“I didn’t think about it,” he admits finally, voice low. “It was instinctive.”
For the first time since I’ve known him, Landon seems almost fragile beneath my hands. The man who’s dominatedevery one of our exchanges now sits quietly as I care for him, his walls momentarily lowered.
“That doesn’t sound like you,” I say. “You calculate everything. You plan for every contingency.”
Landon winces as I tighten the bandage, securing it with medical tape. It’s not from physical pain—I can tell that much. It’s the discomfort of confronting what he doesn’t want to acknowledge.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he growls.
“The truth would be nice.”
His eyes find mine, stormy and conflicted. “You’re mine, Sadie. You’ve been mine since the moment I chose you for the Hunt.” He reaches up with his uninjured arm, fingers grazing my cheek. “You’re mine to claim, mine to possess.” His voice drops lower. “And you’re mine to protect.”
The words are possessive, territorial—pure Landon—but there’s a tenderness in his tone, lingering beneath the claim of ownership.
“There,” I say, securing the last piece of tape. “You’re all patched up. It should hold until you can get proper stitches.” I close the first aid kit, aware of how close we’re standing, my body between his knees as he sits on the counter.
“Thank you,” Landon says.
I start to step back, to create some distance between us, but his hand shoots out, fingers encircling my wrist. The grip isn’t painful like so many times before.
“Sadie,” he whispers, tugging me closer until I’m pressed against the counter, his legs on either side of me.
My heart hammers against my ribs as he lifts his uninjured hand to my face, thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone.
Then he leans forward and presses his lips to mine.
This kiss is different from all the others, just the soft pressure of his mouth against mine. His hand slides from my wrist to my palm, fingers intertwining with mine.
I melt into him, unable to resist the sweetness of this moment.
Oh god. I’m falling for him.
The thought strikes with terrifying clarity.
No, that’s not quite right. I’m not falling.
I’ve already fallen.
Despite everything he’s done, everything he is, I’ve fallen for Landon Blackwood. The monster. The protector. The man who would kill for me and die for me in the same breath.
Landon releases me, and I step back. His expression shifts, the vulnerability disappearing behind his mask.
“You must be hungry,” he says, his voice casual as if we hadn’t just experienced trauma and gunfire. “We should order some takeout and just relax. I think we both need it after the night we’ve had.” He hops off the counter.
The normalcy of the suggestion catches me off guard. My stomach growls in response, reminding me I haven’t eaten since the hors d’oeuvres at the charity gala.
“That sounds good,” I admit. “I’m pretty hungry.”
Landon nods, grabbing his phone. “Pizza?”
“Perfect.”
While he places the order, I slip into the bedroom to change out of my ruined dress. I find one of his T-shirts in his drawer and pull it on with a pair of shorts.
When I return to the living room, Landon has changed too—gray sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. He’s pouring red wine into two glasses.
“Pizza will be here in twenty minutes,” he says, handing me a glass.
