Page 26 of Wraith’s Promise

"Goodnight, baby girl," Dean says, kissing her forehead.

"Goodnight, Mariah," I add, and she smiles without opening her eyes.

We leave her room together, pull the door mostly closed, and stand in the hallway in that strange, intimate quiet of a house settling down for the night.

"Thank you," Dean says. "For today. For all of it."

"You already thanked me."

"I'm thanking you again." He reaches out, tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm glad you're here, Quinn. Whatever happens next, I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," I whisper.

We stand there for a moment longer, close enough to kiss again, but neither of us moves to close the distance. Then Dean steps back, gives me a small smile, and heads toward his own room.

I go to mine, close the door, and sit on the edge of the bed trying to process everything that's happened in the span of one very long day.

I came here for a job. For money, and the proximity to my brother…

I'm staying for something else entirely.

And that should terrify me, but it doesn't.

It just feels like coming home.

Chapter 10 - Wraith

I'm an idiot.

I lie in my bed gripping the sheets so hard my knuckles have gone white, staring at the ceiling, replaying the whole day in my head on a loop and hating myself more with each repetition.

I kissed her. Actually kissed her in my kitchen with cookie crumbs still on the counter and my daughter upstairs, kissed her like I'd been thinking about it for years instead of hours, and it was incredible. Perfect. The kind of kiss that rewrites your understanding of what kissing can be when you're actually present for it, when you actually care about the person you're kissing.

And then what did I do?

Tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at her like some kind of awkward teenager before walking away to my own room like we'd just finished a business meeting instead of something that changed everything between us.

I didn't kiss her goodnight. Didn't pull her close one more time. Didn't do any of the things a man who knows what he wants is supposed to do. Just smiled and retreated like a coward.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I know the answer, of course. I'm scared. Terrified, actually, of wanting something this badly, of reaching for it and having it slip through my fingers the way everything else I've ever wanted has.

Kate walking out taught me that lesson thoroughly, that wanting someone doesn't mean they'll stay, that needing someone doesn't make you worth staying for.

But Quinn isn't Kate. I know that. She's proven it in a dozen ways in the span of twenty-four hours, proven it most definitively by putting herself between five armed Vipers and my daughter without hesitation.

And she kissed me back. Kissed me back with enthusiasm and this breathless little sound that's been replaying in my head ever since, the sound that tells me she wants this as much as I do.

So why the hell am I lying in my bed alone instead of doing something about it?

I sit up abruptly, done with this spiral of self-recrimination. We've already kissed. We've already crossed that line. She's already made it clear she's interested, and Ranger—her brother, my friend, the person who has every right to object—basically gave us his blessing with that comment about us looking good together.

Yes, we only met twenty-four hours ago. Yes, this is fast, complicated and probably inadvisable by every conventional standard. But there's something here worth exploring, something real and too important to ignore just because the timing isn't perfect.

When is the timing ever perfect? When is anything in life neat and simple and convenient?

I swing my legs out of bed and pull on sweatpants. My door opens quietly. Years of not wanting to wake Mariah have taught me how to move silently through this house at night. The hallway is dark except for the small nightlight we keep plugged in near Mariah's door, casting everything in soft shadow.