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I didn’t think that would have been possible tonight.
Then he was beside me, rich scent like another layer of that cocoon.
I... I wanted more of this safety.
I think that was a moan, rising in my chest, I had reached for him, needing more, needing... something. I felt something soft against my skin, and realised he was tugging a T-shirt over my head. “To keep the dressings safe,” he murmured, “But I’m not going anywhere.”
I let out a breath of a whine, feeling the edges of the cocoon weaken, threatening to fade. I felt how hard he was against me and I shifted back, nails digging into his arm. I didn’t want it to go. In here, even the aches of my wounds faded into the background.
He’d scent marked me.
He’d claimed me.
He was safe when nothing should be.
I didn’t want this to end. I thought of that night with Umbra. Of a cocoon of safety just like this, wrapping me tight until I fell asleep.
His whisper was soothing and then he drew me against him, his chest warm against my back. “You’re so perfect.”
And then I felt his touch between my thighs, circling my waist and rubbing my clit again. My purr rose again, warmth spreading through my body.
I shuddered with another orgasm, but I was glad when he wasn’t done. I tried wriggling against him, and I thought I might have heard his chuckle.
I felt him adjust, then let out a sigh of relief as he entered me. Bliss swept me away as his length stretched me out, sinking deep into my core.
Another claim.
My purr was louder than ever as he slid into me over and over, a lazy tide of pleasure washing in, over and over until my eyelids became heavy.
Finally, he drew me against him and my purr cut off for a groan of need as his knot rocked against my entrance, pressing in until I shuddered with another orgasm.
Dusk hadn’t left me behind.
The last thing I thought, before sleep swept me away, was that the only thing that was missing was his claim on my neck.
TWENTY
UMBRA
I woke in my old room.
The cabin was one we’d lived in for a long time, and its strong attachment to nature was probably one of the things that had saved me during those years.
But it carried with it a heavy weight.
Ransom’s tumble into insanity painted every inch, it was in every scent, or creak of hardwood. This was the place where we’d lost our brother.
Slowly.
Agonisingly.
Yet, this time when I woke, things were different. Because in my room was the scent of lily of the valley. Morning sunlight filtered in through the huge windows, as if an offer of new hope.
And he was here beside me.
Ransom had climbed into my bed like I’d climbed into his a hundred times when he was fading.
He was sleeping like he did often—clutching a pillow to his chest. His auburn hair was tied up in a messy bun, and he was snoring loudly.
