Page 184

Sentinel flips him off.

Carnage returns it over his shoulder, and they keep walking.

I stay in the doorway a moment longer, watching their backs disappear down the corridor, Carnage still giving Sentinel shit while Sentinel throws it straight back at him.

My hellhound.

The man who spent weeks without a voice and somehow still managed to hear me better than anyone ever had.

Twelve years I spent flinching every time my own throat opened. Twelve years convinced my voice was a debt collector’s knock, a leash dressed up as a gift, something that could only ever be taken from me or used against me.

Then Carnage came along.

He never asked me to sing for him. Never wanted my power, never cared what the Conclave thought I was worth. Even when everyone around me kept talking about ownership, he was the one stubborn bastard reminding them I belonged to myself.

And somehow, that made choosing him the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

I spent twelve years running from the sound of my own voice.

Carnage lost his, and I crossed fucking Hell to call it home.

Now I know what my voice sounds like when it belongs to me, and I know what his sounds like when he says my name.

And God, I could listen to that rough-fucking-voice for the rest of my life.

A laugh carries back down the hallway, followed by Carnage telling Sentinel exactly where he can shove whatever he just said.

I smile.

Yeah, that’s my man.

And for the first time in my life, being his doesn’t feel anything like being owned.

It feels like being chosen right back.

Epilogue

SENTINEL

Later That Day

“We’re out of coffee.” Carnage delivers the news as if someone died.

I stare at him from across the clubhouse kitchen. “Then drink something else.”

“I tried that. Echo threatened me.”

From somewhere behind him, Echo calls, “Because you drank mine, asshole.”

Carnage points toward her voice. “See?”

I almost smile.

“Fine.”

His eyebrows lift. “Fine what?”

“I’ll go.”