Her fingers trace the tattoos on my chest. Slow. Curious. Following the lines of ink like she's trying to read them.
"Stay," I say. The word comes out before I can stop it.
She lifts her head. Looks at me.
"I'm not going anywhere," she says softly.
She lays her head back down on my chest. Right over my heart. And I hold her in the darkness, feeling something I haven't felt in years.
Hope.
I don't sleep. But for the first time in a long time, the darkness doesn't feel so heavy.
CHAPTER 5
FLEUR
Iwake up wrapped in him.
His arm is heavy across my waist, his chest warm against my back, his breath slow and steady against my hair. For a moment, I just lie there. Let myself feel it. The solid weight of him curved around me like he's afraid I'll vanish if he lets go.
I've never woken up like this. Never felt so completelyheld.
Dominic used to sleep on the far side of the bed, a careful distance between us. I told myself he just ran hot. Told myself some people weren't cuddlers. Told myself a lot of things that sound pathetic now, in the light of morning, with Grim's arm tightening reflexively around me like he's making sure I'm still here.
I shift slightly, and his hand spreads across my stomach. Possessive even in sleep.
Mine, he'd said last night.You're mine.
I am. God help me, I am.
The morning shatters at 10 AM.
I'm in the kitchen, wearing jeans and a t-shirt I found in his drawer, when I hear his voice from the hallway. Low. Clipped. The rough warmth from last night stripped away entirely.
I move to the doorway. Watch him through the crack.
He's on his phone, his back to me, every muscle in his body rigid. I can't hear what the other person is saying, but I can see what it does to him. The way his free hand curls into a fist. The way his shoulders lock up like he's bracing for a blow.
"When?" His voice is flat. Dead. "How specific?"
A pause. Whatever he hears makes his jaw clench so hard I can see the muscle jump from here.
"Yeah. I understand." He hangs up. Stands there for a moment, perfectly still.
Then he turns.
The man looking at me isn't Grim. Not the Grim I'm starting to know—the one who bandaged my feet with gentle hands, who kissed me like I was oxygen, who held me all night like I might disappear. This is someone else entirely. Someone cold and lethal and utterly terrifying, with eyes like winter and a face carved from stone.
This is the monster everyone else sees.
I should be scared.
I'm not.
"What happened?"
He doesn't answer right away. Just looks at me with that flat, assessing gaze, like he's calculating something. Deciding how much to tell me.
