Page 56 of Severe Husband Warning

“I’m sorry for how I treated you,” I say, pressing a kiss to her lips before brushing another across her forehead. “I promise I'll never mistake control for protection again.”

Calla's hands cup my face with such tenderness that it steals the air from my lungs.

“You're forgiven,” she whispers.

Slowly, deliberately, I move within her, pouring everything I cannot say into each measured thrust.

I lower my head, drawing one nipple into my mouth while my hand gently kneads the other.

My body is a storm, and Calla is the only one who has ever known how to meet it without fear.

“I love you, Rothgar.”

My body stills. The words steal every coherent thought from my mind.

“Calla?”

I search her face for even the smallest trace of uncertainty, but there is only love looking back at me. I kiss her then, slow and reverent.

“I don't deserve you.” Emotion surges through me as I move with renewed purpose, drawing another cry from her lips until I feel her unravel around me. “I love you, Calla.”

The words leave me with a certainty that takes root deep within my chest. I brace myself on either side of her, holding her gaze as wave after wave of pleasure carries us closer together.

When release finally overtakes me, I hold her as tightly as I dare while the last of the tremors pass through us both.

I brush a strand of hair from her face and rest my forehead against hers.

“We're going to finish this,” I respond, my thumb tracing her cheek. “Together. No more shutting you out. No more carrying the weight alone.”

A tired, radiant smile curves her lips.

“Together,” she echoes.

I kiss her once more, slow and ardent, grateful beyond words that after everything we had nearly lost, she is still here in my arms.

27

CALLA

Rain taps against the tall windows of Rothgar’s study, soft enough that it barely disturbs the silence wrapped around us. The storm has settled into a steady rhythm, no longer the furious tempest that had battered the spire day after day.

I stand before his desk with both palms resting against its polished edge.

Each passing day has added another report to Rothgar's desk and another name to our growing list. Commander Vhoros's observations of the abandoned western spire sit beside the list of names Cora and I gathered over the past few days. Military precision shares space with careful handwriting and the stories of families whose lives have quietly intersected with this investigation.

The contrast feels strangely fitting. Rothgar searched for answers through patrol routes and forgotten buildings. I found mine by listening to people willing to trust a familiar face. Now those paths meet here, where every name belongs to someone who had a life, long before Lord Malakor reduced them to an asset.

Warmth spreads across my back as Rothgar slips an arm around my waist. His chin brushes lightly against my temple while he studies the papers with me, as though standing beside one another has become the most natural thing in the world.

I lean into him without thinking. Once, I searched every glance and every touch for hidden meaning. Somewhere along the way, I stopped wondering. Being close has become enough.

His gaze falls on the list beneath my hand.

“Cora Bell has done remarkable work,” he says.

“Commander Vhoros’ scouts have as well.”

He nods. “They’ve given us far more than either could have alone.”