Her breath catches.
“A relationship that involved you and him and me,” I say.“Would you have been interested in exploring something together?”
Silence.
Not cold or angry silence.She sinks into soundless introspection, her eyes shifting in the dark, up to my face, then away, then back again.
I don’t move.I don’t rush her.I wait, hand on her neck, pulse loud in my ears.
Finally, she exhales with an agonized, “Yes.”Her expression creases, fraught with reluctant honesty.“Jag might’ve been the only person I would ever consider sharing you with.But hang on.Are you…?Would you share me with him?I mean, you’re possessive and jealous.You were going to stab your brother just for walking in on us.”
“I would never share you with anyone.But he already has your heart, whether you’ll admit it or not.And I like him.”
“You want to fuck him.”
“I want to get to know him.There’s more there, hidden under that rugged exterior, and I want to understand it.”
“He isn’t trustworthy, Wolf.He’s cruel, manipulative, and ruthlessly violent.Tell me you’ll remember that when you see him again.”
“Yes, and then some.”
Trust isn’t a feeling.It’s a structure.And Jag’s trust is cracked straight through.
I pull her closer, fitting her hips against mine.Her breathing evens out against my chest, and eventually her weight sinks into me.
But my mind stays wide awake.Because now I know something I can’t unknow.
Long ago, there was a version of Jag who might’ve fit into this life with us.And there’s a future she could imagine, even now, if he hadn’t turned his past into a graveyard.
After I get some sleep, I’ll go to Jag with open hands, but I won’t forget what she said.
Not everyone who wants to stay knows how.
When I return to Sitka, I’ll find out which man Jag really is.
Sitka greets us with that fake-nice summer bullshit, sun out, air warm, like it didn’t spend nine months trying to kill everyone.
Dove and I linger in the doorway of the mechanic shop while the security guys do their thing, radios chirping, eyes everywhere at once.They’ll turn the garage inside out, lock it down, and make it solid enough that I can leave her here under their watch.
She braces a shoulder against the doorframe, smiling, as a group of people walk past us, their heads turned, openly staring at me.
Yeah, I’ve armored up today.
A black lace corset ties loosely under my cropped jacket, my scars peeking above the boning.A plaid kilt hangs low on my hips, cut for movement, not ceremony.I layered fishnet under it because Sitka summer is still Sitka.
My stompy combat boots look as loud and mean as my heavy black eyeliner, which flares out toward my cheeks in scalloped, Gothic streaks.I added the pearls at my throat mostly because I like how they confuse people who think they’ve already figured me out.
Today calls for extra of everything.Because if Jag Rath read my journal, he now knows my weaknesses.The only way to prepare for that is to own who I am.
“All clear, sir.”Carl steps out of the garage.“Found this taped to the wall.”
He hands me a scrap of cardboard that readsLunchin thick marker.
“Guess Taaq and Chester took a late break.”Dove pauses in the doorway.Not in.Not out.
Sunlight slashes across her face, catching on her septum, Medusa, and eyebrow piercings.Her hair hangs unbound, rippling around her in ocean-blue waves.
A sleeveless cherry-printed crop top knots at her ribs, and her high-waisted black shorts have enough stretch to squat under a chassis without flashing the universe.
