Safe In His Arms Book Novels & Stories

Zander’s arms felt like a fortress around me, unyielding, unbreakable, as if the world itself could crumble and he’d still be standing there. Holding me together with sheer force of will. My tears soaked into his shirt, hot and relentless, my breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. “I’ve got you,” he whispered again, his voice rough and trembling, as though he was fighting his own storm. “You’re safe.” The words should have soothed me. Maybe they did, in some buried part of me, because I found myself clutching tighter at him, my fists tangled in his shirt. But another part of me—louder, darker—rebelled. Because it's safe? Safe was a lie.

Being in his arms reveals to me that I don't want to part from him. When I felt him dip and then feel the soft cushion under my knees as I straddle him, I realize that he had brought us to the living room and is now seated on the sofa. He's soaking the cushions I am sure, but I can't find myself to tell him to get up because if he does there's a good chance he'll not get up with me still in his arms. And embarrassingly I didn't want him to let me go. His hands go to my waist and then lower to my hip. I am still clinging to him despite the thunder not being as loud as it had been a moment ago. " You're safe now," he whispered in my ear, making a shiver race down my spine.

“He’s safe.” The poor thing is trembling, his face drained of blood. But in his eyes, I also see awe as he looks up at us. Like we are some kind of idol. I go over to him and drop to my knees. He launches himself into my arms and wraps his arms tightly around my neck. I pick him up and say soothingly, “It’s alright, you’re safe now.” He slowly stops trembling until his breath evens out. Exhaustion takes over, and he falls asleep, feeling safe enough to do so in my arms.

I really want to melt into the ground. "You're safe," Alessio says. He's holding me in his arms. Safe. I'm safe. I'm safe. I feel safe. Here, in his arms. What the fuck is this... feeling in my chest? And why do I kind of like it? And the way his voice sounds when he says I'm safe? "Alessio?" "Hmm?" He's still stroking my nape. It's so comforting that I want to stay like this forever. I shouldn't be feeling this but I can't help it.

He caught me before I hit the ground, cradling me to his chest like I was made of glass. “You’re safe now,” he whispered into my hair, over and over. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m here.” My body shuddered against his. It wasn’t over, not really. Not in my heart. Not in my mind. The trauma wouldn’t just disappear. But in his arms, I felt the first breath of safety return to me. Behind us, more footsteps thundered in. The pack soldiers. Relief washed through me. Even though he was happy, the thought of him coming here alone scared me.

His forehead pressed to the back of my neck, his growl vibrating through my spine as I shattered again. For a long time, neither of us moved. Finally, he scooped me up, carrying me to the bed. We collapsed together, damp and raw, tangled in sheets that smelled of smoke and pine. His arm locked around my waist, his breath warm against my hair. “You’re mine,” he murmured, half growl, half vow. And despite everything - the barrier, the armies outside, the Alphas waiting for dawn - I let myself believe it. Let myself feel safe in his arms.

But then suddenly my lip starts to tremble, and I pitch forward into his arms, leaning hard against his chest. “That’s all right, girl,” he murmurs, holding me quietly, closely, stroking my back softly as I sob into his shift. “You’re all right now.” And as I lean against Frankie, sobbing my heart out…I believe him. And quite suddenly I realize that this might be the only place that I actually feel safe in this world. Here, with Frankie by my side.

His arms wrapped around me, strong and steady. “It’s over, baby girl,” he murmured, voice low and fierce. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

His arms hold me close. “You’re safe,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.” I believe him.

Not with the specific quality of someone who had been afraid and was done being afraid and wanted me to know both of those things at once. "I've got you," he said. His voice was rough. "You're safe." "I know," I said. Which wasn't something I said easily, believing someone when they said I was safe. I'd spent too long in a world where safe had conditions attached to it. But I believed it now, in this corridor, in this camp, with his arms around me. I believed it completely. I made myself move. The hip was bad but manageable — I'd trained through worse, and this was not the time for an honest assessment of what manageable meant. I straightened. I found Killian's eyes.