Page 103 of Vows of Blood

Steam begins to fill the room. I strip off my jacket, holster, and shirt, and shove them in the corner. Then I crouch in front of her, taking her hands in mine.

"Sienna." I wait until she focuses on me. "I need to get you cleaned up. Can you stand?"

She nods, a tiny movement, and lets me help her to her feet. Her nightgown is ruined, the white silk stained dark with Tony's blood. Her flinch when I reach for her to peel it off breaks my heart.

Carefully, I lift it over her head, letting it fall to the floor, and she stands before me, naked and trembling, even shrouded in the warmth of the steam. She has bruises starting to bloom on her shin and hip, and another on her arm that makes me want to march downstairs and revisit my decision to allow Mikhail to live.

When she straightens her arm, she winces, and I make a mental note to have the doctor check it out.

I shed the rest of my clothes quickly, kicking them to the side, and guide her into the shower, positioning her under the spray so the heat warms her small body as quickly as possible. The water runs pink as it sluices over her skin, washing away the evidence of this night. She stands with her head bowed, letting it happen, passive in a way that worries me.

Careful with each touch, I reach for the shower gel, lather my hands, and begin to wash her slowly. Her arms first, then her shoulders, her back, gentle and methodical, removing every trace of blood from her perfect skin.

She doesn't speak, doesn't move, just lets me care for her. The only positive sign I see is the fall of her shoulders and the deep breaths she takes the longer she stands in the warm space.

“Head back.” Pouring some shampoo into my palm, I massage her scalp, finally feeling a little of the tension inside me release when she lets out a small sigh before I grab the conditioner, applying it, and massaging it through her long lengths.

“Thorough,” she comments, resting her head back against me as I rinse it all out.

When I'm satisfied that she's clean, I give my skin a quick scrub, lifting my face to the water and scrubbing it, fighting back the waves of fear and rage that consume me every time the image of her rattling the door in terror pops into my mind.

I was so close to losing her when I only just got her back.

"Luca."

I turn, torn from my thoughts by her tortured tone.

She's staring at my back, fingertips trailing over the raised marks crisscrossing my back with one hand pressed over her heart. Tears are streaming down her cheeks now as she continues to trace each line carefully. When she kisses the rough skin, I freeze, scarcely believing she’s not horrified at the sight of them.

I forget about the scars sometimes, but normally, I’m careful not to let anyone see me shirtless. I don’t need the questions or the horrified looks.

“No tears, not for me, Sienna. Not after what happened to you tonight.” I catch one with my thumb as it spills down her cheek and dash it away.

Those marks have been part of me for so long, a reminder of the man I am now instead of the innocent young man I was before, but she's seeing them for the first time. The thick, ropy lines that travel my skin from shoulder to hip, layered over each other, ugly and bumpy. They’re the main reason I never use the pool.

"What..." She gasps. "What happened to you?"

I straighten slowly, turning to face her. "My father."

“No. How could he?” She shakes her head, refusing to accept it, even though she already knows he’s more than capable. "When?"

I hesitate, not wanting to overwhelm her after what she’s just been through.

"That night, when he found me waiting for you, bags packed." The words come out flat and matter-of-fact. "He had his suspicions about my plans to leave, even though he forbade it. He decided to teach me a lesson about loyalty and what happens when you put a woman before family."

A sob escapes her, raw and anguished. "This is because of me."

"No." I step into her personal space, unable to hold back from touching her anymore. "This is because of him. Because he couldn't stand to lose control of his son. None of this is your fault."

She's crying harder now, her whole body shaking with the power of it, with grief over the past that’s mingling with fear from tonight’s events.

I pull her against my chest and hold her, letting her fall apart in my arms as I whisper to her, trying to be her rock like I should have been before.

"Thank you," she whispers through stuttering breaths as she regains her composure, wiping her eyes dry.

"For what?"

"For coming for me.”