"You have no idea," he rasps, his voice dropping to a rough growl, "how badly I want to be the one who takes rather than gives right now."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "Thane…"
His eyes snap open, pupils blown wide, swallowing the iris. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. His gaze drops to my lips, hungry and desperate.
The bathroom door clicks open.
Thane pulls back instantly, the mask of the composed captain slamming back into place so fast it makes my head spin. But his hand lingers near mine on the bedspread.
Wraith emerges, mask back in place, and stuffs his empty paper plate in the trash can by the bed. He glances at me, then at Thane, then at me again, like he isn't sure what to do with himself.
"Get over here," I say, my voice a little shaky as I pat the other side of the mattress. "This nest isn't going to warm itself."
He moves carefully, like he's afraid of disturbing my carefully arranged blankets. But once he's settled, his massive frame curled protectively around me, the anxiety in my chest fully unwinds.
Thane finds a position that works—close enough that our arms touch but not crowding—and we watch as some oiled-up action hero delivers terrible one-liners while shooting approximately eight thousand bad guys without reloading once.
"This is the worst movie I've ever seen," I announce twenty minutes in.
"It's fucking terrible," Thane agrees.
Wraith huffs his growling laugh, his chest rumbling against my back where I've curled into him.
"We're definitely watching the whole thing though, right?" I ask, even though I'm already having to fight to not "rest my eyes."
"Obviously," Thane says. "We need to see if he saves the president's daughter from the ninjas."
"I thought they were terrorists?"
"Terroristninjas."
"Oh, sure. It all makes sense now."
Wraith's hand finds mine under the blankets. Thane's shoulder presses warm against my other side. The movie is absolute garbage, the motel room smells vaguely of industrial cleaner, and tomorrow, Wraith has to face whatever ghosts wait for him in this half-dead town.
But tonight?
Tonight I'm just a normal girl in a shitty motel room, watching even shittier movies with two alphas who smell like home and safety and something I'm definitelynotfucking ready to name yet.
"Oh, he's doomed," Thane says with a sigh as a side character announces he's two days from retirement.
"Dead man walking," I agree.
Sure enough, thirty seconds later, the character gets spectacularly exploded.
"Called it," Thane and I say in unison, then look at each other and laugh. Wraith's low, huffing rumble vibrates through my back and he buries his face in my hair, his breath warm against my neck.
Yeah. This is good.
This isreallyfucking good.
And I'm actually starting to believe it could last.
Chapter
Fifty
PLAGUE
