Page 194 of Savage Hearts

All these years, I was dead inside. Sleepwalking through life. Now, because of her, I’m awake again.

“I can’t say this in your language, little bird, because I’m still trying to work out what it all means. But I’ve never met anyone like you. Before you, my life made sense. I knew my purpose. I knew my place, which was alone. I liked it that way. My days and nights had a predictable rhythm. Nothing upset that rhythm. I didn’t think anything could.”

I rinse the shampoo from her hair, then wet a washcloth and start to gently wash her body. She’s slack and pliant, allowing me to tend to her as I continue to speak softly in Russian.

“Then I saw you, and everything changed. I can’t explain why. Something… woke up inside of me. It feels like being possessed. My mind is consumed by thoughts of you. It’s as if time has split into halves: before you and after you. The time where nothing much mattered and the time whereallthat matters is a smidgeon of a girl with a smile like an angel’s and the personality of a hellhound.

“You wouldn’t think that’s a compliment, but it is. Here’s another one: you make me crazy. I don’t know what to do with myself, I’m so crazy. I’ve never felt so lost. It’s awful, if I’m being honest. What’s even worse is that I’ve had you here with me for only a short while now, and already, I can’t imaginenothaving you here. How is that possible?

“I’m not a man who ever thought of the future because I assumed I wouldn’t have one. Or at least, a different one. Day in, day out, it was kill or be killed. And I’m very good at my job, little bird. The best, actually. But now, when I think about tomorrow and the next day and the day after that… you’re here with me. Talk about insane. Men like me don’t get happily ever afters. We don’t ride off into the sunset and live to old age. And women like you shouldn’t be anywhere near me.

“But… I’d give anything to keep you. Anything. Not only is that stupid of me, but it’s dangerous, too. For both of us, but mostly for you. This life I lead is ugly, but it’s what I chose. I know the risks. I couldn’t live with myself if I were selfish enough to force you to stay here. You’d hate me for it, anyway. In the end, you’d hate me. I don’t think I could stand that. You took a bullet for me, after all. You saved my life. I don’t understandwhy,but you did.”

Her expression is one of bliss and pure trust, and the tenderness I feel as I wash her sweet face is huge and painful. I’ve endured multiple stab wounds less agonizing than this.

In English, I say, “Open your eyes, little bird.”

Her lashes flutter, then her lids lift. Examining my face, she frowns. “Are you okay?”

Her voice is faint, but the concern in it flattens me. She’s the one who’s injured, but it’smeshe’s worried about.

I shake my head, but don’t answer because I can’t trust what might come out of my mouth. I swallow it down, all the burning bright longing and feverish need, then tell her I’m going to lift her out of the tub.

“Do you think you can stand up?”

Eyes hazy, she considers it for a moment, then nods. “Not for long, though.”

I lift her, set her onto her feet, and gently towel dry her skin. Then I wrap the towel around her body, lift her in my arms, and carry her back to my bed. She rests her head on my shoulder and snuggles into me, and I know that no matter what happens, I’ll remember this night for the rest of my life.

I lay her on the mattress and move the towel around so I can change the dressing on her wound without exposing her breasts or the panties she kept on in the tub. As I work, I’m aware of her curious gaze on me, but I ignore it and concentrate on cleaning her sutures.

“Mal?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

That feels like a kick to the gut.

I stalked her. I kidnapped her. I took her away from everything she’s ever known, and still she’sgrateful?She should be punching me in the face!

Glowering, I look into her eyes. “Don’t thank me.”

Innocent as a lamb, she says, “Why not?”

“You were shot because of me.”

“I’m alive because of you.”

Her sweet brown eyes are soft, and I have to close my own eyes for a moment because the guilt is too fucking much.

I realize then, in those few beats of silence, that what I’m feeling has a name. All these powerful, confusing emotions so mercilessly battering my body and soul can be distilled down into one simple four-letter word fools like me have been struck down by since the dawn of the human race.

Love.

I’ve fallen in love with a girl who’s related to my worst enemy. A girl who’s better than me in every conceivable way. A girl who doesn’t come from my world, who’d never fit into it, and who deserves so much more than what this monster could possibly give.

A girl, in short, who I can never call my own.