I look at Griffin, at Silas. Griffin is pressing kisses to her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her waist, his knot still tying them together. Silas is sitting back on his heels, his eyes never leaving her face.
None of us argue.
None of us leave.
Spell of Calm Breath:
Count seven in, hold three, exhale nine. Peace follows the rhythm.
She’s asleep between us.
Her cheek is pressed against my chest, her breath warm and even against my skin. One arm is draped over my stomach, her fingers curled loosely against my side.
Silas is behind her, his arm wrapped around her waist, his face buried in her hair. Damon’s back is to us, his breathing deep and measured.
I should be exhausted. Iamexhausted. But I can’t sleep.
I can’t do anything except watch her.
The firelight plays across her face, catching the dried tear tracks on her cheeks, the faint bruises on her jaw where Silas’s grip had been too tight. Her lips are swollen, parted. A mark blooms on the curve of her neck—Damon’s doing, I think. Or maybe Silas’s. Hard to tell now. We all left our share.
She looks different like this. Softer. The tension she carries in her shoulders during the day, the careful way she holds herself at the apothecary, the guarded smiles she gives customers—all of it is gone.
She’s just Caroline. The girl I fell in love with when we were teenagers and stupid enough to think love was simple.
I remember the first time. Of course I do. It’s burned into my brain like a brand.
We were in my truck, parked out past the old mill. I’d been driving her home from Amara’s birthday party, and she’d kissed me at a stop sign. Just grabbed my face and kissed me like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it.
I nearly drove off the road.
We didn’t make it to her house. I pulled off onto the gravel road by the mill, killed the engine, and we scrambled into the back seat. We were both shaking. Neither of us knew what we were doing. I fumbled with her bra for what felt like an eternity before she reached back and unclasped it herself, laughing at me with that crooked smile I’d been in love with since sophomore year.
“Have you done this before?” she’d asked.
“No. You?”
“No.”
We’d looked at each other for a long moment, and then she’d kissed me again, softer this time, and I’d felt her hand slide down my stomach.
It was awkward and fast and over in about two minutes. I came inside her before I even realized I was close, and I was so mortified I couldn’t look at her. But she’d just laughed again, gave me that same crooked smile, kissed my cheek, and said, “We’ll get better at it.”
And we did. God, we did. Over the next years, we got better at everything. I learned every curve of her body, every spot thatmade her gasp, every way to make her fall apart. She learned what I liked, how I liked to be touched, the exact pressure that would make me lose my mind.
We were insatiable. We fucked in my truck, in her bed, in the storage room at her parents’ shop, once in the back of the library between the shelves of magical history texts.
Then I left. And everything fell apart.
Now she’s here, with two other men, and I don’t know what any of it means. I just know I can’t let go of her. Not again.
My knot is starting to go down. I can feel the pressure easing, the swelling receding. In a few minutes, I’ll be able to pull out without hurting her. The thought of separating from her, even just physically, makes my chest ache.
Behind Caroline, Silas stirs. His eyes open, and he looks at me over her shoulder. We stare at each other for a long moment. There’s no hostility in his gaze, not anymore. Just a quiet acknowledgment of something neither of us has words for.
“She’s out,” he murmurs.
“Yeah.”
