Silence stretches between us. His shoulders tighten beneath his shirt, muscles bunching like he's bracing for a blow, and for a long moment I think he won't answer.
"My past."
He turns, and the firelight throws shadows across his face. "I need to tell you something," he says, his voice scraping rougher than usual. "Something I haven't told anyone outside the club."
"I'm listening."
Knox sinks onto the bed and I settle beside him, close enough that our shoulders brush. He stares at his hands for a long moment—those massive scarred hands that have touched me with more gentleness than I ever thought possible—and when he speaks, his voice sounds like it's coming from somewhere far away.
"I was born Prince Kragnar of the Bloodstone Clan. Heir to an orc warlord. My father ruled three mountain territories, commanded armies and expected me to continue his legacy." The name sounds foreign on his lips, like a language he's forgotten how to speak. "I walked away at twenty-two. Renounced my title. Came to the human world with nothing but a trust fund I couldn't bring myself to leave behind and the determination to never go back."
I try to picture it—Knox in armor instead of leather, commanding troops instead of a motorcycle club—but the image won't form. The man beside me belongs here, in this clubhouse, with grease under his nails and brothers at his back. Whatever he was before, this is who he is now.
"Why did you leave?" I ask.
His jaw works. "They wanted to marry me off. Unite the clans through alliance, produce heirs, secure the dynasty. My fatherchose a bride from a rival territory—a political match. I'd never met her."
"You refused."
"I said no." A flicker of dark humor crosses his face, there and gone. "My father choked me until I nearly passed out, then told me I was no longer his son. I walked out that night and never looked back."
The fire crackles and Knox stares into the flames, lost in memories I can only guess at. I wait, giving him space, the way he's given me space every time I needed it.
"My father's dying now. Has been for months." His voice goes flat. "The clans want me back. The letters have been coming since spring—emissaries, threats disguised as invitations. They need Prince Kragnar to prevent a civil war."
"And that letter tonight?"
"Another summons. Same demand, different phrasing." He turns to me, his dark eyes searching my face. "I left that world to be free. I built something here—something real. The club, this town, this life. I won't go back."
I reach for his hand and his scarred fingers dwarf mine, but he holds on like I'm the only thing keeping him anchored. "I'm not asking you to," I tell him. "But I want to know all of you. Not just Knox Stone. All of it—the prince, the president, and everything in between."
His throat works. "You're not afraid? Of what I was?"
I think about Peter—the charming smile that hid cruelty, the wealth and status that covered rot, everything I married believing I understood only to discover the truth too late. Peterhid his monster behind a human face. Knox wears his openly and treats me like I'm precious.
"I'm afraid of what my ex-husband is," I tell him. "Not of what you are or were."
Knox's hand tightens on mine and something shifts in his expression, a wall he's held for twenty years giving way. "Sarah." My name drops from his mouth, low and rough. "I don't deserve—"
"Yes. You do."
That night, in his bed, Knox takes his time with me. Just closeness, connection, his hands moving over every curve while his lips trace every inch of skin he can reach. He presses me into the mattress and holds himself above me, drinking in my face like he's memorizing it, like he's afraid I might disappear if he looks away.
His mouth finds my neck and teeth graze my pulse point, sending heat flooding through me. He sucks a mark into my skin, right where my neck meets my shoulder, and the pressure makes me gasp.
"Knox—"
"You're mine, Sarah." The words vibrate against my throat. "I protect what's mine."
My hand finds his hair, fingers threading through the thick strands. "I'm yours. All of me."
He pulls back to look at me, his dark eyes intent, and something passes between us—an understanding that goes deeper than words. Then he settles beside me and gathers me against his chest, one arm heavy across my waist, and we fall asleep tangled together with my face pressed to his chest. I breathe inleather and motor oil and something beneath it, pine forests and mountain air, and my last thought before sleep takes me is this: I came here running from a monster. I found a different kind entirely.
I wake at dawn to Knox watching me. Golden light fills the window and his dark eyes hold an expression I've never seen from anyone—not Peter, not my parents, not a single person in my life before this moment. He looks at me like he'd burn the world to keep me safe, and the weight of that look settles into my chest and stays there.
"Morning," he murmurs.
I stretch against him. "Morning handsome."
His thumb traces my cheekbone while his eyes never leave mine. "Your past. Mine. All of it."
I press my palm over his heart and feel it beating steady and strong beneath my fingers.
I nod and kiss him.
