“They’ll hold.”
His kiss is wild and unapologetic, stealing the air from my lungs. His big hands grind me over him, thick length reminding me of last night’s bliss.
“You know, it was too much,” I whisper, tasting his mouth, tongue mating with his.
“Too much you need again,” he answers darkly.
“Do you know how to make clothes vanish?” I joke.
Ash chuckles, untying my blouse, unbuttoning my jeans. The zipper whirs, and my need throbs, heart catching in my throat.
“Some things are best done the old-fashioned way,” he murmurs, fingers sliding beneath the waistband of my panties and into my slick heat.
I gasp, the connection burning between us. Feeling all at once the pleasure of his touch and the anticipation humming across his flesh with the slide of his fingers. “Need more of that starlight,” he whispers as his mouth descends to my breasts, casting wet warmth through the lace of my bra.
“But what happened between us yesterday. Will it draw… the bad guys again?” I whisper.
“Our resonance has stabilized now. Don’t you feel it? Easier to keep between us.” His lips trace my neck. “This cave helps, too.” His fingers tangle with mine. “I don’t have all the answers, but we’ll learn together.”
The world narrows to heat, breath, and heartbeat until there’s nothing left but the sound of us—two notes of the same chord.
When the echo fades, I press my face to his throat, breathing the scent of smoke and pine and safety. The mountain hums softly beneath us, no longer warning, only remembering.
Outside, dawn waits, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like home.
The ride back feels surreal.
The sky burns pale with dawn, the wind a cool hush through the pines. The air still hums faintly with what we did—what webecame.
Every heartbeat feels shared. Every breath echoes two.
When the ranch comes into view, I almost sob. Smoke curls from the chimney. The smell of coffee and pine pitch drifts through the air. Home.
Grandma stands on the porch, her wool shawl pulled tight. Grandpa’s at her side, eyes narrowed toward the rising sun. Behind them, the sky ripples faintly—strange lights flickering along the ridge, fading like spent auroras.
They saw it. Theyfeltit.
“Ash,” Grandma says when we dismount, her tone both relief and warning. “Thank God.”
“Sorry, Miranda, Martin. Would’ve called, but we had no signal.”
“That wasn’t just weather last night,” she says quietly.
Ash tips his hat respectfully.
Grandpa studies him for a long moment, then nods once—the kind of nod men give when they’ve lived long enough to stop asking for explanations. “The land keeps its bargains,” he murmurs, then turns toward the barn to tend the stock like nothing’s happened.
Inside, warmth wraps around us—wood smoke, cedar, bread baking. I wash the dirt off my hands. When I look up, Ash watches me, his eyes softer than I’ve ever seen.
“You think they’ll come back?” I ask quietly. “The ones that hunted us?”
“They’ll try.” His hand grazes mine. “But not here.”
“Why not?”
He glances toward the window, where mist coils over the fields like breath. “The ore, the hum—it’s alive. Out there, you’dbe easy to find. But here, under this sky, onthisground…” His voice lowers. “The land remembers its own.”
My pulse stutters, wanting to believe.
