Bought By Santa (Seasonal Obsessions #1)

Chapter 33

The Breeder

T he early morning sun, weak and pale against the gray December sky, barely penetrates the thick clouds as we step out of Caspian’s house. The cold air bites at my skin, but I barely notice it. Nick’s hand grips mine tightly, his warmth a stark contrast to the numbness that’s settled deep within me. I feel disconnected, like I’m floating outside my body, watching everything unfold as if it’s happening to someone else.

Nick murmurs something to his men, and they nod, understanding the unspoken orders. They stay behind to deal with the aftermath—the blood, the bodies, the evidence of what we’ve done. But Nick doesn’t linger. He’s already guiding me toward the car, his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders, pulling me close. I can feel the tension in his body, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. But all I can do is follow, my legs moving on autopilot, my mind too overwhelmed to process anything.

I’m a stone, unfeeling on the outside, but inside I’m drowning. Shock, grief, guilt—they all collide in a chaotic storm, each emotion clawing at me, threatening to tear me apart. Willow is gone, and it’s my fault. Caspian’s words echo in my mind, taunting me, reminding me that my sister died because of me. The realization is like a knife to the heart, twisting deeper with every breath I take.

Nick says nothing as we drive back to the penthouse. The silence between us is heavy, suffocating, but I’m grateful for it. I can’t talk, can’t even think straight. The city passes by in a blur, the bright lights of New York muted by the fog in my mind. Everything feels distant, unreal, like I’m trapped in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

When we finally reach the penthouse, Nick leads me inside, his movements gentle but firm. I follow him up the stairs, barely aware of my surroundings. The walls seem to close in on me, the familiar space suddenly foreign and suffocating. I’m shaking, but I can’t stop. My hands are trembling uncontrollably, and I feel like I’m going to shatter into a million pieces.

Nick says nothing as he starts running a bath, the sound of water filling the tub almost soothing in the oppressive silence. He undresses me with a tenderness that makes my heart ache, his fingers brushing against my skin as he removes the blood-stained clothes.

I feel like I’m watching it all from a distance, detached from my own body. When he’s done, he lifts me into the bath, the warm water enveloping me like a cocoon. I sink into it, the heat seeping into my bones, but it does nothing to thaw the coldness inside me.

He climbs in behind me, pulling me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me. I lean into him, my head resting on his shoulder, my eyes fixed on the water as it turns pink, then red, the blood from Caspian’s men, and from Nick’s cut, washing off my skin. The sight should horrify me, but I feel nothing. I’m too numb, too broken.

But then, slowly, the tears start to fall. At first, it’s just a trickle, a few drops sliding down my cheeks. But then the dam breaks, and I’m sobbing uncontrollably, my body shaking with the force of it. The grief, the guilt, the pain—it all pours out of me, raw and unfiltered.

Nick holds me tighter, his hand stroking my hair, his lips pressing against my forehead in silent comfort.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice choking with tears. “I’m so sorry, Nick…”

He doesn’t say anything, just holds me as I cry, his presence grounding me, keeping me from spiraling completely into the darkness. The water turns darker; the crimson spreading through the tub like a stain that can’t be washed away. But Nick doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. He stays with me, his strength my lifeline in this sea of despair.

When my sobs finally subside, and I’m too exhausted to cry anymore, he empties the tub and refills it with fresh water. He washes away the blood, the dirt, the remnants of the night’s horrors, all while whispering soothing words I can’t quite hear. I feel hollow, emptied out, but the numbness has lessened, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.

Nick helps me out of the bath and dries me off with a towel, his hands gentle as they move over my skin. He leads me to our bed, the soft sheets welcoming me as I collapse onto them. I curl up, pulling the sheet over me, trying to find some semblance of warmth, of comfort. Nick slides in beside me, his body pressed against mine, his arm draped over my waist.

I close my eyes, the weight of the day finally dragging me under. Sleep takes me, but even in my dreams, I can’t escape the memory of Caspian’s cold eyes, or the knowledge that Willow died because of me. The darkness surrounds me, but Nick’s presence is a faint light, keeping the worst of it at bay.

But for how long?