“I’ll leave it all behind.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. I’ve cried enough in my life. No more. At least not tonight.
“You will?”
“Yes. The contracts. The blood. The shadows. I’ll walk away from all of it.”
“For me?”
His hand cups my cheek, reverent, steady. “For us.”
For a long, aching moment, we stand there, breathing each other in.
Then I surge up on my toes and kiss him, making him mine.
This time, there’s no fear between us. No lies.
Just a vow made in silence, one we’ll both bleed for.
20
THE VOW
CALISTA
Ishouldn’t believe him when he says he’ll give it all up. I know that.
Deep down, somewhere past the longing and the fear and the quiet ache, he carved into me—I know he is who he is, and he may not be able to change, even if he wants to.
But I can’t care.
Because sometimes survival isn’t about walking away, it’s about choosing to stay.
It’s about daring to love. Daring to hope that it won’t destroy you.
“I thought you weren’t coming back.” He kisses me softly.
“I thought that, too,” I confess.
His eyes—dark, predatory, yet impossibly soft—lock onto mine as he looks at me as if I am the most precious thing in the world.
“Thank you for coming back.”
There’s no need for more words. I take his hand, and we walk to his bedroom.
His black T-shirt clings to his chest, muscles rippling beneath the fabric, and I can’t help but notice the way his dark jeans hug his thighs, tight enough to outline the heavy bulge that’s already straining against the zipper.
My heart hammers in my chest as he reaches for me, his fingers brushing against my cheek.
“Calista,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like gravel dragged over silk. “You’re trembling.”
I am. I can’t help it.
My breath is coming in shallow gasps.
I am standing on the precipice of something I’ve only ever dreamed about.
His hand slides down to my neck, thumb brushing over my pulse point.
