Winter lifted a shoulder. “Like I’ve been chased through hell.” That was the first completely truthful comment she had made in days.
“That’s because you have been,” Banshee agreed.
Silence stretched between them until muffled voices drifted in from down the hall. They were low and tense. Winter recognized them instantly. Rebel, Savage, Bold, and Jace. Her pulse quickened, dread rising like ice beneath her ribs. They sounded like they were coming up with a plan without her, and she was pretty sure that she wasn’t going to like it one bit.
Banshee noticed, sighing softly. “You can hear them?”
“I heard something,” Winter said carefully. “Jace said he’d keep us safe. That we’d stay together. But now—” Her throat tightened. “Now it sounds like he’s planning something without me. I’m worried that he’s going to do something stupid and break his promise to me—to us,” she said, rubbing her belly.
Banshee leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Men like Jace have all been taught that protecting the people they love means doing the dangerous shit alone. Even my own husband, God love him, goes off and does stupid shit alone still.”
Winter looked down at her hands. “He shouldn’t have to do stupid shit to protect me.”
“No, he shouldn’t,” Banshee agreed. “But that man is tied to you like nothing I’ve ever seen before. If he’s thinking aboutputting himself between you and danger, it’s not because he wants to leave you. It’s because he thinks it’s the only way you and the baby will survive.” Voices rose again—Savage’s low growl, Rebel’s harder edge. And then Jace’s voice. She held her breath, trying to hear what he was saying.
“I’m not dragging her into this war any more than she already is. When it’s time, I go alone. I just need you guys to promise to keep her and the baby safe,” he said. Winter felt her heart drop, hot and heavy in her chest.
Banshee’s jaw flexed. “You’re taking that out of context.” Winter knew that her Prez was trying to make her feel better, or even to keep her calm, but it wasn’t working.
“It sounded clear enough,” Winter spat.
Banshee leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Look—he’s scared, and men who are scared do stupid things, especially when they think they’re doing them for love.” Winter blinked against sudden tears. She hadn’t cried since they were in the woods, and she wasn’t about to start again now.
“I won’t let him walk away from me,” she whispered.
“Good,” Banshee said, standing. “Because he’s going to need you to fight him on that. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.” The door opened again—this time, Jace poked his head in. He paused when he saw Banshee, then looked at Winter. Something in his expression softened, but Winter could see the storm behind his eyes.
Banshee clapped a hand on his shoulder as she passed. “Don’t screw this up, Jace.” When she disappeared down the hall, Jace stepped inside, closing the door behind himself. He looked like he’d been arguing—jaw tight, chest rising with a slow, controlled breath. Winter lifted her chin, meeting his gaze evenly.
“You’re planning to leave me,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She was stating a fact—one that was evident in his eyes. His shoulders tensed, and the world between them shifted again.
“It’s the only way to keep you and our son safe, Winter,” he almost whispered.
“Banshee is right,” she muttered to herself, “you are going to do something stupid, and I won’t allow it, Jace.”
Jace flinched at her words, like they were a blade pressed against his skin. “Winter—” he started, but she cut him off with a sharp shake of her head.
“No. Don’t you dare try to soften it. You think disappearing into the fire alone is noble, but it’s cowardice. You promised me we’d stay together. You promised him.” Her hand pressed firmly against her belly. She knew that using the baby against him wasn’t fair, but she didn’t give a fuck. She’d do whatever she had to do in order to keep the three of them together.
Jace’s jaw worked, the storm in his eyes breaking into something rawer, more vulnerable than she had ever seen. “If I don’t go, they’ll come here eventually. They’ll find us here. I can’t risk that.”
“You think I don’t know the risk?” Winter’s voice rose, trembling but unyielding. “I’ve been running, bleeding, hiding, and fighting right beside you. Don’t you dare strip me of the choice to stand with you now. You promised that we’d stick together as a team.” The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of voices down the hall. Jace’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him, though the fear remained etched deep. He moved closer, kneeling beside the bed, his hand finally resting against hers.
“I don’t know how to keep you safe,” he admitted, voice cracking. “Every move I make feels like it could cost us everything.”
Winter leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. “Then stop trying to do it alone. If we burn, we burn together. If we fight, we fight together. That’s the only way this works between us, Jace.” For a long moment, he stayed there, breathing her in, the weight of her words anchoring him to her. Finally, he nodded once—slow, and reluctant, but real.
“Together,” he whispered. Winter closed her eyes, relief and terror mingling in her chest. She knew the war outside hadn’t vanished, that danger still pressed against the walls of the safehouse. But for the first time since leaving the cabin, she felt steady. Not because the world was safe, but because Jace wasn’t walking away from her, and this time, she believed the promise that he made to her. And when the storm came, and it would, she would be ready to face it by his side—right where she belonged.
Winter woke with a sharp gasp, the kind that tore her out of sleep like a blade sliding across a hot piece of steel. For a moment, she thought it was another nightmare. They had been playing through her dreams nightly since she had found Jace. They usually started at the cabin, and then went into the chase, and eventually ended up with the Dead Rabbits finding them at Savage Hell. But then the pain gripped her low and deep, twisting through her belly with a force that stole her breath away, and she knew that something was wrong. Her hand flew to her stomach. The baby shifted beneath her palm as another wave of the worst pain she had ever experienced hit her again. It was sharper this time and completely undeniable—she was in labor. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out, not wanting to wake Jace unless she was sure. Winter had experienced Braxton Hicks contractions before and feltfoolish for running to the emergency room each time that they happened.
She looked beside her as Jace stirred in bed, his arm sliding from her waist as he blinked awake. “Winter?” His voice was rough with sleep, but when he saw her face, he sat up fast. “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking as worried and scared as she felt.
“It’s happening,” she whispered, clutching his hand. “I think that the baby is coming.”
For a heartbeat, Jace froze, and if she hadn’t been in so much pain, she would have found the whole scene comical. She saw the fear flash across his features; the storm she’d glimpsed earlier when he talked about leaving her was present again. But just for a split second, and then it shifted—resolve hardening his jaw, his grip tightening around hers.
“All right,” he said, steady now. “We’ll get through this—together.” The safehouse was silent except for their collective breathing. The walls felt as though they were pressing in as if the whole world had narrowed to this room, this bed, this very moment. Winter’s chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts, but she forced herself to meet his gaze as she waited out the next contraction. She knew that it was going to come at some point, and there was no way that she’d be ready for it or the others that would follow.
