Page 41 of Sweet Mercy (The Collector Trilogy 2)

I can’t do that. I’d rather die.

“I won’t.”

She keeps one fist locked on her opposite wrist. Tight as she can. With my hands over hers, I can feel the tension in her. How hard she’s trying. The fire crackles, throwing shadows onto the walls. Refusing to be put out by all the water surrounding it. They’re gorgeous, rippling shadows. They catch the peaks and valleys, making new, smaller caverns.

Daphne’s head gets heavier on my shoulder. Her breathing evens out.

Holy fuck.

I am suffused with warmth. With intense surprise.

“Daphne.”

She murmurs something unintelligible like a person who has already fallen deeply into a dream.

I don’t know what it means that she could sleep right now, with me like this. Most of it can be chalked up to the exhaustion of her ordeal, but I am all that’s between her and the ocean. An innocent like Daphne could tumble in and drown.

Her trust makes my throat close. It aches with suppressed emotion. A good sign. I put the gallery back to rights. Dust off the frames. Hang them back up.

I’m a selfish bastard.

I keep her where she is, holding her wrists over my heart, for as long as I can.

And then I put her to bed. Tuck her under every silver blanket I have. I allow myself a hand on her ankle. I allow myself to stay close while I wait for the next attack.