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I shift my weight, rolling slightly to cup her face in my hands. I wipe the hot tears from her flushed cheeks with my thumbs, catching the drops before they soak into the pillowcase.
“She knew you loved her,” I murmur, keeping my gaze locked on her watery blue eyes. “Every single day she was here, she knew she was safe with you.”
Sloane nods, her chest heaving on a ragged inhale. She covers my hands with her own, pressing my palms tighter against her cheeks.
I study her face. The raw, unfiltered emotion transforms her. She isn’t numb anymore. She is feeling everything, all the pain and the heat and the blinding light of being alive.
“Do you want more?” I ask.
Sloane blinks, a stray tear clinging to her lower lashes. “More what?”
“Children.” I drag my thumb over her lower lip, the truth burning its way up my throat. “I never thought about it before. Growing up in the Sanctum, surviving that kind of filth… You convince yourself your blood is poisoned. You convince yourself men like us don’t get to build families. We just tear them down.”
I swallow hard, the vulnerability of the confession stripping me bare.
“But then I watch you.” I press my forehead against hers, sharing the same air. “I watch the fierce, terrifying way you protect the things you care about. You are an incredible mother, Sloane. And I find myself wanting that. I want to build something with you. One day. When you’re ready.”
Sloane stares at me, taken aback. Her lips part on a soundless breath.
The shock ripples across her features, slowly melting into a profound, devastating awe.
“I swore I never would,” she whispers. Her fingers slide up my forearms, gripping my biceps. “After the accident, I swore I would never put another piece of my heart out into the world. It felt like handing the universe a hostage.”
She traces the line of my jaw, her touch feather-light. A watery, beautiful smile breaks across her face, lighting up the dark corners of the trailer. “But it feels like I can finally breathe again. It feels like I’m healing.”
Sloane pulls my face a fraction closer. “June would love to be a big sister,” she murmurs, her breath ghosting over my mouth. “Even if she has to watch from Heaven. If a place like that exists, I know she’s there.”
A massive, overwhelming heat swells in the center of my chest. I crush my mouth against hers.
The kiss holds absolutely no violence. It lacks the desperate, feral lust of the past week. It’s tender, slow, and anchoring. I taste the salt of her tears, sliding my tongue gently against hers, sealing a promise neither of us needs to speak out loud.
Sloane sighs into the kiss, her body going boneless against the mattress.
I pull back just enough to press my lips to her temple. Then I wrap the quilt around her shoulders, tucking her securely against my side. Her breathing evens out, the exhaustion of the night finally dragging her under into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I rest my chin on the top of her head, staring at the metal ceiling, at peace.
Outside, the carnival prepares to move, taking our kingdom of shadows back onto the highway. We have a map full of pins and a hunt that will last for years.
But right now, wrapped in the arms of the woman who caught my steel and stole my fucking heart, I have everything I need.
20
SLOANE
The Missouri air feels like breathing through a hot, wet towel.
I sit cross-legged on the floor of my trailer, wiping a thin layer of machine oil over the carbon-steel blade of one of Cole’s throwers. Cole sprawls across my mattress, naked save for a pair of loose gray sweatpants riding low on his hips. He tosses a red apple straight up into the air, catching it with a lazy flick of his wrist.
“You’re using too much oil.” He takes a loud, crunching bite out of the fruit. “Going to make the grip slip. You want me to miss my mark tonight and take off an ear?”
“I want to preserve the metal.” I buff the flat of the blade with a rag. “And if you drop a knife because of a millimeter of oil, you aren’t half the thrower you claim to be.”
A wicked grin stretches his cheeks. He rolls onto his side, the corded muscle of his back flexing under his dark tattoos.
Before he can launch whatever filthy comeback sits on his tongue, a frantic, echoing shout shatters the quiet of the trailer park.
Cole sits up. The playful energy vanishes, replaced instantly by the lethal, coiled tension of a predator. He drops the apple, already reaching for the boots sitting by the edge of the bed.
