Chapter 46

Forty-Six

R uby

When I wake, it's to the familiar walls of my bedroom in the dream house Kirill bought with me in mind. The sun is falling into the endless treeline I can see from the wall of windows where the drapes are thrown wide. I can't wait to watch those same drapes billowing in a gentle summer breeze.

The tears that spring to my eyes have nothing to do with the way my body hurts, but rather the intense feeling of relief that floods me.

I am home.

Home, where I am safe. Where I am loved.

My hand finds my belly, and a quick flutter of fear pulses inside my chest before a deep, familiar voice sounds at my other side. It physically hurts to shift my head to the side, and I can't hide my wince.

I also don't miss the way Kirill's eyes darken into molten pits at the sight. His eyes drop to my hand where it hovers fretfully at my belly. "The doctor did an ultrasound. The baby is fine."

I release a breath of relief, and the tears stream faster down my face. I can't seem to stop myself from sobbing. I'm overwrought with emotion. Kirill slides from the chair to sit on the edge of the bed, catching my face tenderly between his big hands.

His eyes bore into mine, pleading with me for something I don't understand. "I am so sorry, Ruby. I'm so, so fucking sorry."

That something he's pleading for—it's forgiveness. Only, for what?

"Why…" I cough, clearing my raw, burning throat. "Why are you sorry?"

"Jesus," he hisses. "Listen to you." His burning eyes sweep my face. "If he wasn't already dead, I'd kill him."

His words bring back the memory of blood. The feel of flesh giving way beneath the point of a blade. It's not an easy thing, to stab someone. It's tremendously more difficult than a blade simply sliding in and out. There is effort behind each plunge. Effort I recall now with a surge of nausea.

I've killed a man. My brother.

Please forgive me, God. It was self-defense.

I want to cry harder. My very soul aches. But the man before me is tortured by something I can't begin to understand, and he means more to me than my heart-sore grief.

I swallow my sorrow.

"You have nothing—" Lord, my throat is on fire. I croak, "To be sorry for."

"I let you be taken. Let you be hurt." He bows his head. "I almost lost you."

"No."

"I promised to keep you safe."

"Not your fault." I suck in breath that burns, shaking my head. My eyes on him are desperate. I feel desperate.

He glares at me. "Stop talking, wife. Stop hurting yourself on my account."

When he stands, I grab his hand, clutch at him. "Don't go." He looks pained, and that pains me. I pull myself to sit, but when I wince, he lowers back to the bed again. "Please, Kirill, I need you to stay."

His throat works as he swallows, but after a moment, he nods.

Flipping back the covers, I invite my husband inside as I know I will every day of my life, for the rest of my life. We may have started out so very wrong, but somehow along the way, we took a very right turn. And then we just kept on going.

"I don't blame you," I say softly, so as not to hurt my abused throat. "I don't blame you for any of it."

"You killed a man today, Ruby, because I failed to keep you safe. You were hurt today—you almost died?—"

"But I didn't ." I twist in his arms, pressing my lips to the hollow of his throat. The scent of cedar and flame is tinged by the acrid scent of his fear. Fear for me. For us. "I didn't, Kirill. I'm here, and I'm okay." I kiss him again, moving my arms around his body to cling to him tightly. "And he will never hurt either of us again."

He sets his lips to the crown of my head. He's not kissing me, just resting there agaisnt me. Holding me. Being held by me. I whisper, "I love you."

The sound he releases hurts me so much, because there's so much hurt in it. This big bear of a man—my man—struggled with the events of today. He struggled, and is struggling. I think, long after I'm okay again—long after I've forgiven myself for taking a life—long after I've healed—that he will still be tormented by the feelings he felt today. The fear that plagued him. He will be haunted for weeks, months, maybe years to come.

But as long as he doesn't shut me out, I can help him heal.

His arms pulse around me as I press another kiss to his chest where the buttons of his shirt have been pulled loose. And then, because I've never felt safer than I do when I'm in his arms, more at home and cherished, I fall asleep.