Collapsing to the ground, he knelt in front of his sword, bowing his head to it as he kept his hands around the hilt. God’s blood, he was a beast. He had terrified her, as was his intention, but why then did he feel so much remorse for it? He was performing an act of kindness, releasing her from his grasp. It was true, he was dangerous. As she stood there, offering herself to him, complete and utter horror had assailed him. He could have slit her throat then and there and had done with it. Yet, would he have done it? Never before had he felt any kind of guilt over his actions. He had been paid well and performed each act with cold efficiency, never caring whether his victims deserved their outcome or not. A deluge of emotions seemed to engulf him, unfamiliar ones – hope, fear, love…? Nicholas knew now he would never have done it, he could never have killed Annabel. Her unquestioning trust and kindness had been the undoing of him and he suspected he would never be the same again. He knelt there for some time, the damp earth seeping through his hose until his knees became numb.
