A funeral.
I get to lay Dad and Sean to rest where Mom was buried. My family will be reunited in the afterworld.
The thought gives me some comfort, but it also makes my sorrow engulf me.
When I nod, Damien keeps an arm around my shoulders, and tucked against his side, we walk the last of the distance to the family cemetery.
When we break through the lining of trees, my eyes scan over the two holes, ready for the burial. Seeing the guards who've been with us for years reminds me of Dana.
“Dana should be here,” I whisper.
“I’ll get her,” Demitri offers, and he immediately jogs away.
My gaze stops on the two coffins, and knowing Dad and Sean are inside them makes sorrow twist my heart into a painful lump.
Alexei comes to stand in front of me, and it has me bringing my eyes to his.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Thank you for killing Adrian and bringing them home.”
Alexei surprises me by pulling me into a hug, and for a moment, I stiffen in his arms. Then he murmurs, “I tried to find Cillian, as well, but the scene was cleaned before my contact got there.”
Oh, God.
Cillian.
What happened to his body? Ugly thoughts begin to swarm in my mind that he was dumped or burned with the rest of the dead.
My shoulders quake under the onslaught of grief, and it makes Alexei tighten his hold on me.
“I’m sorry, little Winter,” Alexei whispers.
I nod against his shoulder, and the moment he lets go of me, I step closer to Damien’s side.
Damien wraps his arm around me, and I press my cheek to the side of his chest as I try not to cry.
DAMIEN
When Demitri returns with Dana, I lower my mouth to Winter’s ear. “Would you like to say something?”
She nods and then steps out of my hold. My eyes don’t leave her as she walks to the coffins. Her fingers brush over the wood, and then she asks, “Which one is Sean?”
Alexei gestures to the other coffin, and Winter goes to kneel by it. She swallows hard and presses a kiss to it. “I’m sorry, Sean. I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.”
She closes her eyes, and her body jerks once as she fights to keep her emotions under control.
I fist my hands at my sides, so I don’t rush to her side. After making her mine, it creates a vicious storm inside me to see Winter in so much pain. My jaw tightens as the need for revenge begins to form in me.
Winter gets up and goes to kneel by her father’s coffin. “I’ll kill them all. I promise.” She swallows hard, then whispers, “Give Mom a hug from me.”
She rises to her feet and glances between the two coffins, and then she takes a quivering breath. Softly, she begins to sing, her Irish accent more evident than ever. The guards, who are Irish, softly join in.
The song is the same as the one she was listening to right after we got home. It’s filled with reverence, and the love Winter has for her fallen family makes each lyric sound achingly sad.
When the last notes of the song fade, Winter whispers, “Goodnight.”
She begins to walk away from the coffins and passes right by me. When she keeps going, I glance at Demitri, who quickly says, “We’ll bury them. Go with her.”
I rush after Winter, and when I catch up to her, she lets out a heartbreaking sob as she wraps her arm around her middle as if the sorrow is threatening to tear her in half.
Without giving it another thought, I sweep her up into my arms and continue to walk toward the house.
“The shore,” she squeezes the words out, and as I change direction, she wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face against my shoulder.
“Shh…” I whisper.
When I reach the shore, I sit down and position Winter, so her back is resting against my chest. I keep my eyes trained on the land in the distance so she’ll have some privacy while she grieves.
“Cillian,” she gasps. “I can’t even bury him.”
I wrap my arms tightly around her and press a kiss to her hair. As my wife breaks down in my arms, I promise to make the Blancos suffer the way she’s suffering.
Knowing it will help calm her a little, I murmur, “We’ll take our revenge soon.”
She begins to nod, then turns a little so she can see my face. I take in her tearstained cheeks and the bruised look in her eyes, and once again, I pull her to me.
My arms keep tightening around her until she lets out a whimper. When I slacken my hold, she presses closer to me.
I press my mouth to her forehead as I fight to restrain the incessant need to kill her enemies.
My enemies.
Bringing my hand to Winter’s chin, I nudge her face up until our eyes meet. “You’re not alone.”
Winter nods, and wrapping her arms around my neck, she straddles my lap and presses herself hard against me. I position a hand behind her head and wrap my other arm around her. For a long while, I give Winter the comfort she needs as we just hold each other.
She’s grown quiet, but I don’t move. As a breeze picks up, she whispers, “I’m falling for you. Please catch me.”
I pull back so I can see Winter’s eyes, and my gaze drifts over her face. My heart expands until it’s brimming with my devotion to her. I’ve never felt such strong emotions for another person, and it has me murmuring, “I’ve already caught you. Give your heart to me, Princess. Love me.”
Winter pulls her arms back and frames my jaw with soft palms. We stare deep into each other’s eyes, and then she leans forward and presses a tender kiss to my mouth. “You have my heart, Damien.”
I don’t let her pull back but hold her to me as I take her mouth. My tongue brushes over hers, wanting to taste the words she said. Our lips fuse together, and minutes pass while our tongues dance before we slowly pull apart.
Winter rests her cheek on my shoulder, and I feel her breaths skim over my neck. After a couple of seconds, she whispers, “Tell me about your childhood.”
Frowning, I ask, “Why?”
She lets out a chuckle. “Growing up, I heard scary stories about the Vetrovs. Cillian made it sound like you’re the boogeyman.”
“Baba Yaga,” I murmur. “Cillian wasn’t wrong.”
Winter lifts her head and frowns at me.
I glance out over the water. “I fired my first gun at the age of seven. By the time I was thirteen, I never missed. For my sixteenth birthday, my father took me hunting.”
“What did you hunt?” Winter asks.
I turn my eyes back to her. “My father had a contract to assassinate someone, and he had me do it.”
“So, you killed the contract?” she asks.
I nod, then ask, “How old were you when Cillian taught you to fire a weapon.”
“Fourteen.”
I lift my hand to her neck and brush a finger over the scar. “Tell me what happened.”
Winter takes a deep breath. “We were leaving a shopping center. Halfway to the car, they opened fire on us. My mom… she grabbed me and pushed me to the ground. We both got shot, only she was shot in the head. Cillian grabbed me and got me out of there. He fixed me…” her voice drifts away, and long seconds pass before she murmurs, “Cillian was everything to me. He took over the role of my mother. He was my best friend. He’s every good memory I have.”