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I haven’t even dreamed about shooting Dominic since the night it happened—an ugly, awful night full of all the darkest parts of my subconscious. All the what-ifs. What if I hadn’t been able to get the gun, like if I was injured the way Dad was? If we had both been unconscious when Dominic found us, that would’ve been it. We’d both be dead now. What if we had crashed hard enough to kill us? What if Dominic had killed Dad while I watched? Oh yes, I went through all the scenarios in vivid color.
But that was it. Like once it was over, it was over. No more need to dredge up the memories.
I don’t wake all at once. It’s not one of those sudden, eyes flying open things. At first, I’m confused. There’s light coming through the windows, faint and pale, like the sun hasn’t risen yet but will soon. Right away, I reach out without looking, hoping to find Callum, but all my fingers touch are his empty half of the bed. The sheets are cool, telling me he never came up to bed, or if he did, he’s been gone for some time.
But he must have at some point. The lamp on the nightstand is off, and my book sits next to it. I can’t remember putting it there.
It’s when there’s movement out of the corner of my eye that I jump, my heart in my throat. “Who’s there?” I whisper, staring at the open bathroom door.
The sight of Callum’s familiar face lets me release the breath I was holding—but that doesn’t last long because I immediately notice the dark-red splatters of blood across one cheek. “Oh my God,” I gasp, scrambling out of bed, ready to run to him.
“No. It’s not my blood. I’m fine.” The heaviness of his voice, the fatigue in it, brings me up short. What in the hell did I miss last night? What went on while I slept?
I’m too worried to put my thoughts into words, but I don’t need to. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs, taking one step to his left so his body is visible. My mouth falls open. I don’t even try to stop it because I can’t think. Not when the sight of his blood-soaked clothes is all I can focus on. It’s dried to a dark, rusty brown. Whoever was bleeding did a lot of it.
“Romero?” I finally whisper with my heart in my throat. If it was Tatum, I don’t think he would be calmly undressing in our bathroom. Then again, he might not if it was Romero, either.
He shakes his head, and when I look into his eyes, I can see now how they shine. No—they glitter. There’s a strange, almost manic sort of light in them. “It’s over. He’s gone.”
There’s only one person he could be talking about. The person who's consumed his thoughts since the night of the explosion and everything that came after. I almost don’t want to believe it. I’m afraid to, afraid this is still a dream. I never woke up; I’m still sleeping.
“Jack?” I whisper, hating the sound of his name. But I need to know this is real.
He nods. “You will never have to fear him again. You don’t have to be afraid of anything. I took care of it. You’re free, my little bird.”
It’s instinct, I guess, the way I want to run to him. He did it, and he came home safe. With my arms outstretched, I take a step, but he shuts me down with a stern expression. “You don’t want to touch me right now.” He looks down at himself and slowly pulls the stiff shirt away from his skin. It’s actually stuck there, and he winces as he detaches it from his chest and abs. What do you have to do to a person to make them bleed that much? Actually, on second thought, I don’t want to know.
“I’ll turn on the shower.” There’s so much I want to know, and at the same time, I would rather he never tell me. I can imagine it all, anyway. What he must have done to Jack to make him bleed that way. If the body had a drop of blood left in it, I’d be surprised. He’s already taken off his pants, which sit in a blood-crusted heap next to his shoes. Even they are painted red.
He killed Jack. Jack is dead. I know he did it for me and for the baby. He did it so we don’t have to be afraid anymore. I can look forward to having my baby without wondering in the back of my head how Jack might destroy everything. He’s so good at that.
Was. Past tense. It’s going to take time to get used to that.
By the time Callum finishes undressing, the water runs hot, and I’m already pulling my T-shirt over my head. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. This is what I need to do. There’s a force inside me that’s pushing me, an instinct. He went out and slayed the dragon for me, for all of us. He was willing to risk everything—even his life—to make sure no threats were hanging over us anymore. Now, it’s my turn to take care of him.
I pull him in with me, placing him directly under the showerhead. Right away, the blood starts to loosen, and by the time I’ve soaped up a sponge, the water around his feet has a red tinge. I tip his head back with one hand, letting the water run over his face, while with the other, I begin sponging his skin. I want to erase every last trace of that monster. He’ll never be anything more than an ugly memory, a scar. But scars fade. We get used to them. Eventually, we don’t even have to think about them anymore. That’s how it’s going to be. We are never going to think about him again, just like his blood will be gone by the time the shower is over, the water running down the drain. All that’s left of him in our lives will be gone forever.
I run the sponge across his chest and over his shoulders. Once or twice, I look up to find him watching me, but I can’t read his expression. The light I noticed before has faded into something less intense, but a fire still burns behind them. Relief? No, he’s victorious. He’s the warrior who came home to his woman. He avenged us.
I even wash his hair, running my fingers over his scalp, making sure every last trace of what happened overnight is gone. And every touch comes from the love in my heart. There I was, thinking it would be impossible to love Callum more than I already did, but little did I know. My heart is so full right now, it might explode. My protector. My hero.
By the time I start to rinse his hair, his arms have found their way around my waist. His heart's strong, steady beat reverberates in my chest while I run my hands over his head, rinsing off every last trace of shampoo. “Thank you,” he whispers, gazing down at me.
“Thank you,” I whisper back before reaching up to touch my lips to his. It’s gratitude in that kiss, it’s relief that he’s safe and back with me, it’s wonder at the lengths he’s willing to go to if it means protecting what’s his.
And instantly, the fire ignites. He takes the back of my head in his hand and holds it still, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. I part my lips eagerly, my skin warming not because of the water but because of the fire he ignites deep in my core. I’m helpless against it. I want him to take me away, to wrap me up in his love.
I offer no resistance when he pushes me against the wall, pinning me with his body against the cold tile. His rough kisses bruise my lips, but a part of me welcomes that. I want my lips bruised. I want the evidence of him all over me.
He’s the one who backs off with a grunt. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he growls, trembling. “The last thing I want is to hurt you. But oh, little bird…” His hand travels down the length of my side, to my hip, where his fingers press in hard enough to make me wince. “I need to take you. I need to be inside you and take you. I don’t want you to think I don’t… that it doesn’t matter…” He bares his teeth, breathing hard, while his erection presses against my stomach. I move slightly and slide my skin against it, making him release a shuddering groan.
All I do is part my legs, hooking one over his hip, silently welcoming him. He needs this, too, just as much as I do. The connection. A return to what’s real and true.
It’s obvious how he’s straining to control himself when he enters me in a single sharp thrust, making me hiss through my clenched teeth. He makes a sound—regret? Concern? I don’t know. I only shake my head so he knows I’m all right, that he didn’t hurt me.
He lifts me off the floor so I can wrap both legs around his waist and hold him close, right where I need him to be. Where the fire has turned into an inferno that will burn us both to ash even with steaming water spraying over our bodies. I’ve never needed him more than I do now, when something dark and dangerous swirls behind his blue eyes. Something I should shrink away from but instead melt into.
“Bianca…” He drives himself into me, and I close my eyes to focus on the sensation. “Bianca… little bird…” His fingers weave through my hair, and he wraps the locks around his fist before pulling my head to the side, burying his face in the crook of my neck, breathing me in. My hero. The man who killed for me and our child.
