Tears fill her eyes. She doesn't say anything, just reaches out her hand toward me. I crawl up the bed, careful to keep my weight off the mattress springs so I don’t jar her leg. I move over her, bracing myself on my forearms on either side of her head, caging her. "You're the only quiet thing I've ever found," I murmur, lowering my face until our noses brushed. "I can't let you go, Alex. Even when this leg heals. I can't let you leave this mountain."
A warning. A confession of kidnapping, essentially. I am telling her that her life as she knows it is over because I have decided to keep her. She doesn't push me away. She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down. "I don't want to go," she whispers against my lips. "I don't fit down there anyway. I never did."
The air leaves my lungs. I kiss her. Last night was a tentative exploration. This is a seal of blood and breath. I kiss her until I can taste her soul, until I am sure she understands that she is breathing for both of us now. Her hands tangle in my hair, nails scratching lightly at my scalp. The sensation sends a jolt down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold. I shift my hips, the hard ridge of my cock pressing against her uninjured thigh. I want to bury myself inside her pussy again.
But she is in pain. She is broken. I pull back, resting my forehead against hers, both of us panting slightly. "When you're healed," I growl, my voice a jagged rasp of absolute possession. "I’m going to slide my cock so deep into your pussy that you’ll feel me in your throat. I’m going to stretch you until you’re nothing but a vessel for my seed, marked so deep that no other man will ever dare to look at you. You’re going to take every inch of me, Alex, until you’re screaming my name and begging for the ruin I’m going to give you."
She shudders, pupils blowing wide. "Don't wait until I'm healed."
"Alex—"
"Touch me," she pleads. "Make me forget the leg. Make me forget the shot. Just... be here."
I want to. Fuck, I want to strip the rest of the clothes off her and claim her until the only thing she feels is me. But she needs rest. She needs to heal so she can run if the wolves come back. "Gentle," I warn, more to myself than her. I shift my weight, pulling her fully into my arms, settling her head against my chest. I don’t go further. I just hold her, my hand stroking down the length of her spine, applying deep, grounding pressure.
"Focus on the heat," I instruct, my lips against her temple. "Focus on me."
She lets out a long, ragged exhale, her body finally relaxing against mine. The fight goes out of her. I hold her through the tremors, whispering meaningless praises against her skin.
Mine.
Good girl.
So beautiful.
Mine.
As her breathing evens out, slipping back toward sleep, I stay vigilant. The pain meds finally pull her under. Her grip on my shoulder loosens. I carefully disentangle myself, covering her with the heavy quilt, tucking it around her shoulders. She looks peaceful now. The lines of pain around her mouth have smoothed out.
I stand up and walk to the window at the far end of the loft. The rain has stopped, leaving the world a jagged, muddy mess of grey and brown. The pines hang heavy, dripping with the weight of the deluge. The road to the clubhouse is gone, obliterated by a massive mudslide that tore the earth right off the ridge. We remain isolated in our fortress. But in the distance, through a gap in the trees, I see the glint of sun off metal. A heavy recovery vehicle is working the main pass, trying to clear the debris. Civilization is coming. The silence is about to break.
I rest my hand against the freezing glass. Someone has shot at her. The realization sits in my gut like a stone. I can't keep her in this loft forever. If they had missed her on the ridge, and she hadn't returned to town... people will look. Marcus andthe rescue team will start a grid search. The shooter might be watching the search patterns.
I need help. I hate asking for it. I hate exposing her. But I can't protect her from a phantom sniper while playing nursemaid in a loft. I need eyes on the ridge. I need Shane's paranoia and Austin's strategy. I need Blake's steel. I turn back to the bed, looking at the woman sleeping in the center of my world. I will burn Pine Valley to the ground before I let anyone touch her again.
I walk over to the sturdy wooden table where I’d left my cut. I pick up the leather vest, the heavy patch of the Broken Halos Road Captain sitting weighty in my hands. I put it on, the leather creaking, the familiar weight settling on my shoulders. It feels different now. No longer just a uniform. It becomes armor. I grab my radio from the shelf. It has been turned off for three days. I hesitate, thumb hovering over the switch. Once I make this call, the bubble bursts. The brothers will be here. The questions will start. The peace will end.
But she needs more than peace. She needs a war party. I flick the switch. Static hisses, loud in the quiet room. I turn the volume down instantly, glancing at Alex to make sure she hasn't stirred.
"Road Captain to President," I murmur into the mic, voice barely a whisper.
A beat of silence. Then, a crackle.
"About damn time, Tristan," Logan's voice comes through, gruff and relieved. "We thought the mountain swallowed you. Where are you?"
"Loft," I say. "Road's blocked by a massive slide."
"We're clearing the debris now. The recovery rig will be at the garage in an hour. You good?"
I look at Alexandria. "I have a situation," I say.
"What kind of situation?" Logan’s tone sharpens instantly.
"The kind that requires a vote," I say. "And a lockdown."
"Tristan, what did you bring home?"
"Not what," I correct, eyes tracing the curve of her hip under the quilt. "Who."
