“The ultimate sacrifice.”He watches me carefully.
“That’s the cost.”
“We’ll see.”His eyes narrow.“Speaking of your special skills… How did you know what I did to the doctor?When we first met, you were very specific about the details.”
“I bugged the tattoo parlor.”
“Yeah, I found your camera in the new sheetrock.”
“Before that.When I bought the place.I wired it so I could keep tabs on it while I lived in California.”I lick my lips.“When you started working there six months ago, I watched.And listened.A lot.”
“Pervert.”His mouth twitches.
“One night, you were there late, working alone, and Monty came in.He tried to get you to talk about the doctor.”
“I remember.”He closes his eyes.“I told him I cut the bitch into pieces, and there was nothing left to discuss.”He opens one eye and looks at me sideways.“You’re such a creepy stalker.”
“I’m efficient.”
“Unhinged.”
“Effective.”
“You know that’s not normal.”He grins.
“You know you’re not normal.”I grin back.
“I’m aware.”
“Normal doesn’t keep people alive.”
“You win.”He yawns mid-breath, jaw stretching, exhaustion clinging to the creases in his beautiful face.
“That’s it.”I stand and power off the monitors.“Bedtime.”
“Every part of me saysyes.”
We head upstairs, the house unnervingly quiet.At the landing, uncertainty plants my feet.I know this guest house, memorized its blind spots, entry points, and every room.Two bedrooms.One choice too many.
He doesn’t give me time to decide.
Capturing my wrist, he steers me down the hall, opens his bedroom door, and gestures me inside.
“You’ve been alone for too damn long.”He toes off his shoes.“You’re not sleeping by yourself tonight.”
Relief funnels through me, and a contained little thrill hums under my skin.I feel younger for it.Reckless in a way that doesn’t end with bloodstains under my fingernails.
We shed our shirts and leave on our lounge pants, drawing a line neither of us pretends doesn’t exist.My gaze catches anyway.
Wolf’s chest, pale and quilted with scars, is devastating.It doesn’t take away from his stunning perfection.It tells a story of strength and resilience, one I hope to hear more about someday.
I stare too long, and he notices.
“You know how it happened.”He rubs his thumb over a raised, pink line near his hipbone.
“Your journal.”I soften my eyes, relaying compassion and admiration the best way I know how.
“Will you tell me how you got yours?”He eases into my space and runs a palm over the stab wound beneath my rib cage.
