Page 104 of Drowning in Darkness

I’m so pissed at people telling me I’m weak when I fought long and hard to find my way back to a world I wanted to continue to live in. That doesn’t make my foundations fragile; it makes them hard earned.

James’s jaw clenches. “I agree with your brother.”

I tilt my head. “Is that so?”

He narrows his gaze. Careful, Mr. Austin, I can fuck up your world with a few words.

“Got to go,” James says. “There’s a bear on the border I need to scare away.”

I shift my eyes to the goat. That’s a funny-looking bear.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Stephanie,” Hunter growls.

Ugh, spare me the testosterone.

James ends the call and wraps his hand around my throat. He’s not hurting me, not even restricting my air, but it makes everything inside me clench.

I boldly hold his stare. “You don’t scare me, James.”

His fingers twitch. “I should.”

“Try me. You really consider me to be fragile after kissing me like a hurricane and making me come harder than I’ve ever done before?”

“No, not in that respect. It takes courage and strength to admit your desires. But you can be vulnerable in other ways.”

“I’m not naïve. I know the horrors the world offers, but I chose to stop being terrified of them many moons ago. The night you held me in your arms to keep me in this world, the one where you chose to save me over yourself, was when I realized that even in the darkest of moments, there is always a light to be found. You were that light, James.” I push against his hand and rise to my feet, standing naked, scars on show, heart on my sleeve. “So, no, I’m not fragile. Perhaps, given the hard shell you wear, the one that refuses to bend, you are the one with brittle defenses.”

I cup his face and press my lips against his in a soft kiss I don’t deepen. I pull back but keep our faces close. “Whatever this is between us, it’s not just about sex, need, and desire. It’s connection, and that is more powerful than anything our bodies provide. It was forged under the worst of circumstances, and no one can touch that. You can’t taint it by pretending you are the worst humanity has to offer.”

His hand drops, and he studies me like I’ve just been introduced to him for the first time.

After climbing out of the tub and grabbing the towel he brought out, I drag in a long breath and pause beside him. “I saw you that night, the real you. You can lie to yourself, but that was the night I stopped being afraid. It showed me what we could be when you stop running from us. Until then, I’ll keep seeing the real you. I’ll have that strength for the both of us, because make no mistake, I’m not fragile. I’m not a heroine about to learn how to wield a sword. That’s not my story, not my calling. But a man who hasn’t seen the dark can’t begin to understand what I need or how my mind works. And if you pause and take a closer look, maybe you’ll see that I too once did something bad for the right reasons. The difference between us is the fact I understand that act for what it was—retribution, a reckoning deserved, and I never lost a moment’s sleep because of it.”

“You deserve more,” he murmurs in a hoarse voice.

I square my shoulders. “I deserve to get the love I want.”

“I can’t love.”

I shake my head and a soft, sad smile tilts my lips as my fingers tangle with his. “You’re an idiot, James.”

I turn and stride inside the lodge and into my bedroom. I’ll make him see what I see. He once saved me, and now it’s time for me to repay the favor.

THIRTY-FIVE

JAMES

A man on a mission is dangerous. A woman on a crusade is lethal.

She’s changed her nail polish on her toes and fingers to a deep purple color, and it’s not the first change of the day. Straight after the hot tub, she came out in coral. Then she went to read in the music room and reappeared two hours later with freshly painted nails and nothing covering her but another one of my shirts. Now she’s parked her ass on the stool, lost inside a fantasy book as I prepare the steaks and knock together a quick salad.

The box, courtesy of my sister, has disappeared, and I’m trying my absolute hardest not to think about it. There have been no awkward conversations, stilted words, or sly glances between us since I draped her over my dining table and had her for lunch. She’s not pushing for more, demanding a label or even a promise of something I cannot give her. It’s almost as if it never happened, except it did, and it feels like I’m the only one in a tangle about it.

Stephanie has this quiet, underrated confidence in the way she carries herself, like she doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks of her. Unapologetic is the best word to describe her.

“Something smells divine,” she says.

“That would be the rosemary roast potatoes. How do you like your steak?”