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I take it.
“It’s done, Sovereign,” she whispers. “Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
KEIRA
Westin, Gerard, and I managed to get back to the house upstairs. Westin went to the gatehouse, saying something about trying to fix all this bullshit. I helped Gerard upstairs and he took some painkillers and fell asleep.
He’s in our bed.
Our bed.
That sounds like forever.
I’m sitting next to him, watching him sleep. The bull skull on his chest rises and falls. The sickness I felt at shooting Thomas is lessening.
Gerard is right. I defended us both.
The Garrisons are gone. After everything they did to us, it’s over just like that. It feels like the tie that binds us together. Wekilled for each other and that feels more permanent than saying vows.
He never hesitated when it came to protecting me. I’m glad I didn’t either.
I want to love him the way he loves me.
Without hesitation. Without fear.
That Evening.
I talked to Westin at dinner and he told me that Gerard demolished my house so I had to live with him. I’m back to watching him sleep, but right now I want to slap him across the face. Too bad it’ll just turn him on.
God, he’s such a dick. And I still love him so fucking much.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
GERARD
I don’t want to lose my stride so I force myself to stick to my usual schedule. The wound on my head scabs over quickly. The pain resides. The only thing leftover a few days later is a lingering fatigue.
Then that’s gone after a long afternoon nap. She wakes me three days after that morning on the mountain by shaking my leg. Her face fills my vision, like an angel. I clear my throat and sit up slowly. Now that I’m not bleeding, my clarity has returned.
I reach out and put my hand on her thigh.
She scowls.
“You demolished my house,” she whispers wrathfully.
She’s in just a slip. It’s black silk and the top fights to keep her tits under control. Her brow arcs, but all I can see is how fucking pretty she looks sitting cross-legged in my bed. Slip hitched to the top of her thighs, and the outline of her nipples apparent.
“Come here,” I say.
She shakes her head. “My house. You tore it down.”
I shrug. “What do you need a house for, redbird? You live with me.”
A dark cloud moves over her face and she scrambles down from the bed and stalks to the bathroom. The door slams so hard the bedside table wobbles.
I wait, listening. The lock doesn’t click.
