Cruel Saints

There’s no anger. Just need.

He closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around me. He needs comfort from me, and I push our differences aside.

Lucian buries his face in my hair, his body engulfing mine. For a moment, I hesitate, but then I lift my arms and wrap them around his waist.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice rough with grief.

I nod against his shoulder, and thinking it might help, I rub my hand over his broad back.

Standing in the morgue next to Lucian’s father’s body, we find a connection. Although our situations are different, we both know the bitter taste of loss.

Lucian is the first to pull back. He goes to his aunt, and taking hold of her shoulders, he pulls her away from the body. She weeps against Lucian’s chest, and he holds her tightly as if his strength is all that’s keeping her from sinking to the ground.

We leave the morgue, and I’m surprised when Alexei again places his hand on my lower back. It feels as if he’s offering me comfort.

While Lucian is focused on his aunt, Alexei leans a little down, and then he murmurs softly, “Lucian’s a good man. He’s doing what’s right. Don’t make his life hell for saving you.”

Frowning, my eyes dart up to Alexei’s, and then I see the warning, and it sends a shiver down my spine. “Always remember I have Lucian’s back.”

In other words, if I try to kill Lucian, Alexei will be there to take revenge.

I move away from Alexei, and he drops his hand. Before I can walk faster, he says, “Love him, and you’ll have my protection. You choose how your future will play out.”

I walk faster and catch up with Lucian and his aunt. Glancing over my shoulder, I give Alexei one last look. He smiles at me, and somehow it looks scarier than his usual grim expression.

Snapping my head forward, I place my hand on Aunt Ursula’s back, choosing to offer her comfort instead of worrying about Alexei.

Aunt Ursula’s hand searches for mine, and then she clasps my fingers tightly. The engagement ring digs into my skin, but I try to ignore the bite.

We all climb back in the G-Wagon, and when I’m seated between Lucian and his aunt, I reach out for Aunt Ursula’s hand. She instantly grabs hold of mine with both of hers and gives me a thankful look.

Lucian takes hold of my left hand, and as my head snaps to him, he places my palm on his thigh. My eyes dart to his face, but he’s staring out the window.

When I turn my attention back to Aunt Ursula, she gives me a trembling smile. “We’ve lost, and we’ve gained. Dorothy’s ring looks beautiful on your finger.”

“Dorothy?” I ask softly.

“My sister, Lucian’s mother. It was her engagement ring.”

Surprise flickers through me. Lucian gave me his mother’s ring? Having seen how close he is to his family, I know it must be of great sentimental value to him.

Just then, Lucian brushes his thumb over the ring on my finger, the touch a soft caress.

Slowly I glance at him, but he’s still staring out of the window. My eyes drop to where his hand is covering mine. I take in the veins snaking under his tanned skin. I feel the warmth coming from his palm and his thigh.

When there’s a fluttering in my stomach, I close my eyes. There’s a stab of disappointment in my heart because I know it’s only a matter of time before I won’t want to escape anymore.

Chapter 17

LUCIAN

Walking into the church, I glance at the people filling the pews.

Intimate, my ass.

Everyone is here to either make sure my father is dead or to pay their last respects.

I lead Aunt Ursula to the front and help her sit down. Leaning over her, I press a kiss to her cheek and whisper, “I’m just going to greet a couple of people, Zia Ursula.”

She nods at me and then holds her hand out to Elena. As I straighten up, I glance at Leo, and he nods at me. I leave the two women in his care, and with Franco and Matteo flanking me, I walk to Peter Stathoulis.

When we spoke, he said he’d attend the funeral to offer his respects, and we could talk then.

When I reach him, his thick eyebrows draw together, making him look like an eagle, his gaze sharp and not missing a thing. We shake hands, and leaning closer to me, he murmurs, “Your father was a worthy opponent.”

I nod.

“You’re looking for a woman who goes by the name of Umbria.”

My eyes snap to Peter’s. “Umbria?”

“The Goddess of shadows, secrets, and darkness who lives in the underworld,” he recites the old Italian myth to me. “Whoever she is, she’s here for revenge. Look at past enemies.”

Christ. There are so many.