Hearing her thank me for doing the bare minimum.
The terror turning to hope in her gaze when she looked at me.
Red.
I see red every-fucking-where.
Her goddamn mother. If I could raise Renata from the dead, I would. I’d lock her up for years on end, torturing her one day at a time.
For abusing Lilith. For the physical and emotional scars.
For forcing her into being a survivor when she should’ve been a child.
For almost.
Almost.
Killing her.
“Alaric.” Lilith rises from one of the cafeteria tables the second she sees me.
Just as I thought, Hope isn’t with her. Her bag and apron are nowhere to be found either.
But who fucking cares about any of that? She’s so beautiful that I can’t think of anything else.
Her hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, her pale-blue eyes shining with worry.
Her body is swallowed by my black sweatshirt she’s wearing.
Beautiful, sweet, caring Lilith.
She’s alive.
Renata didn’t take her from me.
“What’s going on?” she asks when I’m less than six feet away.
We’re both well aware that I’m not okay.
I’m reeling, and it’s painfully obvious. My jaw is pulled tight. My hands are balled into fists.
“You’re okay,” I breathe out once I reach her.
As if seeing into my fucked-up, wretched soul, Lilith soothes me by cradling my cheek in her gentle palm. I sigh as I lean into it, taking whatever warmth I can draw from my woman.
Other people surround us. I think some of them are whispering.
I can’t find it in me to give a damn.
“I am.” Her thumb lights up my nerve endings as it strokes my cheek.
“I plan on keeping it that way. Forever.” I hold her free hand, squeezing it, feeling for the pulse point on her wrist just to make sure she’s alive. “Come with me. We need to talk.”
She doesn’t budge. A flicker of fear glimmers in her eyes at my growly voice.
I have no one to blame for it but my own damn self.
When I snapped over the phone and scared her the other day, I promised myself it would be the last time. She needs me to be calm. To be safe.