Deadly Oath

28. Kian

28

KIAN

W hen the morning light wakes me, threading through the curtains, for a brief moment, I don’t know where I am.

I felt like this once before, recently, when I moved to Rivershade. My first morning in my house, I woke up entirely disoriented, unsure of where I was and why I was there. It took me a few days to lose that sensation, especially given how different the little house I moved into is from what I’m used to.

This morning, the feeling is amplified by the fact that there’s a warm, soft, feminine body next to me. Sabrina is on her side, naked, curled up with her blonde hair spilling across the pillow, sleeping the sleep of the thoroughly exhausted. It’s no surprise—I wore her out last night. I was surprised she had the energy to get up and shower before coming back to bed.

I’d almost told her she couldn’t. I’d been tempted to tell her that she had to sleep the way I left her, covered in my cum, with it dripping out of her holes. But something in me deflated, afterward, and it wasn’t just my exhausted cock. I hadn’t thought I would lose my taste for dominating her so quickly, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that she wasn’t allowed to go clean up .

So instead, I’d laid in bed while I listened to the shower run, and thought about the fact that I’m now a married man.

The gold of my wedding ring gleams in the sunlight, and I look at it, surprised all over again at the sight of it. I’d known I would end up married one day, but I hadn’t thought, until very recently, that this would be the way it played out.

Sabrina stirs next to me, letting out a sleepy yawn that tells me she’s on the verge of waking up, and I tense. I don’t know what she expected last night would be—her wedding night—but I doubt it was what I gave her. She seemed shocked by it, in the moment. Startled by the roughness of it, my possessiveness.

But she liked it, too. I know that from the way she came for me, over and over, with my cock in her mouth and her pussy and finally her ass, the way she moaned and screamed my name. She might have been caught off guard, but she loved every second.

That doesn’t mean she might not feel differently in the morning light, though. I watch as she stretches, yawning again, and I feel that strange tug in my chest that seems to come more and more often when I’m around her. I find myself wanting to just look at her, admiring the way her slender, lithe body moves beneath the blankets, the way her lips are parted, her long eyelashes dusting against her cheeks. I’d expected her to be a spoiled brat when we first met, but there’s more to Sabrina than that. I’ve seen it in the days I’ve spent with her, the interactions I’ve seen between her and her friends, the way Daphne and Marie came together to give her a wedding day that would be special.

That doesn’t matter , I tell myself firmly as I push myself up against the headboard. You married her for a reason. That’s all that matters. It doesn’t change anything.

Sabrina rolls over, blinking sleepily, and I tense for her reaction when last night comes back to her. But she just rolls into me, slinging one arm over my waist as she pillows her head against my chest and lets out a sigh.

There’s that tug in my chest again, but deeper this time, stronger. I have the urge to wrap my arm around her and pull her closer, to sink back down into the bed with her and spend the day here with her. It’s the day after my wedding—no one would think twice about it if I called in. But I shouldn’t .

I can’t let her get under my skin. I’ve already let my desire for her come close to spinning out of my control. Letting myself feel something for her is impossible.

It can’t happen.

“I think that was the best night’s sleep I’ve ever gotten,” Sabrina murmurs dreamily, nuzzling into me a little closer before opening her eyes. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Get married?” I smirk down at her, and she opens those wide blue eyes, giving me a sleepy smile in return.

“If that’s what it takes.” She has that look in her eyes that I’ve seen on women’s faces before, the look of someone satisfied and well-fucked, but I’ve never had this feeling wash over me before. It’s something different from satisfaction, something I can’t quite put a name to.

Something I don’t want to put a name to.

“Take your time getting up,” I tell her, leaning down to drop a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll go cook you breakfast, since that’s the only thing I know how to make.”

“Good,” she murmurs with a sleepy laugh. “Because I didn’t magically become a good cook when we tied the knot. I can’t cook anything, still.”

“I forgot to tell the preacher to put that in the wedding vows. My fault.”

Sabrina laughs, her eyes fluttering open to look up at me again, and a feeling washes over me that I’ve never felt before. No—that’s not right exactly, I have felt it before, but never for a romantic partner. Never for a woman who wasn’t family. It’s affection , mingled with a comforting sense of happiness, and it alarms me enough to make me quickly get out of bed, disentangling myself from her as I go to dig clothes out of the duffel bag that I brought in with me last night.

I can feel her eyes on me as I dress, pulling on jeans and a long-sleeved henley, and I wonder what she’s thinking. There are things we need to discuss, things most couples would have talked about before marriage, but I avoided those topics in the week leading up to our whirlwind wedding. Things like if I’m moving in here, or if she’s going to come live at my house—for now, at least. We haven’t discussed the future.

Sabrina says nothing as I finish dressing and leave the room, stretching again under the blankets with another yawn. I don’t look back at her—the sight of her would tempt me back to bed, and it would be far too easy to let myself get lost in repeating last night with her. But I have plans to make. Things that need to be done.

I busy myself with getting the ingredients out for breakfast once I’m in the kitchen, listening with one ear to the sound of Sabrina pattering around down the hall. I pour her cup of cold pumpkin coffee, surprising myself with the fact that I, somewhere along the way, picked up on the fact that she would want that. I’ve noticed things about her, even when I didn’t mean to, and it goes along with that feeling she gives me, the one I don’t want to name.

She’ll be pleased that I got her coffee for her, and that thought warms me in a way that I shove down instantly. I married her for a reason, I remind myself sharply, turning on the stove. That reason isn’t served by letting her get in my head.

Sabrina comes into the kitchen a few minutes later, wearing a pair of dark jeans and a soft-looking purple sweater that slides off of one pale shoulder. It shows off the sharp line of her collarbone, and my cock twitches, thinking of sliding my thumb across it, my tongue?—

Get yourself together, I tell myself sharply, as I shove eggs across the pan. You fucked her three times last night. Wasn’t that enough?

Clearly, it wasn’t.

“We should talk about living arrangements.” I reach over, flipping a piece of bacon in the pan without looking back at her again. “I have a place, obviously. I’ve been renting it since I moved here. But it’s not much to look at—definitely a bachelor pad.”

Sabrina is quiet for a moment. “I hadn’t thought about that,” she admits. “This all happened so fast. ”

“I thought you might be more comfortable if I moved in here.” I shrug, focusing my attention on the food. “It’s up to you, really.”

“Do you care at all which way it goes?” There’s a tiny bit of admonishment in her tone, as if she expected this to matter to me. “Where we live as a married couple, now?”

“This is an arrangement, remember?” I start to put the bacon onto a plate, noticing as I do that I’m gripping the tongs too tightly. “For your protection. A marriage of convenience.”

“It didn’t seem very convenient last night,” she says softly. “And you said I’m yours now. That you won’t let me go. So yeah, I thought it would matter.”

I swallow hard, struggling to keep my composure. It’s clear she wants this from me, and why shouldn’t she? I have married her, after all.

“I imagine Caldwell would probably prefer if we stayed here,” I tell her, filling a plate and reaching for her coffee. “You’ll have enough to explain to him about this marriage. I imagine he won’t be pleased. No reason to make it worse by moving out of the house he put you in. This should be more comfortable for us both, anyway. I figured staying in your own place would make you happy.”

Sabrina looks at me as I bring her her food, an expression on her face that almost looks hurt. And then she sees the cup of coffee in my hand, and her face softens.

“You noticed,” she says softly, taking it from me. “Thank you. That was sweet.”

Sweet. I can’t remember the last time someone called me that. My stomach tightens, and I turn away sharply, going to get my own plate. I need a minute to regain my composure, and it gives me that.

I can’t get a handle on why this morning is affecting me like this. It shouldn’t. I had a plan in place, and all that’s left now is to stick to it. But I feel off balance, like I’m grasping at tethers, and I don’t like it one bit. It’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to, and definitely not on account of a woman.

I sit down across from Sabrina with my food, even though my appetite has fled. I’d like a cup of black coffee, and I make a mental note to get filters and grounds this afternoon after work. I know how to use a coffee pot, even if she doesn’t.

“I’ve planned a honeymoon for us,” I tell her abruptly, and Sabrina looks up sharply, swallowing her mouthful of coffee convulsively.

“What?” She sounds utterly shocked, and I suppose I can’t blame her. Nothing about this marriage has been conventional, but somehow, I thought she would expect it, just as I thought she’d expect a fancy engagement ring.

I’ve been wrong about her more than once now. Which, likely, is a lot of why I feel so off-kilter. I generally have good instincts, and I’m not used to being wrong about people. Especially not someone I’ve watched as closely as her.

“A honeymoon,” I repeat. “I thought it might be a nice surprise. Considering how fast this all happened, I thought it might make it feel more—real. And I thought it might be good for us, to get away for a few days. Especially after what happened. Leaving town sounds like a good idea, right?”

Sabrina bites her lip. “It sounds amazing,” she says softly. “And romantic. But Caldwell?—”

“You leave him to me,” I tell her firmly. “I’m sure he won’t be thrilled about me taking you out of town, but I’m law enforcement, too. And you’re my wife, now. I’ll deal with any objections he might have.”

Sabrina can’t help but smile at that. “Okay,” she says softly. “As long as you’re the one dealing with him.” She reaches for her coffee, taking a small sip. “Where are we going?”

I grin at her, the upper hand mine once again. “Now that,” I tell her, “is a surprise.”

—

I have a fight in the evening, and I’m glad. I need space, time to get my head back on straight, and a way to work out the tension that seems to have climbed into my bones despite the night I spent with Sabrina in bed. I brought over some more of my things after work, along with coffee supplies and some groceries, and the look on Sabrina’s face twisted something in my chest again. It was that same look she gave me when I took her out to dinner, or fixed her front step, or brought her the ring. A look that said I was the first person to take care of her in a long time.

That feeling will bring me nothing but trouble, if I let it.

And it already is. The bets on me are high tonight, after the last two fights I had, where I barely took a hit before knocking my opponent to the dirt. But tonight, I’m just as off as I felt this morning. The man opposite me—smaller than me, wiry and quick—gets in a blow to my ribs before I can dodge him, and then one to my jaw, another to my nose. He hits me hard and fast, and a bloom of rage ignites in my chest, threatening to overwhelm me far past the point of what’s appropriate in a place like this. The kind of rage that I need to keep a leash on, lest it make me do something I might regret.

These fights are unsanctioned, technically probably illegal, but what’s definitely illegal is actually killing a man in one. And as the sheriff, I shouldn’t be even participating in this, let alone beating a man to death.

I think the man fighting me sees that glint in my eyes after he sends blood spurting from my nose, the violence that ignites in me. He falters, staggering back, and that’s when I go in on him.

That one faltering moment will cost him the fight. I hit him in the jaw, the stomach, the side, a swift uppercut sending him reeling back into the ropes. I don’t let up until my fists are sprayed with his blood, and he’s sagging down to the dirt, moaning as he curls into himself, one hand protecting the side of his head.

When ten seconds pass, and he doesn’t get up, I force myself to back off. This man isn’t responsible for my temper, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to end his life as a pulpy mess in a stuffy warehouse. But right now, all I want is blood.

I pivot before he starts to get up and I give in to the urge to put him back down, collecting my cash on the way out. When I get back to Sabrina’s house— our house now, I suppose—all the lights are off, and I’m relieved that she’s probably asleep. I’ll be able to clean up my injuries, shower, and get some rest. In the morning, maybe my mood will have passed. Maybe I’ll feel more like myself again. Back in control.

I walk quietly through the house to the bathroom, only flipping the light on once I’m inside and the door is shut. My face is a mess—nose purpling, dried blood caking beneath it, and over my lip, which is swollen. It’s not the only injury, either, and I have a feeling that I’m going to be in here for a bit, cleaning up.

I start with my ribs, working my way up. The blood there is the other man’s, not mine, although I can see where I’m already starting to bruise. I’m so focused on cleaning up that I don’t even notice the click of the door opening until I see Sabrina out of the corner of my eye, and I jump a little, startled.

“Boo.” She looks up at me, blonde hair tousled, in her silky sleep shorts and tank top. My wife.

Her teasing smile turns concerned the moment she takes in the state of my face. “Kian.” She whispers my name, her voice full of worry that I know I don’t deserve. “I’ve never seen you come back from a fight like this before. What happened?”

I shrug, trying to play it off as if it’s nothing. “I was distracted.”

Her forehead creases, and she bites her lip. “Because of me?”

“No.” Yes . “Just had an off night, that’s all.”

Sabrina moves closer, into the small bathroom with me. “Sit down,” she says, motioning to the edge of the tub. “I’ll help.”

That tightness in my chest again. “I’m fine,” I tell her, more curtly than I probably needed to. “I can handle it.”

“I’m your wife. Let me take care of you.” Her voice is insistent, and she wedges herself between me and the sink, looking up at me. “Kian. Let me.”

I should tell her no, again. I should tell her to go back to bed. This is an intimacy we don’t need, another thing to shake my footing. But instead, I find myself backing down, retreating to the tub, sinking down onto the edge of it .

When Sabrina leans down, gently starting to wipe at the crusted blood, I can’t help but try to remember the last time someone touched me like this. Gently. Caring. Lovingly, almost, and the word twists around my heart.

I can’t recall. Maybe when my mother was still alive. Maybe my sister, at some point. But I can’t seem to find those memories, and I find myself leaning into Sabrina’s touch, a sense of comfort washing over me that I can’t recall the last time I felt, either.

I should pull away. But I let her touch me, because it soothes me. And at this moment, despite all the reasons why I shouldn’t—I let myself be soothed.

I let myself feel a moment of peace.