Thank the gods, Ryker was saved from further exploring his broken, angry, pain-filled heart because the floor creaked in the bedroom. He met Nikhail’s eyes, and the pair turned their attention down the hall. The bungalow was compact; besides the solitary bedroom, everything was out in the open.
The sound could only mean one thing. Brynleigh was awake.
Seeming to arrive at the same conclusion, Nikhail raised a brow. “Want me to stay?”
On one hand, Ryker would appreciate that. His friend was an intelligent man, and Ryker could use his help with… everything if hewere being honest. But on the other hand, things were already complicated enough.
Besides, Ryker was a trained soldier. He’d been to war across the Rose Ocean. He could carry on a conversation with one weakened vampire on his own.
“No, I’ve got this.”
Nikhail studied him for another long moment, his gaze disturbingly perceptive, before he nodded.
“Alright. I’ll leave your suitcases on the porch. I packed everything you asked for.”
Late last night, Ryker had texted his friend, asking for help.
This morning, Nikhail swung by the apartment, packed a bag for Ryker, and grabbed Brynleigh’s suitcase. Her things had been delivered the night after everything went to hell, and Ryker hadn’t had the heart to deal with them yet.
And now…
Well, at least she would have some clothes.
He didn’t have the mental energy to think about anything else at the moment.
“Thanks, man.”
Nikhail clapped Ryker on the back in a one-armed hug. “Good luck.”
Even if the oceans were filled with luck, there wouldn’t be enough to help Ryker out of this situation.
But this was his problem and not Nikhail’s, so he nodded. “I’ll message you.”
With that, Nikhail left. The door had just closed, the lock slipping into place, when another creak came from the bedroom.
Closing his eyes, Ryker cast out his anger, erected a brick wall around his heart, and slid his steel mask back over his features.
Emotionless, expressionless. He could do this.
The bedroom door opened, and Ryker opened his eyes. His heart, unaware of his resolve to keep his emotions out of this, thudded as he beheld Brynleigh.
She’d shed the prison jumpsuit, exchanging it for a borrowedoversized black sweater that fell to mid-thigh. She’d paired it with leggings that hugged her curves, ending just above her ankles. Golden hair tumbled over one shoulder, and tired lines were etched on her face. Bruises covered her skin, and several open cuts marred the beautiful canvas of her flesh.
Blank, obsidian eyes rose to meet Ryker’s, and his heart thudded again.
Damn.
She tugged on the bottom of the sweater and rasped, “Morning.”
Gods above, Ryker hated that his body responded to the sound of her voice.
He hated so many things lately. He hated that he was thankful she’d found something to wear, hated that he reacted to her, hated that her rough tone brought back fond memories of their wedding night.
More than all that, he hated that he wanted to reach out and touch her, to make sure she was real and not a figment of his imagination.
The hatred was even worse than the anger.
Ryker’s fingers twitched, but instead of giving into his body’s ridiculous urges, he dropped his gaze to the counter. Gripping the marble with all his strength, he ground his teeth, swallowing the greeting that tried to rise out of him.