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A sharp laugh had left me as soon as the word vampire left her, and then I was pressing my mouth to hers for a quick, tender kiss. “You’re fucking adorable.”
“You kept saying you could find me by my scent,” she defended.
“I told you I was a bloodhound.”
She lifted a hand before letting it fall against my chest as she curled against me. “You can’t blame me.”
“I can when you think I’m a vampire,” I said dully, even as a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Real world here, Tree.”
Her eyebrows rose and her stare drifted before she admitted, “This doesn’t seem like it.” Once her gaze settled on me again, her fingers skated across my torso to trace the large tattoo on my side. “Bloodhound. You said that to me the first night when I asked about this.” Tapping her fingers against my side, she said, “So, then this means...this means something more.”
“Still who I am,” I reasoned, then conceded, “But that’s the symbol the Borellos have always used. Broken down though, it was a code they used to talk to and about each other when they were rebelling against the Morettis. So it’s our rebel symbol now.”
“And people who aren’t in gangs know that?” she asked, then hurried to add, “You said people know who they’re dealing with when they see it.”
“Not exactly. But people who have done any kind of business with us, legal or otherwise, know that symbol. And I think most of the people in this town have an idea that we’re...something.”
Her eyebrows drew close as she leaned in to whisper, “Like vampires?” The laugh that burst from her when I dug my fingers into her sides was bright and free of the weight that had been pressing on her all day and so fucking beautiful that I stopped to just watch her.
Watch the light in her eyes dance as they focused on me. Watch the pure joy slowly ease into contentment as her head settled on the pillows again. Watch those perfect lips twitch and tip up at the corner as she fought the remnants of the giggle in her chest.
And I knew in the way it felt like her joy was the direct source behind each wild beat of my heart that I was done. Forever ruined.
I would raze continents to find her. I would destroy entire worlds for her.
I would die for her.
Gladly.
“Handle me.”
A line of confusion creased between her eyebrows. “What?”
I cupped her neck, my thumb gently trailing along her jaw as I softly pled, “Tell me you can handle me. Tell me you will.”
“I can handle you,” she said confidently, but that crease still hadn’t disappeared. Only now, she looked worried. “Why?”
“Because I want you so fucking far from my world, even though I can’t stand the thought of you being farther than you are right now,” I admitted. “I’ll keep pushing you away because I want you safe, even though you’re safest with me. So, I need to know you can handle me.”
Understanding and admiration fell over her features when she said, “Now that I know why you’ve been keeping me at arm’s length while still breaking in, I can handle your back-and-forth tendencies.” At the amused tick of her eyebrow, a breathless laugh left me.
“I can handle your deepest secrets and darkest sins and this scary life,” she added, lifting her hand to trail her fingers along my jaw when my eyes bored into hers. Tilting her head up, she pressed her lips to mine and whispered, “I can handle every part of you.”
I deepened the kiss for only a moment before resting my forehead against hers. Breathing her in and feeling her in my arms as sleep pressed closer and closer.
Just before I let my eyelids shut, I gripped her tighter and whispered, “The scariest part of my life is you.”
WILLOW
I stared blankly ahead the next morning, struggling to wrap my head around what I was watching. Some odd mixture of shock and disbelief and disturbed fascination twisted through my chest and settled in my stomach as the scene continued playing out in front of me.
“This is normal.”
The unexpected voice sent a jolt through my body and, thankfully, pulled my focus away from the chaos in front of me.
A questioning hum left me as I looked at the familiar blonde sliding onto the barstool next to me with a cup of coffee in her hands. “I’m sorry? Oh my God, you’re Alexis’ mom!” I said, nearly choking over the words when I recognized her from the school’s meet-the-teacher night.
I’d known Alexis was someone Diggs considered family for reasons I now understood. I’d known she was being watched—protected—because of the threat they were now facing. But it was wild for the woman I’d had a completely normal conversation with to sit next to me in a mafia house.
