Merciless Saints (St. Monarch's Academy 1)

“Cillian,” she gasps. “I can’t even bury him.”

I wrap my arms tightly around her and press a kiss to her hair. As my wife breaks down in my arms, I promise to make the Blancos suffer the way she’s suffering.

Knowing it will help calm her a little, I murmur, “We’ll take our revenge soon.”

She begins to nod, then turns a little so she can see my face. I take in her tearstained cheeks and the bruised look in her eyes, and once again, I pull her to me.

My arms keep tightening around her until she lets out a whimper. When I slacken my hold, she presses closer to me.

I press my mouth to her forehead as I fight to restrain the incessant need to kill her enemies.

My enemies.

Bringing my hand to Winter’s chin, I nudge her face up until our eyes meet. “You’re not alone.”

Winter nods, and wrapping her arms around my neck, she straddles my lap and presses herself hard against me. I position a hand behind her head and wrap my other arm around her. For a long while, I give Winter the comfort she needs as we just hold each other.

She’s grown quiet, but I don’t move. As a breeze picks up, she whispers, “I’m falling for you. Please catch me.”

I pull back so I can see Winter’s eyes, and my gaze drifts over her face. My heart expands until it’s brimming with my devotion to her. I’ve never felt such strong emotions for another person, and it has me murmuring, “I’ve already caught you. Give your heart to me, Princess. Love me.”

Winter pulls her arms back and frames my jaw with soft palms. We stare deep into each other’s eyes, and then she leans forward and presses a tender kiss to my mouth. “You have my heart, Damien.”

I don’t let her pull back but hold her to me as I take her mouth. My tongue brushes over hers, wanting to taste the words she said. Our lips fuse together, and minutes pass while our tongues dance before we slowly pull apart.

Winter rests her cheek on my shoulder, and I feel her breaths skim over my neck. After a couple of seconds, she whispers, “Tell me about your childhood.”

Frowning, I ask, “Why?”

She lets out a chuckle. “Growing up, I heard scary stories about the Vetrovs. Cillian made it sound like you’re the boogeyman.”

“Baba Yaga,” I murmur. “Cillian wasn’t wrong.”

Winter lifts her head and frowns at me.

I glance out over the water. “I fired my first gun at the age of seven. By the time I was thirteen, I never missed. For my sixteenth birthday, my father took me hunting.”

“What did you hunt?” Winter asks.

I turn my eyes back to her. “My father had a contract to assassinate someone, and he had me do it.”

“So, you killed the contract?” she asks.

I nod, then ask, “How old were you when Cillian taught you to fire a weapon.”

“Fourteen.”

I lift my hand to her neck and brush a finger over the scar. “Tell me what happened.”

Winter takes a deep breath. “We were leaving a shopping center. Halfway to the car, they opened fire on us. My mom… she grabbed me and pushed me to the ground. We both got shot, only she was shot in the head. Cillian grabbed me and got me out of there. He fixed me…” her voice drifts away, and long seconds pass before she murmurs, “Cillian was everything to me. He took over the role of my mother. He was my best friend. He’s every good memory I have.”

I brush my thumb over the scar again. “You loved him a lot.”

“More than anyone.”

Our eyes meet, and tilting my head, I say, “I’m sorry you lost him.”

We sit for a while longer, then I get up and pull Winter to her feet. As we walk back to the house, I look at the island with new eyes. This place is now my home, and Winter is the only thing I live for.

Chapter 20

WINTER

It’s both scary and amazing how quickly life can change. I’ve lost so much, yet gained at the same time.

As I take a seat at the dinner table on Damien’s right, I can’t ignore how happy I am. My heart aches for my loved ones I’ve lost, and it will for a long time to come, but Damien… things have changed between us.

I should’ve known he’d take his vows seriously. The Vetrovs have honor. I just didn’t expect him to assume the role of a supporting husband. He consoled me after the funeral. For hours. He made me feel… loved.

My eyes lift to his face, and I take in his handsome features. He’s still the same man I met at St. Monarch’s. In many ways he’s cold, but then there are tender moments. Like when he saved me from Vince and Hugo.