Sinclair

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Contract

SINCLAIR AND I END up in his office after I'm changed and all cried out. We're sitting on the same black velvet chaise lounge chair that we've had sex on many times. Now, though, we just sit side by side as the early morning sun stretches higher in the sky. I sit with my knees pressed against my chest and my arms around them and Sinclair is sitting with one hand draped over the back of the chair and I can feel his eyes on me the entire time. He's waiting for me to say something. He's waiting for me to address the fact that I feel scared and the fact that I feel a little stripped bare ever since somewhere that was once so safe to me was broken into and defiled by that monster of a man. He's waiting for me to tell him how I was afraid in those moments, afraid that I would lose my life and never see the people I cared about ever again.

That I would never see him again.

He's waiting for me to say something but I don't say anything. I keep my gaze forward, looking at the rising sun through the small little window that gives a good view of the thicket of forest trees that line the sides of the road. When I do finally speak, it's not about my fears but rather, it's something trivial to keep my mind off of my fears.

"What were you doing in the women's shower room anyway?"

"I was showering in the men's section," he explains. "When I was walking out, I saw the women's shower room was lit up and I knew it was you since you were the only one left here besides me." He gives a smirk as he continues. "And I just figured I'd sneak in and try to get a peek." He winks.

Blood rushes to my cheeks and I swat at him hysterically, watching as he easily dodges my hits and laughs loudly, clearly enjoying himself.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he promises, the smile on his face gradually fading as he looks at me seriously. "I was going to go get us some breakfast—with a lot of difficulty, if I may add since I really did want to sneak a peek—but then I heard you crying." His gaze softens and in it, I see his worry. "Talk to me, Freyja."

I tear my eyes away from his soft gray ones and focus on the window in front of me, trying to gather my thoughts.

"It was just really unnerving, that's all," I finally say after a long silence. "Your home is always somewhere you think you're safe and to have it broken into..." I shake my head. "It just surprised me."

I don't even notice I'm trembling until the arm Sinclair had draped over the couch, grips my body and pulls me closer to him. Just like that, all of my trembling ceases and I feel deceptively safe. It's a lot like there is no bad in the world as long as he holds me close this way. His familiar scent fills my nose and steadies my once frantic heartbeat. Despite the fact that a part of me—the part of me that has been controlled by my phobia for so long—is screaming at me to pull away, get up and go far away where Sinclair can never find me, I find myself leaning into his hard chest, one of my hands resting on his abdomen lightly.

"Your reaction is normal," he says quietly as I listen to his heartbeat and the sound of his voice reverberating through his chest. "Most people wouldn't have been as brave as you were, my little war goddess. You did well, ma déesse but you don't have to put up a front for me." As his voice becomes more passionate, more honest, his long-buried French accent begins to rise to the surface. "I want you to rely on me more, Freyja. Don't try to hide parts of yourself from me. I want to see every part of you, I want to know every part of you."

I keep my head on his chest, never looking at him. I listen to his even breaths and his strong heartbeat for about thirty seconds before I finally speak again.

"Why?"

"Why?" he repeats my question, sounding confused.