Page 50 of Blood Red Rage

His pale eyes met mine. "And if you hadn't moved?"

I didn't answer but Roman did. "She'd likely be dead."

I shut my eyes, that thought was somehow worse. Volken folded his arms across his broad chest as he comes to stand behind Lucien. "You are measuring yourself against perfection."

"I should have been perfect."

Roman stepped closer. "No one is." His voice remained calm. "Ceasar wanted this." I looked up. "He wanted you to blame yourself."

"He wanted to break your judgment." Lucien says.

"He wanted your rage to consume you." Draugr states.

Roman crouched until we were eye level. "If you carry this as guilt instead of purpose...he wins" The words settled heavily.

"You know what Bryn asked when she woke up?" Lucien asks as he squeezes my shoulder. I looked at him. "The first thing she wanted to know...was whether you were alive."

My chest tightened painfully, Draugr nodded once. "She wasn't angry Viking, she wasn't blaming you. She was worried about you."

That has me lowering my head as I covered my face with both hands. I reach out with my senses and feel the bond as it pulsed softly…Alive. She was alive.

Roman stood. "Get up." I looked at him. "Your mate needs the man she loves." He does not voice that she does not need the berserker, the executioner, but it’s there in his silence.

I inhaled deeply, then slowly stood. The grief hadn't left, the guilt remained it probably always would, but Bryn was waiting upstairs, and every step I took toward her reminded me of the only thing that mattered.

She was alive, and as long as she breathed...So would I.

Chapter 9

I woke slowly, surfacing from sleep like I was swimming up through deep water. Warmth surrounded me first, it was solid, heavy and I felt protected. Then I realized what it was. Viking.

He lay stretched out beside me, one arm thrown over my waist, his body angled protectively toward mine even in sleep. His chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths. His face was relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen while he was awake, all the sharp edges smoothed out, the storm banked down to embers. Viking slept like he fought. All or nothing.

Careful not to move my arm too much, I shifted slightly, studying him. He looked… impossibly strong even like this. Broad shoulders, with a powerful throat, tattoos disappearing beneath the sheet. A man who looked like myth had decided to breathe.

My arm throbbed, the pain pulled memories loose whether I wanted them or not. The sound of the shot cracked through my head again, loud and sharp and wrong. I remembered the impact first, the way it felt like my arm had been slammed with fire. I remembered the way Viking moved, faster than thought, yanking me down and throwing his body over mine like he could shield me from bullets with sheer will.

I remembered his face. God. I had never seen rage like that. His eyes had burned red, glowing with something feral and unrestrained. The world had seemed to narrow around him, everyone else suddenly insignificant. I remembered his brothers rushing him, shouting, grabbing, trying to hold him back as he fought them like they were nothing.

And somehow, that terrified me, because in that moment, there had been no doubt, not one. Viking Dragic hadn’t been angry because of pride or control, he’d been furious because I had been hurt, because I mattered.

The bullet had pierced my arm, and the pain had been sharp enough to steal my breath, but the fear that followed wasn’t for me, it was for him. For the way he’d thrown himself over me. For the way he’d roared, the way I’d been terrified he would get shot too. Or worse. That someone would kill him while he was trying to protect me.

I’d fainted after that. I remembered his voice faintly, breaking through the chaos, and then nothing. Now, lying here beside him, I felt the weight of the truth settle in my chest. I would never leave him. Not because he wouldn’t let me but because I didn’t want to.

The idea of being without him felt… wrong. Like trying to breathe without lungs. When I’d been shot, when the pain had flared and the world had tilted, the only thing I’d been sure of was that I couldn’t lose him.

That realization scared me more than the gunshot ever had. I shifted again, my arm protesting, and Viking stirred immediately. His grip tightened slightly, instinctive, possessive even in sleep. He didn’t wake, but his body angled closer, like he was guarding me unconsciously. Daylight, then. That was why he slept so deeply.

Careful not to wake him, I eased myself out of bed. The moment his arm left my waist, something in me protested, but I ignored it and stood slowly, my arm aching.

I dressed quietly, wincing as fabric brushed the bandage, then padded toward the door. I needed my tablets, and air, and maybe a second to think without his presence overwhelming every thought.

When I opened the door, I nearly collided with two men standing on either side. Luka and Nico, they straightened instantly.

“Morning, Lady Bryn,” Luka said politely.

I blinked. “Please don’t call me that.”