"You're welcome, pretty thing."
Bane reaches under the table and takes my hand. He turns it over in his, palm up, like he is checking it for splinters, and then he lifts it and presses a slow kiss to the back of my knuckles. He does it without ceremony, the way he does everything important.
"Wren," he says, gently. "For what it's worth—you don't have to be the only one watching out for him. He has us too. All three of us. We’re not always graceful about it. But we aren’t casual about it either."
Wren's shoulders relax and her face light up when she sees my hand in his. "...okay," she says, quietly. "Okay. Good."
Bane gives my hand one more squeeze and lets it go. He pushes his plate back, dabs his mouth with his napkin, and stands.
"Wren. It's late and I’m sure Reeves is getting impatient. Let me walk you out."
She lights up at it, small and quiet. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be—yes."
She rises, hugs me around the shoulders for a second—I'll text you when I get home, low, into my ear—and lets Bane guide her toward the foyer with one hand at the small of her back. The bond between Bane and me pulses warm as he passes—I've got her, Maxie, don’t worry—and then they're gone around thecorner, his low voice and her quieter one fading down the hall toward the front door.
Which leaves me at a candle-lit dining table littered with the wreckage of a four-course dinner, the chandelier dimmed, and Zero across from me.
He drains the last of his beer. Sets the bottle down. Comes around the table slowly, trailing his fingers along the backs of the chairs as he passes them, and stops behind mine. His hand settles warm at the back of my neck.
"Hi, baby."
"...hi."
"Your girl threatened me."
"I noticed."
"I liked it."
I chuckle, I can’t help it. "I noticed that too."
He huffs a laugh against my hair. Then his thumb finds the bond mark and presses,slow.
"By the way," he says, mouth at my ear. "I saw you flush. When I said you liked it. Whole table didn't see it, but I did, baby." His voice has dropped. "I bet you got hard for me, did you?”
"...Zero."
"Mm."
I twist around in the chair to look up at him. He’s so hot like this, a little vulnerable, his eyes blazing like he’s ready to devour me. He licks his lips and grips my chin so I look at him.
Why would I ever want to look away?
"I'm glad," he says, quieter. "That she'sthatfor you. That she'd come at me like that across a dinner table for you." A breath. "If anything good was ever going to come out of that awful fucking place, it was that the two of you found each other in it. So—yeah. I'm glad about that." His jaw works. "And I am so fucking angry, Max, that that is where you got her. That a placelike that had to exist for you to have a person in the world who'd threaten me at a dinner table. I want to—Fuck. I want to burn it down with my bare hands."
His fist has closed around the back of my chair and he’s squeezing. Tight. Knuckles white. The wood underneath makes a small protesting sound under his hand.
I reach up and put my fingers around his wrist.
"Hey." Quiet. Steady. The bond between us is roaring. "Hey. I'm right here. I'm out. I'myours."
He looks down at his hand like he's only just noticed it. He lets go of the chair, very deliberately, finger by finger. He breathes out.
"...yeah."
"Yeah."
"Yeah. Okay." His voice steadies. "Come here."
