Page 59 of What We Become

Then she breaks.

Her face crumples against my chest. Her hands fist in my shirt, and she shakes while I hold her. When she finally looks up, her eyes are wet but steady.

“I love you,” she says.

I lean down and kiss her.

She fists my shirt and pulls me closer, all cold fingers and desperate mouth. I brace her against me and let her take what she needs until the trembling eases.

Trust.

She gives it to me with her whole body.

I’ve protected people before. With Fury, I want to be where she feels safe.

When we break apart, her cheeks are wet but her eyes are sharp.

“You need rest,” I say, swiping my thumbs over her damp cheeks.

“I’ve been resting for five days.”

“You need real rest. Not hospital rest, no matter how fancy that place was.”

She opens her mouth to argue and I scoop her up before the first word lands. One arm under her knees, one behind her back, the blanket still draped around her shoulders. She makes an outraged sound.

“This is ridiculous. I can walk.”

“I know you can.”

“Then put me down.”

“No.”

“Knox.”

“Fury.”

She glares at me for three seconds and gives up. We both know she likes it.

I carry her inside.

“Fury’s going to bed,” I announce.

“It’s eight thirty,” Fury protests. “I napped before dinner.”

“Fury’s going to bed,” I repeat.

Milo looks up from his current mess across the coffee table. “Night, kitten.” He scrambles to his feet and crosses the room and I lower her just enough that he can reach. He cups her face and kisses her forehead, then both cheeks, then her nose. “Sleep well. Milo Number Two is already in position. He’s been briefed.”

Micah is next. He sets his book down, comes to us, and takes her hand, his thumb running over her knuckles. Then he leans in and kisses her mouth, soft and brief. “Goodnight, baby girl. I’ll keep my door open so you can call out if you need me.”

“Goodnight, Micah.”

Eli is by the fireplace. I carry her over and he straightens from the mantel, the firelight catching the amber in his eyes. He looks at her face—the tiredness, the lingering traces of tears on her cheeks—and something passes across his expression that he doesn’t try to hide.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Leans in. Kisses her, slow and aching, his hand resting on the side of her neck. When he pulls back, his forehead touches hers.

“Goodnight, little savage.”