When Claire finally falls asleep, I situate her among pillows, pulling up our comforter and slipping out of bed to step into the hallway.
I don’t turn on the lights for fear of waking up my angel. Instead, I head into my office to dial Bjorn.
He answers immediately. “Erik?”
“They made contact.” There is a moment of pure, lethal silence.
“Where?”
“Clinic parking lot.”
“Who?”
“Unknown. They are observing Claire as if she were a product.”
“Then they’re close.”
“Too close.”
I think of Claire curled in the blankets, the faint swell of her chest rising and falling.
“They’re coming for her,” I say quietly.
Bjorn exhales. “Then we get ready.”
I hang up.
And for the first time in years, I pray our preps are enough this time around.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Claire
Four weeks later…
I stir awake, cocooned in the warmth of Erik's embrace.
My back is fitted to his chest, and his breath is slow, even, against the curve of my neck. The morning sun, a gentle, golden glow, pours through the lofty windows, transforming the space into a warm, inviting haven.
For a few seconds, before memory rushes back, the world feels suspended. Safe.
Then his hand moves, slow and deliberate, down my waist.
“Morning, little one,” he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep.
My breath catches because the moment he touches me, my body responds, full, sensitized, and warm. My breasts ache with a fullness that’s become part of my mornings now. And the way he touches me makes every nerve tremble in anticipation.
He rolls me gently onto my back, his thumb brushing the edge of my breast.
“That look,” he whispers, eyes darkening, “is my favorite part of waking up.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “What look?”
“Wanting,” he says simply.
ERIK
I pick her up again, this time settling her on my lap. I need more of her.
