Thea pressed a hand to her mouth. Her throat burned. “He’s really in this,” she whispered. “Hemeansit.”
She looked up at him.
Alaric hadn’t said a word since the image had begun to appear. He stood at the edge of the darkroom, coat damp from the fog, cuffs still looped at his belt. Watching her. Waiting. “What?” he asked softly, voice gruff.
She turned the plate slightly, letting the light catch it. “You’re standing between them.”
He frowned, crossing the space in a few long strides. When he saw it, his jaw went slack. Then clenched. His hand grazed her back. “I didn’t know,” he murmured. “I didn’t even know the camera went off until it flashed.”
“It did,” she said, heart thudding. “They were there. You werewiththem. Protecting them. And it worked. My camera worked.”
His eyes flicked to hers. There was something open in his face now, unguarded, raw.
She hadn’t imagined any of it. This engagement. This ridiculous, accidental, now-very-real entanglement.
The heat. The longing. The way his name felt like something sheknewbefore she ever said it aloud. It was all real, and she wanted it.God, she wanted it.
She stared down at the image again. Alaric, storm-swept and furious, guarding her family plot like it was sacred ground.
“I think my gran would’ve liked this one,” she whispered, a smile curling her lips.
He blinked. “The image?”
“No.” She looked up. “You.”
Epilogue
Blackwood Townhouse
One month later…
Thea was supposedto be finishing client paperwork.
Instead, she was straddling Alaric on the settee, lips swollen, her hair falling in wild curls as she kissed him like he’d just dragged her from the jaws of hell. Again. “You didn’t lock the door,” she murmured, hips rolling slow.
“I did,” he growled. “And bolted it.”
Celeste Blackwood—deceased four months, mother of one menace—hovered just above the mantel, arms crossed. “You see this? I told you. Degenerates.”
Beside her, Alice beamed. “You say that like it’s abadthing.”
Down on the settee, Alaric’s waistcoat had lost two buttons, Thea’s chemise had somehow been rucked up to her ribs, and his hands were mapping her thighs like they were lawfully his. (They were.)
“You know,” he rasped against her throat, “I think Iambeginning to believe in fate.”
From the ether above, Alice sniffled. “That’s my boy.”
Celeste sighed. “If he gets her pregnant in this parlor—”
“—we’re naming it Gideon, after the ghost terrier in Plot 32B!” Alice clapped.
Thea paused, blinking up at the ceiling. “Did you hear something?”
“No,” Alaric said quickly, dragging her back down by the hips.
“You two areawful,” Celeste muttered. “There are proper places for these sorts of antics. Bedrooms. Brothels.Notbeside your grandmother’s urn—”
“Oh stop,” Alice said, preening as Thea kissed Alaric again. “It’s practically romantic.”
