A warm hand slid into her hair, fingers threading slowly through the tangled strands, stroking in an easy, unhurried rhythm. The hum of his presence filled the quiet, low and soothing, like the heartbeat of the earth itself.
Goldie drifted instantly, sleep taking her before she could think of anything more.
Chapter
Thirty-Three
The first thing she was aware of was the silence. Not an empty, ringing silence, but a full one, warm and deep. Goldie stirred, the sheets a soft, tangled weight around her legs, and turned her head on the pillow.
Splice was asleep beside her.
He was curled on his side, facing her, one arm tucked under his head. His breathing was a slow, even rhythm, his chest quietly rising and falling. His face was free from the tension and grim focus of the night prior.
Seeing him vulnerable and unguarded like this felt like being let in on a profound and dangerous secret.
Quietly, so as not to wake him, she slipped out from under the covers. Her body felt stale and vaguely sticky, both from yesterday’s clothes and the aftermath of the ritual, and her muscles ached with a satisfying soreness.
Her cats were waiting for her as she walked into the living room, perched like twin gargoyles on the back of the couch, their eyes tracking her every move.
You smell of loam, magic, and questionable life choices,Maeve’s voice echoed, sharp and unimpressed.It is time for food.
The god-graft is nice,Oberon countered, his tone a low, rumbling purr.His respect for me carries the right amount of fear. I approve. I want salmon.
Goldie rolled her eyes and headed for the kitchen. As she scooped her cats’ respective gourmet pâtés into their bowls, her gaze fell on her phone, discarded on the counter. The screen was lit up with a new message.
Her heart gave a familiar, reflexive little flutter. Ezra.
Ezra Caulder
Hey babe. Been thinking about you. Any chance we can meet up? xoxo
She stared at the text. A week ago, it would have sent a thrill through her, a spark for the dramatic game they always played. Now, it just felt… distant. Like a song she used to love but couldn’t quite remember the words to.
She bit her lip, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. She could sparkle. She could deflect. She could make a joke and put it off for another day, another week.
Instead, she took a breath and typed.
Hey Ezra. I don’t think so.
The reply was almost instantaneous.Something I did?
For a moment, she was tempted. She could have spun a tale, manufactured a reason, let him down with the glittering, charming performance he would have expected. But as she glanced back toward the bedroom, where the man-who-wasn't-a-man still slept, the impulse died.
No,she typed, her fingers steady.I just found something worth exploring, that's all.
She braced herself for questions, a pushback, or maybe even a theatrical plea. The typing dots blinked on and off, on and off, long enough for her stomach to twist. Then the words popped up on the screen.
Awesome! You deserve it, babe. Good luck, I mean it. And hey, you always know where to find me if you need me. xo
Goldie looked down at the exchange. How pedestrian. After months of fire-and-ice theatrics, their dramatic breakups and even more dramatic reunions, it was over in three texts.
A part of her, the part that thrived on drama, felt a pang of something like disappointment. He’d let her go so easily. Shouldn’t there be more fire? More grand gestures?
But as she set the phone back down on the counter, what washed over her was relief. A clean, quiet, and profound sense of it. The stage had been cleared. And for the first time in a long time, she felt like she didn't have to perform for anyone.
She was just… Goldie. And that felt like more than enough.
She curled into the window seat, tucking her legs beneath her. The velvet cushions cradled her, soft and familiar, a little sanctuary from the world’s noise. It was easy here to let her mind drift back to Splice, to the ritual, to the magic that had hummed between them…and to my approximately twenty-seven orgasms, she thought wryly.
