There was a scratch on her neck. He stooped, nuzzling the skin, drawing her scent deep, and kissed her. He could feel the flutter of her pulse beneath his lips. Steady, slightly elevated. But most importantly, beating and alive.
He cradled her close, sighing at the feel of her against him. “Sleep?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” she agreed, wrapping her arms around him.
For a moment, they didn’t move. But he knew she needed rest. For herself and the baby. He swung her up in his arms.
“Finn–” her protest was thick, sleepy.
“Hush,” he whispered against the top of her head.
Jessa’s smell. How he loved her scent, the feel of her in his arms, the sigh she made as she relaxed in his hold. The bed was big, crisp sheets, comfy blankets, and Jessa. He didn’t need much more.
Jessa’s sleep was fitful, jarring him awake over and over. He reached out for her, wrapping her up in his arms. She tossed, pushing away from him and huddling in a ball. She bolted upright, her hands fisting in the sheets, gasping for breath.
He sat up, running his hand down her back and through her still-damp hair. She’d been through hell. And until she faced it, she’d never be free. “What is it?” he whispered. “Tell me.”
She shook her head.
“Jessa,” he encouraged her to face him. “You have to let me in.”
She stayed stiff, rigid.
He stretched, turning on the bedside light. But seeing her like this, so full of fear, choked him. Her wide green eyes fixed on his face, searching his eyes. Was she afraid of him?
“I’d never hurt you,” he vowed.
She nodded.
“I’ll protect you, no matter what.” He touched her cheek.
She relaxed against him.
“Tell me, so I can make it better,” his voice was low.
“It will hurt,” she said.
He nodded, bracing himself. What had they done to her?
“M-Mal.” She shook her head.
Finn’s heart stopped. He placed a hand on her back, needing contact.
“Cyrus brought me out of the cellar—where I’d been staying—so I could see what they were doing to M-Mal,” her voice broke. “He was in so much pain. They kept asking him questions, about you, your pack, the bone. He wouldn’t say anything.”
Finn didn’t want to imagine it, but her words left him no choice. Mal, suffering, for him—again.
“They hit me then and he shifted. Cyrus said horrible things, threatened me and Mal fought but th-they cut his throat. He kept bleeding. He told me not to believe them.” She buried her face in her hands. “I couldn’t do anything, Finn. I couldn’t stop the horrible things coming from Cyrus’s mouth. Or the injuries they inflicted on Mal. I had to sit there and watch. He kept telling me to be strong. He was alive when they dragged him outside.” She stared at him. “I can’t stop seeing it. Hearing it.”
He’d never been much of a crier. Even when he was young, he’d shrug things off, channeling his emotion into anger or attitude. He ached to cry for Mal, for her, with her.
“You shouldn’t have been there, Jessa. I let you down.” The weight of failure settled on him. “I didn’t do what I promised. I didn’t protect you or my pack.”
Her arms slid around his neck, soft as silk. “I don’t blame you. Mal didn’t blame you. He told Cyrus that you’d never stop until he was dead.” Her breath wavered. “But after seeing that… I can’t lose you. In my dream, it was you, not Mal.”
He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to the tip of every finger. “Hey, hey, I’m here. That will never happen. You need sleep, Jessa. You and the baby.” The word felt strange on his tongue.
But her smile was radiant—sleepy, but radiant.