“Elon?” I start, his name sticking in my throat like it doesn’t want to come out.
I’m not ready, not really, but I must know. I need Rogan to just rip the bandage off and maybe prepare a tourniquet. Hoping feels useless at this point. I want Elon to be okay, but I can’t banish the vision of Jamie’s dagger plunging into Elon’s chest as my rage-filled scream echoes around that forsaken church.
Rogan’s fingers are firm on the back of my neck, the grounding touch enough to pull me away from the assault of pain that’s welling up. I try to study his face, looking for the answer before he can voice it, but his face is completely unreadable.
He pulls in a hurried breath, like he’s preparing to deliver bad news, and my heart sinks. “He’s back too,” he tells me, emotion cracking through the declaration like the words spilling out of him are still too good to be true. I stare at him as the truth of what we can do sinks in, and then all at once, relief crashes through me so violently that it fractures the weak hope I was clinging to and makes way for a whole new foundation of limitless possibility.
I gasp as the heavy burden of self-blame and guilt immediately lightens, and I drop my face into my hands and let go. Sobs wrack my chest, and tears fill my palms. I knew how much I wanted to hear that Elon was okay, how much I hoped that this would be the answer, but I wasn’t prepared for what knowing for sure would feel like.
I cry, and Rogan pulls me closer and wraps himself around me as I do. He anchors me and supports me as everything comes rushing back. I try to fight all of the emotions that are an echo of the fucked up shit that happened the night I died. But instead of winning the battle, I’m forced to succumb to it. It’s all so fresh and staggering. I wish I could shut it off, but I can’t. I have to get it out. I have to fix the shattered pieces of myself that the trauma of that night took a sledgehammer to.
“It was fucking awful,” I profess, the words spilling out of me like I’m an overfull levee. Rogan’s quiet as he runs a hand soothingly down my back while holding me tightly to him. “I tried so hard to keep her away from him, to focus on me, but…”
“I know,” Rogan comforts, placing light kisses on the back of my hands. “Elon told me what happened. How you…” Emotion bleeds out of his words, and he pauses to try and rein it in. The vehemence leaking to me through the tether has me cracking my fingers so I can look at his face through them. “I fucked up so bad, Lennox. I thought I had to choose, that after everything Elon had been through, he needed to come first no matter what. I didn’t want to admit how I was feeling about you. If I did, it felt like I was betraying Elon. I mean, what kind of person finds happiness and hope when his brother is suffering?” he asks, anguish etched in his features.
He shakes his head, ashamed, an indignant scoff sneaking out of his full lips. “I didn’t want to make room for you,” he admits, bringing his hand to his chest and placing it over his heart. “I didn’t want to see that you’d already sunk inside of me so deeply that there wasn’t a me without you anymore. It was the wrong time, too fast, too uncertain, but there you were all the same,” he tells me, gesturing to his heart.
His last words coax a small smile to one corner of his mouth, but it’s gone in a blink.
“That night when you were torn away from me. It was like I was back in that room with my uncle as he tortured Elon and tried to steal his birthright. I lost it completely. I probably would have taken out half the order if Marx hadn’t been there to stop me. They brought that Saxon fucker in to search your room for who could have planted the trap, and it hit me like a punch to the gut. You were gone. You were gone, and you didn’t know how I felt. I never let you see what you were starting to mean to me.
“I knew wherever that portal was leading, it was going to be bad, and I hated myself for not giving you something to fight for, for failing to show you thatwewere worth fighting for. I’m never going to do that again, Lennox. Never.”
Slowly, he pulls my hands from my face, lifting up a corner of the quilt to wipe the tears and snot away.
“I love you, Lennox,” he tells me evenly with absolutely no hesitation. “I love you in the way that grows as we grow together. The kind of love worth fighting for, that has me waking up every day grateful and willing to do whatever it takes. I know what you did for Elon, because it’s the same thing you did for me. You’re the light in the darkness. The stars that guide you home when you’re lost. You carry the broken from battle and lift the drowning from the clawing cold that’s trying to claim them.Youslay the demons.”
I stare at him, completely dumbfounded. A tear slips silently down his cheek, and I move to catch it, his eyes so intense that he’s looking into me rather than looking at me. Warmth pools in my stomach, and my heart races like it’s giving its all because Rogan is the finish line.
“You, Lennox Marai Osseous, areeverything. It scared the shit out of me before, but I’m not scared anymore. I love you. I feel it in my blood, in my bones, in my very soul...and I know you feel it too,” he declares assuredly, now wiping the fresh tears from my cheeks.
I kiss Rogan, my lips capturing his fiercely so I can sip on his words and let them soak into me. His raw declaration fills the cracks that mistrust and messed up circumstances chiseled into us, his faith and trust the very mortar we needed to repair and move forward. I know we have a lot ahead of us, that nothing about this is going to be easy, but Rogan is right. We’re worth fighting for.
I kiss him so thoroughly, pouring my own silent declarations into the passion once again stoking between us. This is the be-all and end-all kind of love that can only be nurtured with patience and understanding. This is the good shit that takes work and time, but when you truly give it everything you have, it’s the epic kind of love that will sustain a soul even in the darkest of times. I don’t know how the hell all of this just fell in my lap, but regardless of how long we’ve known each other or what obstacles may drop in our path, I amnotletting this go.
Rogan kisses me back just as ferociously, our actions sealing what words can’t. Our tongues rove and explore, eager to spend the rest of forever learning each other as well as we already know ourselves. His hands splay across my back, pressing me into him, and I know I’ll never get tired of feeling him like this. Vulnerable and needy. Strong and formidable. Willing to give and take and solidify our bond time and time again.
And I am sooo here for it.
I feel him harden inside of me, and I chuckle at the realization that we haven’t even disconnected from round one and we’re already sliding into round two. I’m going to have to build a shrine to the sex gods or something, really make sure they know how grateful I am for pitching this dick my way.
“Alright, Rogan Kendrick, let’s see what you’ve got,” I challenge, tasting his laughter and feeling his chest vibrate against mine.
His arms tighten around me, and in less time than it takes to sayBlood Witches do it best, I’m on my back. I release an epic girly squeal and giggle to go with it as he buries his face in my neck. “I meant for our future,” I argue, completely full of shit, “but this’ll do too,” I tease, parroting his sentiment before he took me against the wall.
“You have no idea how much I look forward to fucking that sassy mouth of yours,” he growls into my ear as he places a large hand at the small of my back and tilts my hips up.
Oh, hello, new favorite position—I have a feeling I’ll be thinking that a lot in the near future.
Rogan grinds into me, his insanely gorgeous body pressing against my clit in a really delicious way that I’m down to explore more of.
“Are you going to say it back?” he asks as he starts to pull out.
I furrow my brow in faux confusion. “What? That I can’t wait to fuck your mouth?” I ask, trying to hide the twinkle of mirth in my eyes.
He shakes his head and kisses down my throat, and I wiggle with anticipation, fully expecting some type of retaliation. He nibbles at the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I shamelessly lean into the sensations he’s creating when there’s a peculiar heat that unexpectedly starts to gather at my core.
Did someone just shove a hot pack over my hot pocket?
