I think about Killian’s hands. I remember the weight of them as they rested in mine on our wedding day. And then again that night, bandaging the open gash across his palm. Then I feel them around my arm—and around my waist. It’s a memory, but it’s burnt into my mind like an iron brand. I can still remember how they felt as they pinned my hands to the bed. So much larger than mine. Capable of so much, but never used harshly against me. Even when he held me back, there was care in his strength. “Would
Angel.
