Cassel — POV
I sat on the couch, playing with Rosalia's fingers slowly, almost absently.
Small and dainty, those hands seemed far too tender for the kind of world we lived in. Her fingertips were cool against my skin, like petals, and each time my thumb brushed over them, they quivered a little.
It wasn't until the final rays of anger ebbed out of my body that the weight of what had just occurred finally settled in, hard and crushing. Along with that awareness came a very primal, almost wild need to pull the girl closer-so I did.
I wrapped an arm around her waist, tugged her into my embrace, and settled her securely on my lap, as if that were the most natural place in the world for her to be.
I would never have admitted it out loud-not even under torture-but the truth was simple and humiliating:
I was terrified to let her out of my sight.
Even for a second.
Even for a breath.
Even for the time it would take her to blink.
