Keira's laugh is unrestrained. "You can have him all to yourself."
"Thanks, baby." I catch her wrist as she reaches for the pliers again, pulling her in for a kiss. "But this one I'm sharing with you."
"I want him to go slower," she says, turning back to Calder. "I want him to feel every second."
"Then take your time. We have all day. All week, if you want it. Marco's cleared his schedule."
From outside: "Damn right I have!"
Keira huffs out another laugh. "You have strange friends."
"The best kind."
I'm thankful for every single one of them and everything we've been through to get here. Hard to believe Dominik, Aaron, and I all found love—the other half of our hearts—despite the chaos and everything life threw at us. It's been a brutal journey, no question, but a memorable one. One that brought us closer together in ways I never could have imagined.
We're not the same people we were when this started. We won't be the same five years from now, either.
But one thing will never change: we'll always be family. There for one another no matter what.
Chosen over blood. Forged in fire. Bound by something stronger than DNA.
Even if Aaron and Zoe are the only ones who share it.
FIFTY-SEVEN
TRISTAN
I've been watching Keira for hours.
Watched her hands work slow and steady as she carved retribution into the man who tried to destroy her. Watched her face shift through emotions I've never seen her wear so openly—satisfaction, rage, grief, and something terrifyingly close to peace. Watched her shed the skin of the woman who survived and step into the woman who refuses to be afraid anymore.
I'm just lucky I get to be here with her. Witnessing this.
By the time night rolls around, I've lost count of the number of times I've slammed adrenaline into Calder's thigh because the bastard kept trying to die.
He doesn't get to escape.
Not until she's done with him.
I also had a bit of fun with him myself. My most memorable moment being when we decorated his entire body with hundreds of tiny pieces of glass.
Keira stands at the table now, looking at the next instrument she wants to play with. Blood has dried to rust on her fingers. Splatter marks her cheek like war paint. Her ponytail is loose now, wild strands framing a face I would commit genocide to protect.
She's utterly breathtaking, flawless, and mine in every possible way.
And watching her has turned me a little feral.
It started subtle—a little nudge I could ignore—but subtle died about three hours ago. Now there's nothing butwant, this all-consuming need that's been building like pressure behind a dam, and I'm one more perfect moment away from losing control completely.
Mine.
The word keeps pulsing through my head like a heartbeat.
She's always been mine. And he's going to watch me prove it before he dies.
I rise from my chair.
She doesn't turn as I cross the room, but I see the way her body attunes to my presence like a compass finding north. By the time I'm standing behind her, close enough to feel her warmth, her breathing has already changed.
