He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, thumb brushing away the track of tears on my cheek.
“I love you,” he repeats, clearer this time, each word deliberate. “I never stopped. Not for a second. And I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”
His mouth moves to my cheek, peppering soft kisses as he whispers it again and again, each confession landing on old wounds. He maps every inch of my face, murmuring quiet declarations of his love with each gentle press of his lips, and by the time he claims my mouth, my tears are flowing in earnest.
He pushes his forehead against mine. “It doesn’t matter how much time went by, Xen. I never stopped loving you. How could I, when you’re carrying the other half of my heart?”
A quiet sob catches in my throat as he presses another kiss to my ruined eye like its something sacred. It hits me that my eyepatch lies discarded with our pile of clothes from last night, forgotten in the tangle of sheets and skin.
Relief floods through me at the realization, almost violent in nature. He’s seeing all of me. Every scar, every flaw. Every broken piece I’ve hidden for so long.
No more hiding.
No more lies or half-truths to shield the wreckage.
And despite it all—the ugliness, the damage, the years of silence—he still loves me.
The weight I’ve carried for years lifts in an instant, leaving me breathless in his arms. The burden has been shared, so the crushing pressure no longer threatens to break my back.
“Every single minute,” I agree, burrowing into his arms.
His fingers weave into my hair, grounding us both as we soak in the peace. Eventually, though, reality demands our return to solid ground, and the alarms become loud once again.
They’re a harsh reminder of the world waiting beyond these walls.
I prop myself on my elbows as I stare at the light peeking through the closed curtains. “How long do you think they’ll run the sirens?”
Bash shrugs as he sits up. “In the years I’ve lived here, they’ve never run. I don’t know what will happen.”
“What do we do now?” I ask.
He leans in to press a kiss on my shoulder. “First, we get dressed and find some breakfast. I should’ve fed you last night. You’re probably starving.”
“To be fair, there were other things happening.”
He grins so wide his dimple pits into his cheek, and he chuckles as he stands. “Yeah. A few other things.”
Bash steps into the bathroom, and I doze as the water runs. He returns carrying a towel and cleans me, taking extra care around my thighs before pressing a silent kiss over my scars. After he’s wiped away the mess from my body, he inspects my wounds, and when he smiles, it looks as satisfied as I feel.
Bash
Voicestraveldownthehallway, the words indistinguishable through the muffled blare of sirens. I peek through the door to find our freshly laundered clothes piled neatly. My nose twitches at the scent of cinnamon drifting in the air, and I hurry back inside to change.
Xeni is sprawled out on the bed, half asleep. He’s completely naked as his fingertips drift lazily over his stomach, tracing idle patterns on his skin. The bruises on his torso have faded to lighter shades of purple and blue, and the split on his lip is mostly healed. In another day or two, physical evidence of his abuse will be gone.
The internal wounds will take longer to heal, but right now, there’s a peaceful smile on his face. It stands in sharp contrast to the urgency I should feel. The world outside demands ourattention, while he looks like he could drift off for a few more hours of sleep.
I dress quickly, thankful for the clean clothes, but I frown at the stack of thick hides meant for Xeni. Biting my lip, I set them on the counter.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him.
He only acknowledges me with a soft grunt as he burrows deeper into the pillow.He’s blissfully sexed out, with his hair everywhere in wild tangles and his long, lean limbs spread wide across the sheets. A bolt of lust hits me square in the middle, but the alarms insist that more worship will have to wait.
I follow the delicious smells to the kitchen. Cato and Ego sit at a table with plates loaded full of steaming pancakes, while the human woman stands at the stove.
“Good morning,” I say, and she glances over her shoulder at me with happy crinkles lining her eyes. “Last night was so chaotic, I didn’t have the chance to thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, dear boy,” she says as she turns back to her skillet to flip another pancake. “Caitlin told me everything you went through. Getting your mate out of that place was quite the accomplishment.”
