Leonidas had seen fear before.
He had seen it in the eyes of men who knew their end was near, in rivals who realized they had underestimated him, in enemies who dared to challenge him and failed.
But he had never seen this kind of fear.
Not trembling, not screaming, not begging for mercy—just silent, fragile, deeply ingrained fear.
And it did something to him.
Looking at Anastasia now, curled in on herself, her body barely suppressing its shivers, her breaths shallow, something in his chest tightened.
She looked delicate.
Too delicate for a world that would tear her apart if she let it.
He should have left. Should have let her deal with it on her own.
But he couldn't.
He wouldn't.
His fingers loosened from her chin, and before he could stop himself—he pulled her into his arms.
A pure embrace.
Not mixed with lust.
Not tainted with possessiveness.
Just warmth.
Just comfort.
Just a quiet, unshakable urge to protect.
Anastasia stiffened.
Her breath hitched.
She had expected many things from him—dominance, control, quiet cruelty masked as civility.
But she had not expected this.
Not the way his arms enveloped her gently, not the way his hand cradled the back of her head, not the way his body—so solid, so strong—felt like a shield, blocking out everything else.
"Ana..."
Her chest tightened.
She felt his voice more than she heard it, his deep timbre vibrating against her ear.
"It's okay," he murmured. "I'm here now."
A promise.
A vow.
She should have pushed him away.
Should have kept her distance, kept her walls up, kept herself from believing the illusion of safety that he offered.
But she couldn't.
Not when the thunder rumbled again, shaking the windows, sending another wave of fear through her chest.
Not when the warmth of him felt like the only real thing in this moment.
Not when the scent of him—woodsy, dark, masculine—wrapped around her like something safe.
She didn't realize she had curled closer until she felt his grip tighten.
Until she felt his hand slowly stroke down her back, his touch steady, grounding.
He wasn't saying anything else.
Didn't need to.
Because this—the quiet, the warmth, the way he was holding her as if she was something precious—was more than enough.
She exhaled.
Her body relaxed.
And before she could stop herself, before she could remember why she should keep her guard up—
She fell asleep in his arms.
---
When Anastasia woke, it was still dark.
The storm had calmed. The air was damp, the faint scent of rain lingering in the room.
And she was warm.
She blinked groggily, her body heavy, her senses slowly coming back to her.
Something was wrapped around her.
Something solid.
Her heart stopped.
She turned her head slightly—
And then froze.
Leonidas.
Still here.
Still holding her.
Her cheek was pressed against his chest, his steady heartbeat filling her ears. His arm was still wrapped around her, his fingers resting lazily on her waist.
For a long moment, she didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Because she realized something.
Even in sleep—
He was still holding her.
Not just possessively.
But securely.
Like his body had already decided that she belonged right here.
Something hot curled low in her stomach.
Slowly, carefully, she tilted her head up, peeking at him through her lashes.
And that was when she felt it.
His gaze.
Awake.
Watching.
Waiting.
Her breath caught.
She had thought he was asleep.
But he had been awake.
This whole time.
His eyes were unreadable in the dim light, but there was something different in them now.
Something unsettling.
Something that sent a shiver—not of fear, but of something far more dangerous—through her spine.
Anastasia swallowed hard.
She should move.
Should pull away.
Should say something.
But her body refused to listen.
Because in this moment—in his arms, wrapped in his warmth, shielded from the world outside—
She felt safe.
And that was far more terrifying than any storm.