Page 388 of Immune

I take the pastry. “You’re annoyingly good at keeping me alive.”

His eyes meet mine, calm and warm if you know where to look. “You make it difficult daily.”

“It’s called interesting, not difficult,” I remind him.

“Yes,” he says before leaning in and kissing me softly. Not claiming, not asking the roof to watch, just a touch of his mouth to mine, brief and certain.

Maine sighs loudly like the dramatic bitch he is.

I pull back and roll my eyes at him. “What’s your deal?”

“I’m sitting right here, if you didn’t already know.”

“You’re the one who compared them to Pokémon cards,” I say. “You knew what you were getting into.”

“I really didn’t.”

“You found out your sister has four mates and instantly regretted having eyes.”

“Sibling love is a curse.”

“Truly haunted,” I agree, then wriggle my fingers for him to finish painting.

Maine grumbles but continues with his work just as the roof door opens again.

Fletcher steps out last, still armed from patrol, dark shirt clinging to him, cheek scar pale against his sun-kissed skin. He’s softer here than he is at the gates. Not less dangerous, because I’m convinced that simply isn’t possible for him. He’s just mine in a way that lets his shoulders drop at the end of the day.

His gaze goes straight to me.

Always does.

“Darlin’.”

“Scar.”

Fletch crosses the roof and bends to kiss me, one hand cupping the back of my head carefully so he doesn’t screw up Maine’s hard work. I appreciate the priorities.

He tastes like dust, heat, and a morning I still remember with vivid clarity and his mouth lingers for a moment too long. Not long enough. Damn it.

Ewan clears his throat. “Not to be dramatic, but some of us are trying to enjoy stolen cake without the reminder of what happened before patrol this morning.”

Fletcher smiles against my lips. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

Ewan’s eyes flick to Maine and then back to Fletcher before he points at him. “That’s private pack things.”

“You were loud.”

“I was being supportive.”

“You were literally begging her,” Fletcher says, and I choke on fucking air.

Kaito catches my mug before I can spill it and Maine closes his eyes. “I hate this roof.”

I lean back once I’m sure I’m not going to die with my next breath, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “Fresh air not helping?”

“No,” my brother growls, pale eyes lit with both annoyance and amusement.

Fletcher settles on the low roof beside us and rests his hand near my boot. “You doin’ all right?”