Page 3 of Cruel Kiss

Slowly, frightened, I raise my eyes. Ronan is still standing over him. He's once again the calm, composed Ronan I thought I knew, loved, trusted. If it weren't for the gun in his hand glinting in the thin sliver of moonbeams coming through the hallway skylight, I'd think he was just there to check on us.

More shadows cluster on the stairs. His men, silent and watchful. They look to him for orders.

Someone else wants his attention first, though.

"Mr. Ronan?"

The sound comes from Isabella's door. I want to move, but my limbs won't respond, and even if they did, Ronan is much, much faster. He gets there first. Somehow, the gun gets tucked away so Isabella never sees it before he kneels in front of her.

I can see how careful he is to block her view of the dead man. All she will be able to see from that vantage point is Ronan, the wall of him, the trustworthy—or so she still thinks—mountain of him, there to comfort her from the scary sounds in the night.

"Hey, Bella." It's so soft, the way he says it. It's his pancake voice. His caterpillar voice. "You're okay. Everybody's okay. There was a big, loud noise, huh? That was me. I'm sorry. I dropped something really heavy and it was very silly of me. Go on back to bed, sweetheart. I've got your mom right here."

I can't see Bella, but I hear her feet shift on the floor. "Is Mommy okay?"

I try to croak out an answer, but my voice isn't responding much better than my body is. Two of Ronan's men are picking the intruder up off the floor, quiet and quick. I understand that, in about ninety seconds it's going to be like all of this never happened. Surprisingly, I don't have a single thought in my head about whether that's right or wrong, ethical or not. I don't have any thoughts at all.

"Mom's right here, Bella," I manage to splutter at last. "I'm okay, baby. Everything's okay. Go to sleep. I love you."

"...Okay." She shuffles again. "Goodnight, Mr. Ronan."

"Goodnight, brave girl," he whispers back.

We wait. All of us do, the whole hallway full of enormous men in dark clothes, all of us holding our breath, until we hear the little creak of her bed taking her weight again.

Then Ronan turns and looks at me.

"Hello, Calista."

I don't remember standing up. I don't really choose to, in terms of voluntary muscle movement. It's like I'm being levitated up by some force in myself that I'm not on speaking terms with, and brought over to him, and pressing my face into his chest, and shaking, shaking, shaking.

His arms wrap around me and pull me even closer. He's so much bigger than me, but I don't feel small in the bad way. I feel covered. Protected. Safe. Like he's the roof between me and a hurricane.

"I would never have let anything happen to you," he murmurs into my hair. "Never, ever, ever."

Against all that is holy in this world, I let myself take comfort in his promise.

I swore I never would. I stood in his office this afternoon—this literal afternoon! Hours ago! Barely!— and told this monster that I hoped I'd never see him again. I meant it, every word, I meant it with my whole chest.

So explain to me why I'm now here losing myself to absolute kibbles and bits in his arms, shuddering, horrified, nearly broken.

Easy answer:

Because he came.

Whatever else is true—and everything is true, all of it, the shells and the lies and the cage and the napkin that was supposed to make him disappear from my life forever—that thing on the floor was going to get to my children. Before it could happen that way, Ronan came up my stairs and put himself between it and them and made it stop.

"They're okay?" I ask, or I try to. It comes out in stuttered pieces. "The kids. Are they—? Did she see?—?"

"She didn't see anything." His hand is cupping the back of my head, huge and warm. "I promise you. She saw a big, loud noise and a silly man who dropped something. That's all. That's all she'll ever remember."

Over his shoulder, I can glimpse his men still working. Fast, silent, practiced. Two of them have the intruder wrapped in a dark tarp and they're carrying him down the stairs like furniture, careful not to knock the pictures. Another one is on his knees in the hallway with a rag and a spray bottle. I watch him mop up the wall where the plaster cracked, and the floor below. It's actually, clinically insane how good they are at this. How normal it is for them.

I search myself for the horror I ought to be feeling, but I can't find it. Not yet. Maybe later. I bet it'll come for me at three in the morning for the rest of my life. But right now, there's only the shaking, and the warm wall of Ronan, and the two closed doors with my sleeping children behind them, still sleeping, still safe.

Someone steps close. I feel Ronan tense, and then relax when he sees who it is.

"House is clear," a man who can only be Ronan's cousin Navi reports. "That was the only one in here, and we've already gathered the rest who were posted up outside. We've got the perimeter covered now, four on the street, two on the roof. Nobody's getting within a block of this place tonight or any other night." He looks at me and smiles sympathetically. "You must be Calista."