I process this. “They’re still trying to control it.”
He gives a nod. “I don’t think they have any idea of what they’re dealing with.” His lips purse. “Neither do we.”
“Well, for now, it seems to be on our side. That’s good enough for me.” I tie off the bandage. My hands linger on his shoulder longer than necessary. I can’t help myself. Physical contact with him settles me in a way I can’t understand.
“We need to contact Aurora.” He reaches for the pack, pulls out a compact device I don’t recognize. “They’ll be mobilizing search teams by now.”
“My mother’s probably losing her mind.” The thought makes my chest hurt. “What is that?” I nod at the device.
“Comms unit I took from the Syndicate vehicle,” he tells me. “I reset the frequencies for Craven encryption.”
“Is it safe?” I ask.
He nods. “We’ll be able to use it without them tracking it. Craven channels are secure.” Luke’s fingers move over the screen. Typing. Sending. “Brief message,” he explains, glancing up. “Kenan and Arrowvane alive. Extracted from Syndicate facility. Require pickup coordinates.”
“How long before they respond?”
“Hours. If they respond at all.” He sets the device aside. “Depends on whether the signal gets through. Whether they can triangulate our position. Whether pursuit teams jam the frequency first.” He huffs out a breath. “No telling what sort of tech the Syndicate has up its sleeve, but I’m guessing it’s high-level.”
The variables stack up. All the ways this could still go wrong.
I sit back on my heels. My hands rest on his knees; not intentional, just where they landed. I realize that we’ve been touching this entire time. And it’s felt like the most natural thing in the world.
But now, Luke’s eyes drop to where my fingers press against his leg.
The air between us changes. Thickens with something I felt in the transport. Something that’s been building since the cave.
“I thought you were dead.” My voice is soft.
His throat works. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“But you came back. You risked everything to—”
His hand catches mine. Stops the words. “There was no risk. There was only you.”
My breath snags. The honesty in his voice cracks something open in my chest.
Impulsively, I lean forward. He doesn’t pull away.
This kiss is different from the frantic one from before. Slower. Deliberate. Like we have time now to mean it.
His hand slides into my still-damp hair. Mine flatten against his chest, feeling his heartbeat pounding beneath my palms. Fast. Unsteady. He’s not as controlled as he pretends to be.
The kiss deepens. His tongue touches mine; tentative at first, then bolder. Heat builds fast, spreading from my mouth down my throat into my stomach.
I’ve been kissed before. Fumbling boys who didn’t know what they were doing. Who took without asking. Who left me feeling hollow instead of wanting more.
This isn’t that.
This is Luke’s thumb stroking along my jaw while his other hand anchors in my hair. This is the way he tilts my head to deepen the angle, to taste me more thoroughly. This is three days of fear and stress and barely restrained want finally finding an outlet.
He pulls me up onto his lap. I straddle him without hesitation, and the position brings our bodies flush. I feel him—hard and ready beneath me—and the knowledge sends heat pooling low in my belly.
His hands find bare skin at my waist where the flannel has fallen open. Calloused fingers that should feel rough but somehow don’t. They trace my ribs with infinite care, like he’s discovering territory he’s wanted to explore for days.
I gasp when his thumb brushes the underside of my breast.
He groans when I rock against him, grinding down on his shaft, testing, exploring what makes his control fracture.
