She blinked. Stared. Blinked again.
The chuckle bubbled up and erupted before she could contain it. Damn, she didn’t want to laugh, but it felt good. She cut a glance up at him then tumbled to the side, laughter bursting from her in great guffaws that had her side aching and her eyes stinging with tears.
Through her blurry gaze she noted Nicolai studying her, his expression caught between concern and anger. That sent her into another paroxysm of hilarity.
“I’m sorry,” she wheezed, rubbing the heels of her palms over her eyes. Her breath hitched and she hiccupped. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “It’s just I wasn’t expecting that. There were a lot of ‘fuckers’ and ‘fucking’ in that sentence.” She giggled.
The anger evaporated from his face, leaving a sheepish chagrin. And it was so endearing on his sharply hewn, patrician face, she reached up and traced the granite line of his jaw.
“Sorry,” he said gruffly. “Most of my time is spent in the company of Lukas, Adon and Dorian. I’m not used to watching my mouth.”
Her hilarity mellowed into a soft glow that set up base right in her heart. “No need to apologize.” She dropped her arm and reclaimed his hand. Whisking the pad of her thumb over his broad knuckles, she smiled. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“For?”
“For wanting to defend me.” Her eyes met his and she didn’t duck her head or avoid his eagle-like scrutiny. “No one has done that for me since my mom died. It feels…nice.”
“I would protect you with my life.” Truth rang in his solemn tone and she believed him. “You did the same for me, you know.”
Tamar arched an eyebrow. “Protected you?”
“Kept me.”
She didn’t know how to respond to the bleak statement, but her heart wrenched for him. His austere, forbidding expression couldn’t completely hide the sorrow that darkened his eyes.
“Tell me,” she said, leaving the invitation open and praying he would accept.
The quiet stretched for long seconds. Nicolai stared down at their tangled fingers before shifting his gaze to the far wall. Tamar suspected he didn’t study the weathered wood or the gorgeous painting of an eagle in flight. What he saw went soul deep.
“I hunt, fight and execute.” He stated the description of his job matter of factly and without apology. “By the time I begin to track, judgment has already been rendered. There is no discussion, no turning back. I am death—even if it means a former friend…or family.” His voice was no longer factual. Weariness had crept into his tone, weighed it down. “While my people are grateful for my existence, they’re uncomfortable with my presence. They realize as well as I do the day could arrive when I might have to judge their loved ones, maybe even them.”
Tamar didn’t know how she’d missed it before—his loneliness. Since Nicolai had burst into her life, he’d appeared indestructible, like a comic book hero. That he experienced frailties such as loneliness and sorrow made him seem vulnerable…human.
“It’s why I choose to live away from them, away from Patros. For their peace of mind as well as my own. It’s easier if I don’t have personal ties.”
“It hurts you,” she whispered. “Each kill hurts you.”
A brief hesitation, then a small nod. “Like a stain on my soul. Sometimes I wonder which execution will be the one that tips the scales and turns me into the hunted instead of the hunter.”
Fear, acrid and sharp, flooded her mouth. No. A feral snarl leapt from the depths of her spirit. Someone as beautiful, as pure as him should not be destroyed. His head jerked around and he stared at her, his eyes shocked, rounded pools of purple so deep they appeared black.
“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed at her over-the-top reaction. Hell, they had officially met three days ago. Still the residue of terror and anger lingered within her chest. “You haven’t said anything that changes my mind. It’s not fair. And for the record, your people sound like a bunch of thankless ingrates.”
A corner of his sensual mouth quirked before flattening into a grim line.
“Choices, Tamar,” he reminded her. “I don’t regret my position or the weight of it. But don’t make me out to be a martyr. I made choices and one of those has left the blackest mark on my soul.”
He disentangled his fingers from hers and returned them to his thighs. The loss of his touch left her bereft, alone. But she didn’t try to snatch his hand back. His frame had gone so rigid she feared one touch would snap him in two. A muscle pulsed along the taut ridge of his jaw. Nicolai didn’t desire her comfort.