Evie

“Dad, what do you need?” I called, my voice carrying through the quiet house. It was late, and even though the storm had passed, the house still smelled faintly of wet wood and rain. My pulse was still running from the trouble downstairs, but I forced myself to sound calm.

“I need to retrieve some documents from the basement,” he said, voice calm and measured.

“Oh… okay. I’ll get it for you,” I replied automatically, already taking a step toward the basement door. My heart thumped harder than it should have. I told myself I was just doing my duty, helping Dad, and keeping things normal.

“Evie!”

I froze mid-step, almost dropping the basket of laundry just outside the connecting door. I’d grabbed it out of habit.

“What?” I called, turning around to face him.

“What is going on?” he asked, raising an eyebrow like he knew I was lying before I even opened my mouth.

I hesitated, then forced a tight smile. “Nothing, Dad.”

He tilted his head and gave me that look—the one that made me feel about two inches tall. “I find that hard to believe,” he said softly. “You were rushing to the basement without even asking what kind of documents I’m talking about.”

“Oh… Dad…” I let out a nervous laugh and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “It escaped my mind.”

He studied me for a long moment, eyes narrowing in that way that made my chest constrict. “What have you been thinking of?” he asked gently. “Have you studied the Word today?”

“Yes,” I whispered, the word barely leaving my lips. My voice felt small and fragile.

He nodded slowly, then a small smile appeared, soft and fatherly. “Good. Don’t worry about the documents tonight. I’ll check them another time. It’s not urgent.”

I let out a long, shaky breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Good night, Dad,” I said quietly, watching him disappear toward the inner room.

Once he was gone, I leaned against the wall and exhaled, letting my shoulders drop. My chest still felt tight, a strange mix of fear, excitement, and something else I couldn’t name. Even as I turned back toward the basement, my heart hammered a little faster, and my palms were slightly sweaty.

Because I knew exactly who I was going to see.

I pushed open the basement door, the creak of the old hinges sounding impossibly loud in the silence. “Hey…” I whispered, stepping carefully into the dimly lit room.

His head lifted slightly, eyes heavy and shadowed with exhaustion, dark rings marking the curve of his cheekbones. He looked utterly drained, like someone had wrung him out and left him in pieces. But a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Thank you, angel,” he said softly, and my cheeks heated up like a furnace. Angel. Him calling me that… It landed on me softly, like sunlight slipping through a clouded window. It made something flutter in my chest I didn’t understand and hadn’t expected.

I took a careful step closer, my eyes scanning him. He was drenched and bloodstained, yet somehow calm enough to be sitting here, trusting me. My instincts wanted to tell me to step back, to keep a safe distance, but a strange pull kept my feet rooted.

“Do you feel better?” I asked, my voice quiet and tentative, unsure if I had the right to ask anything personal.

He motioned lazily toward the couch. “Sit beside me,” he said.

My chest fluttered. My brain screamed, "don’t do it. He’s a stranger." But then, the words... what’s the worst that can happen? echoed somewhere in the back of my head. He was already half my size, maybe twice as strong. He could easily throw me across the room if he wanted to.

And yet… he didn’t. He just waited, eyes softening with patience, letting me exist in his space without a word of complaint.

So I sat.

Carefully. Tentatively. Close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him. My heart pounded, loud enough that I was sure he could hear it, though he didn’t flinch or even look at me in surprise. He just leaned back slightly, giving me space and waiting.

“What’s your name?” I asked softly, keeping my tone low and careful.

“Saint,” he said simply, as if that one word explained everything about him.

I laughed quietly, covering my mouth with my hand to keep the sound from carrying upstairs. He raised a brow, clearly confused by my reaction.

“You look nothing like your name,” I whispered, leaning back slightly to give him more space.

He smirked, slow and dangerous, and in a single, fluid movement, he rested his head on my lap. My breath caught somewhere in my throat.

“Rub my head, angel,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded and heavy with exhaustion.

I froze, my fingers hovering awkwardly over his hair. “My name is Evie,” I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. “And I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to rub your head. We’ve been… too intimate for strangers who just met.”

He sighed, slow and tired, but the sound didn’t sound unpleasant. “Please…” he whispered. “It’s the only way I can sleep.”

I looked down at him. His eyes were half-closed and weary, and something raw and fragile flickered there—desperation, need, and trust. I felt my chest tighten, my pulse quicken. There was something about him that made me want to protect him, want to ease the weight he carried even though I didn’t know what it was.

I couldn’t say no.

My fingers brushed through the damp strands of his hair, tentative at first, and then with more confidence as I felt him relax under my touch. His skin was warm, and the subtle weight of his head on me made me acutely aware of how close we were and how unusual and surreal this moment felt.

Minutes passed.

The rain outside had softened to a gentle tap against the windows, the house was silent, and the basement shrank into this intimate bubble of warmth and quiet. His breathing grew steady, soft, and rhythmic.

And then… he slept.

Just like that. His body went slack, the tension leaving him in seconds, as if my touch had soothed more than just the ache in his head. My chest tightened, a mix of relief, worry, and a strange, unnamable flutter.

I stayed still for a moment, heart pounding in the quiet. My hands were still resting lightly on him, and I felt a strange, protective urge wash over me. Gently, carefully, I shifted him, making sure he was comfortable, pulling a blanket from the cabinet and draping it over his shoulders.

There was a tug at my chest I didn’t understand. This man… this broken, mysterious stranger… he had somehow wormed his way into my world in the most chaotic, unexpected way.

And I didn’t even know his story yet.

I stood slowly, stepping back to take him in one more time. His face, relaxed in sleep, was almost peaceful. Not that I believed he was peaceful. He had that kind of aura that screamed danger, sin, and chaos, but right now, he was just a human being who needed care.

A sigh escaped me, soft and shaky. “What the hell am I doing?” I whispered to myself.

I turned toward the stairs, pausing before I climbed. Part of me wanted to stay, wanted to watch over him, and make sure nothing happened. Another part of me knew I needed to retreat, needed to preserve some shred of normalcy in my life before the storm that had just walked in through the door consumed me completely.

I stepped onto the first stair. My foot hovered over the second.

I made my way up the rest of the stairs, pressing lightly against the railing, moving as quietly as I could. I needed to get back to my room, needed to try and let my pulse settle down before my imagination ran wild.

Closing the door behind me, I leaned against it and let the silence envelop me. My mind raced anyway. What had just happened? Why had I felt that odd flutter in my chest when he called me angel? Why had I let him rest his head on my lap?

I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts. He was dangerous. A stranger. Someone I should never have let in...not literally, and not emotionally either.

I stripped off my damp clothes, tossing them in the laundry basket, and slid under the covers. My heart wouldn’t stop racing, and I felt a strange, fluttering warmth in my chest that I couldn’t name.