“The claiming,” I say slowly, “was... instinctive. Wrong in how we did it, yes. But not in its intent.”
“And what was the intent?” she asks, her voice softening.
“To protect. To care for. To...” I hesitate, searching for the right word. “To make sure you were safe. With us.”
The words hang in the air between us. Zoe’s eyes widen slightly, the anger fading.
“Oh,” she says softly. And then, with a small, broken sound, she leans into my touch.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur against her hair.
She nods against my chest, her hands fisting in my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll let go. “I know,” she whispers back.
We stay like that for a long moment, her breathing gradually slowing, synchronizing with mine.
“Can we...” she starts, then stops, her voice small against my chest. “Can we go somewhere else? I don’t want to look at all this anymore.”
I glance at the evidence wall, at the damning proof of Rudy Lewis’s betrayal spread across the desk. “Of course.”
Without a word, I slide one arm under her knees and the other around her back, lifting her into my arms. She’s impossibly light, a fragile weight against my chest. She lets out a small, surprised gasp, her arms instinctively coming up to loop around my neck.
“Dane,” she whispers, her face buried against my shoulder. “You don’t have to...”
“Yes,” I say, my voice a low, rough rumble. “I do.”
I carry her out of the office, my hand at the back of her head, shielding her face from the sight of the evidence board as we pass. I walk in silence through the penthouse, past the kitchen where we had our coffee standoff this morning, and down the hall.
I don’t take her to her guest suite. I take her to mine.
I nudge my bedroom door open with my foot and carry her inside. The room is simple. A king-sized bed with dark blue sheets. A dresser. No clutter. Just the essentials. I gently lower her onto the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress.
I move to pull away, but her hands are still fisted in my shirt, holding me there.
“Stay,” she whispers, her eyes, still wet with unshed tears, pleading with me. “Please. I don’t want to be alone right now.”
I nod, my throat too tight for words, and move to sit on the edge of the bed. She surprises me, shifting closer until our thighs are touching.
“Is this okay?” she asks, her voice small and fragile.
“Yes,” I manage to say, but the word is a rough scrape of sound.
She takes a shuddering breath, then another. “He was my friend,” she whispers, her gaze unfocused, staring at the wall. “Rudy. He used to bring me coffee on rainy days.”
The level of betrayal she must be feeling makes my alpha snarl with a silent, protective rage. I want to hunt him down. I want to tear him apart for making her feel this way.
Instead, I just sit there, a silent, useless wall of muscle.
“I feel so stupid,” she continues, a tear finally escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. “He warned me about you guys. About ‘collectors.’ And I... I almost believed him.”
My hand moves before I can think, my thumb coming up to gently, clumsily, wipe the tear from her skin. The salt and the warmth of her are a jolt to my system.
She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed. “You’re not like him,” she murmurs. “You’re... quiet.”
I almost laugh. Quiet. It’s the thing I’ve always hated about myself, the thing that sets me apart from my brothers. But the way she says it... It’s not an accusation. It’s a comfort.
“You should rest,” I whisper.
She nods against my hand but doesn’t pull away. Instead, she shifts, curling her legs up onto the bed. “Will you... Will you stay with me?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. “Just for a little while?”
