once. I’d given him another part of me.
I held on longer than I thought I would, longer than I thought I could. The glass bird pressed cool between my fingers, my lifeline tethered in one hand while his warmth anchored me from the other side.
When I finally pulled back, my eyes burned, my throat raw. His gaze caught mine, intense and soft, fierce and careful, like he understood exactly what I’d given him.
“Wren,” he said, my name rough in his throat. It wasn’t just my name. It was a vow. A promise. Something bigger than either of us could name yet.
I clutched the bird tighter. The silence stretched, heavy but not suffocating. For the first time in since Venom first laid hands on me I felt happiness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SHE MOVED BEFOREI could blink.
One second she was across the room, glass bird clenched tight. The next she slammed into me—hard, heat and bones and breath punching the air out of my chest.
I froze.
This wasn’t casual. It landed heavy, like it meant something. Instinct roared—shield her, hold her, lock it down before the world could steal it back.
Slow. Careful. I wrapped her up like she was a live wire. Not crushing, not loose. Just tight enough to say mine.
She fit against me anyway. Small, trembling, heartbeat jackhammering through my ribs. The glass bird pressed cold into my side. Her hair carried strawberries and her natural scent, the kind of smell that gets in your blood and stays.
She burrowed in, forehead jammed into my cut like she meant to bury herself there. So I let her. Held on. Didn’t let go. Every nerve wired hot, terrified I’d fuck it up and she’d slip away.
This hug—no words, no bullshit—hit harder than anything she’d given me. Not the looks. Not even her voice. This was real. Raw. And it gutted me.
Little by little, the tension bled out of her. Not surrender. Not weak. Just easing, breath for breath, until she matched me. My arms tightened on instinct, protective, steady. I slowed my own breathing, gave her a rhythm to catch. Became the tether. That’s what men like me do when we mean to keep someone alive.
Time went strange. Could’ve been a minute. Could’ve been forever.
When she finally pulled back, it was slow, painful, like she had to pry herself loose finger by finger. Her eyes hit mine last—wet, fierce, so alive it knocked the air out of me.
In that moment, she was mine. She knew it.
