“Look at me,” he whispered.
I did.
And the world steadied.
Every thrust pulled another sound from me, every roll of his hips chased away the echo of footsteps behind cabin walls. His hands held my hips, my thighs, my jaw; anchoring me, worshipping me, reminding me I was alive, wanted, and his.
Pleasure coiled tight in my belly, heat climbing higher and higher until it broke in a wave that stole my breath. I cried out, clinging to him as the world dissolved into light. Eric followed with a rough groan against my throat, his body shuddering as he held me through it, as if he could keep me safe, even from the force of my own pleasure. When the tremors eased, he collapsed gently beside me, pulling me against his chest. His hand drifted through my damp hair; his heartbeat steady under my ear. There was no fear. No running. Just him. Us.
He pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead. “I’m not letting anything touch you, Harmony. Not now. Not ever.”
Eric’s hand stilled at my waist, like the thought had caught him mid-breath.
“Harmony,” he said quietly.
I lifted my head, meeting his eyes in the dim light. There was something there I hadn’t seen before. Not fear. Not urgency. Certainty. The kind that doesn’t rush.
“I love you,” he said. Not loud. Not careful. Just true.
The words hit me harder than everything we’d survived. Because they weren’t a promise or a shield. They were a choice.
My throat closed. I pressed my palm to his chest, feeling his heart steady beneath it.
“I love you too,” I said. And this time, saying it didn’t feel like surrender. It felt like standing still and finally knowing I was safe to be seen.
He didn’t kiss me right away. He just held me, forehead resting against mine, like the words themselves needed room to exist between us. I drifted against him, boneless and warm, the storm outside fading beneath the sound of his heartbeat. For the first time all night, sleep didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like surrendering into safety. Into him.
CHAPTER 53
Eric
Harmony slept tucked against me, soft breaths warming my chest, her leg tangled with mine beneath the blanket. For a few blissful minutes after she drifted off, the world had felt small and quiet. Threats felt distant, her body loose and sated in my arms. But peace in this house never seemed to last long. A soft knock sounded at the doorframe.
Becket’s voice dropped low. “Eric. You need to come downstairs.”
My entire body went rigid. Harmony mumbled, half-asleep, reaching for me, even as I slipped out from beneath the covers. I pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m right here. Just checking something with Becket.”
Her fingers loosened reluctantly.
When I stepped into the hallway, Becket’s face told me everything before he spoke.
“What happened?” I asked.
He held up a grainy photograph taken from our exterior trail cam. A figure moved along the tree line, shoulders hunched, head down, but unmistakablywatching.
“He was here,” Becket said. “Again.”
My stomach dropped. “When?”
“About an hour ago”
I scrubbed a hand over my jaw.
“Anything useful?” I asked.
“Footprints,” he said. “Circling the orchard. Tight pattern. Someone scouting angles, not wandering.”
I swore under my breath. “He’s measuring blind spots.”
