The door slams shut behind her. Silence crashes into the room.
I sit there for a second, staring at the empty space she left behind, my mind trying—and failing—to catch up. I drag a hand down my face—her taste still lingering on my lips—exhaling roughly. “The fuck just happened?”
??????
Two days. A full forty-eight hours. And she still wouldn’t look me in the eyes.
I often feel her watching me, lost in thought like she’s bracing for something. But she never really meets my gaze.
Though her venom has changed texture, become something smoother than the rough, hardened space that lingered between us. She still talks to me, her voice carrying a softer timbre than before.
We never talk about the kiss, though. I doubt we ever will.
It was probably the heightened, overwhelming emotions that led her to kissing a bastard like me.
But that doesn’t help me—not now that I know what she feels like in my arms. How her mouth feels against my tongue. One taste and I’m fucking addicted.
It doesn’t matter that I know there will never be a repeat. I’ll still relish that moment she let her walls down just a bit.
She sighs heavily beside me.
We’re walking back to the compound after a necessary and unavoidable visit to my parents’ house.
She needed this. Their warm presence.
The dinner was a somber one. Fear and anxiety creeping at the edges of our seemingly light conversation.
I glance at Charlotte. Her shoulders are slightly hunched, like she’s trying to fold into herself. Hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie, fingers probably curled tight. I don’t ask. I don’t push.
Not tonight. Not after the way Mama held her a second too long. How she kissed Charlotte goodnight at the end.
Both their eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Like this whole war was drowning us slowly but surely.
Dad simply slapped my back lightly, nodding at me. His gesture crystal clear—take care of her.
I bet they both could sense the immense fear rolling off of her. Perhaps from me as well.
The gravel crunches under our boots as we pass through the west perimeter.
I nod at the prospects—Heath and Joe. The two must have been patrolling for a while now.
At the edges, I can see the hidden figures. The extra security that Mihai’s men are providing, in sheer numbers.
She hasn’t looked up once since we left the house.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
She hums in response. Noncommittal. Distant.
A lie. I don’t call her out on it.
“She was really happy to see you,” I add after a beat. “Mama.”
That gets something. A small exhale. Almost a laugh, but not quite.
“I know,” she murmurs. “I didn’t realize how much I needed that—to see them.”
I nod, putting one foot in front of the other, when she stops. Her body turned toward me.
