Page 75 of Hunted to the Altar

The world seemed to hold its breath.

The blade hovered in the stale air between them.

Ricci whimpered, a broken noise that barely registered in the heavy silence.

Nina’s hand shook harder.

Her knuckles whitened around the hilt.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow, erratic breaths.

And then, she froze.

The knife faltered, dipping slightly.

Her gaze locked onto Ricci’s battered, sobbing form—and I saw it happen.

The shift.

The crumbling.

Not anger.

Not satisfaction.

But devastation.

Tears welled in her eyes, thick and hot, spilling over and sliding down her cheeks in trembling rivulets. She tried to lift the blade again—but her arm refused to obey.

A small, broken sob tore from her throat.

The knife slipped from her grasp, clattering against the concrete floor with a sound louder and sharper than any scream.

I moved instinctively, crossing the distance between us in two strides.

I swept her out of the wheelchair, cradling her against my chest. She was trembling so violently it rattled through my bones.

She didn’t fight me.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t say a word.

She just buried her face into my chest, the front of my shirt soaking up the silent sobs she couldn’t hold back anymore.

I carried her up the stairs like she weighed nothing, the stink of blood and betrayal clinging to both of us.

In the study, I laid her gently onto the couch, kneeling beside her like a man at confession.

She curled onto her side, her hands fisting into the cushions, her breathing ragged and broken.

She was trembling. Her eyes—those beautiful, haunted eyes—stared through me, glassy and distant.

"I’m sorry," I said, the words scraping raw from my throat. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. But it was all I had."I thought if I kept you close, kept you safe, I could protect you."

Her lips parted, the softest whisper slipping out: "But you became the thing you wanted to protect me from."

I squeezed my eyes shut, the truth of it carving into me deeper than any blade.