to me, and I can’t imagine how this could have played out differently. So, I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry I found you.”
A sharp, searing heat split his heart.
Then she swallowed, eyes wide, and her arm moved. A bolt of reaction burst up his arm as the tips of two of her fingers grazed across his hand where it rested between them. Soft, scarcely there, but he felt it with the insistent tug of a stitch woven into his skin—and he flipped his palm, opening it carefully, heart in his throat as she threaded her fingers through his.
He clasped her tightly.
The next morning, he woke alone.
7
The walk to Zara’s apartment from the women’s shelter was peak Kira City torture. Frankie grumbled up streets so unforgiving, the sidewalks were literally made of stone steps. It was almost enough to overshadow her ache for Kris after going all of yesterday without seeing him. Her thighs burned and the late-afternoon sun beat relentlessly at her back as she kept pace with her friend.
“That was a good session.” Zara tugged the brim of her sun hat lower over the back of her neck. “That blocking move should help.”
“They’ve just got to get close enough to splatter his balls inside his skull.”
Zara pulled a face. “Visual.”
Frankie often had Sunday afternoons off work, so set aside a couple of hours to teach Zara’s shelter residents self-defense. She’d outline common types of attacks men used on women on the street and in the home, and then teach basic moves for them to defend themselves. These women had complicated, fragile histories with abuse, and she did her best to respect that pain while arming them with strength. Hard to say which hurt more to see—the fierce concentration of women who knew this might literally save their lives or the women who wept even as they stacked their arms, tucked their foreheads down, and blocked their practice partners’ attack. “Don’t hold back, ladies,” she’d tell them, walking the room. “All beasts have an underbelly, and for a man, that’s his balls. Strike it like you mean it. That’s his procreative future right there—his brain will protect it at all costs. Make impact and he’ll pitch forward, hips hinging to pull it out of range. He might even forget to throw that punch or keep his grip on your neck, so don’t be half-assed about it—keep at it until he’s on the ground. Then you get the hell out of there.”
Afterward, she and Zara would often go out for an early dinner, but today, they’d decided to head back to Zara’s apartment for cold drinks.
“Thanks again for coming in,” Zara said. “You’ve had a big week.”
“It’s fine.” Frankie glanced up, irritated to find they weren’t even halfway up the street. “I want to help. I’d have killed for a shelter when I was growing up.”
Zara kept her head down as she climbed. Her question was quiet. “Killed who, exactly?”
Her next breath was jagged and she wished she could blame it on the climb. Abuse wasn’t always physical. “My dad.”
The only comfort her friend offered was a light brush of her knuckles against Frankie’s forearm, but it still tied a knot in her throat.
By the time they staggered into the apartment, they were sweating, groaning, and fixated on the ice cream Zara had remembered in her freezer.
Rounding the kitchen, Frankie pulled up short at the sight of an immaculately dressed blond man by the fridge, tightening his tie. His blue eyes snapped to her, assessing, and she suddenly wished she’d paid more attention when Zara had mentioned her boyfriend. He was Mark’s manservant, but she’d never had cause to interact with him at the palace. She’d looked over his staff file months ago—long-term palace employee from a reputable family within Kiraly—but could she remember his name? Of course not.
“I’ve mentioned Frankie?” Zara asked by way of introduction, hip-bumping him out of the way so she could open the freezer.
“Ah, yes, of the royal guard,” he said, voice low and cultured. “You’re head of personal security.”
Frankie wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “Yep.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Tie in place, he extended his hand and offered a warm, sincere smile. “I’m Adam.”
“Adam.” She shook, finding his grip firmer than expected. “What kind of things?”
His smile grew. “In short, to be careful around you.”
Not a bad reputation for her position. “You work for Mark, right?”
“Yes, my duties have followed His Majesty to Kuria Estate.” His attention drifted to