“Fantastic.” Rane drops his fork onto his plate. “Love those.”
I should say something. Ask questions. Figure out what this means, what they want, how we’re going to handle it.
But I can’t focus. The heat is still building, pressing against my skin from the inside, and my hands are shaking and I don’t know how to make it stop.
“Nova.” Trey’s voice, close to my ear. “Hey. Look at me.”
I turn my head. His gray eyes search my face, worried.
“We’ll figure this out,” he says. “Whatever they want, we’ll handle it together.”
I nod because that’s what he needs. Because that’s what they all need—to see me hold it together, be part of the team, not fall apart over a conversation.
“Do you think this is about the fire?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
Locke and Vaelor exchange a look.
“It’s not just about the fire,” Kyron says quietly.
The room settles into heavy silence.
Trey’s hand is still on my knee. The others are still watching the door to the living room, like someone might knock again.
But all I can feel is the burn behind my ribs.
And the echo of that pulse in my wrist.
I don’t look down. I don’t want to know.
Chapter 38
Kyron
I’m losing my mind in the bathroom.
This is ridiculous. I’ve shared space with her for weeks now. Eaten meals across from her. Watched her fall asleep on the couch with her head on Rane’s shoulder. Carried her through the front door while she kissed me like the world was ending.
But somehow, knowing she’s in my bed right now—wearing my shirt, waiting for me—has turned me into a fifteen-year-old who’s never been alone with a woman.
I grip the edge of the sink and stare at myself in the mirror.
Get it together.
It’s just Nova.
Yeah. Just the woman who completes the cluster. The one you’ve been waiting two years for.
Though admittedly longer.
I close my eyes. Shake my head.
I’ve been waiting for her forever.
The thought settles into my chest like it’s always been there. Like I’ve known it for years and only just found the words.
I take a breath. Steel myself.
When I open the bathroom door, she’s exactly where I left her—curled on her side in my bed, silver-blonde hair spread across my pillow, wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts. It hits mid-thigh on her. She looks small in it. Small and soft and mine.
