Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
brI
I’m wearing a baggy t-shirt and leggings, my own clothes, soft and familiar and mine, but it doesn’t help the way my chest feels too tight, like I can’t get a full breath no matter how hard I try.
I’m free. I can go anywhere. I can do anything. I can walk out the door if I want. All I want, though, is to disappear into the dark bedroom and stay there.
I curl onto my side, facing the wall, trying to convince my body that it’s okay now. That I don’t have to be alert. That I don’t have to listen for footsteps or locks or voices outside the door. It doesn’t work.
The mattress dips behind me and I know it’s him before he even touches me.
I hear boots hit the floor, the soft thud of his cut landing on the chair.
Then he climbs into bed carefully, like he’s afraid to spook me, and presses his chest to my back.
His arm slides around my waist, solid and warm.
“Talk to me, baby,” he murmurs into my hair, before kissing the top of my head.
And that’s it. Something inside me cracks wide open. “I thought I killed you,” I whisper, my voice already breaking. “They told me you were dead. He told me over and over again that you were dead, that you bled out because of me.”
Blade’s arm tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“He said the Iron Reapers thought I was a traitor,” I keep going, words spilling out faster now. “That they thought I worked with him. That I flipped. That I set you up. And I believed him because I didn’t know anything anymore and I was so scared and I couldn’t talk to anyone.”
My throat burns. I swallow hard and force myself to keep going.
“It killed me,” I say. “Every day. Thinking I ended you. Thinking that the man I love died because I pulled a trigger I didn’t even understand. I couldn’t breathe some days, Blade. I couldn’t sleep. I just… existed.”
He presses his face into my hair, his breathing heavy, but he lets me talk.
“And then Alexei started acting differently,” I whisper.
“Kinder. Like he cared. Like he was trying to make me comfortable. And I knew he wanted more from me. I could feel it. The way he looked at me. The way he touched my wrist, my back.” I shudder.
“But I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t. No matter what he gave me or promised me, I couldn’t. ”
I turn slightly in his arms, my fingers curling into his shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” I choke. “I never meant to shoot you. I wasn’t trying to betray you. I was trying to save you. I swear to god I was.”
He pulls me tighter, one hand cradling the back of my head like he’s holding me together.
“I love you,” I whisper, the words coming out broken and raw.
“I love you more than anything in this entire world. And spending almost two months thinking you were gone, thinking I’d never see you again, and then suddenly you’re here…
” I shake my head. “It’s messing with my head. I don’t know how to turn the fear off.”
He doesn’t rush me. He just holds me, breathing with me, anchoring me while I cry into his chest. “I’m here,” he says quietly, voice rough with emotion.
“You didn’t betray me. You didn’t kill me.
You saved me. And you survived something no one should have had to.
” His hand moves slowly up and down my back, steady and patient.
“We’ll take this one piece at a time,” he murmurs.
“You don’t have to be okay yet. You just have to stay. ”
I close my eyes, finally letting myself sink back against him.
Dinner is quiet in that soft, almost tentative way, like we’re both afraid of saying the wrong thing and breaking whatever fragile calm we’ve managed to build. Blade cooked. Actually cooked. Nothing fancy. Real food. The kind that smells like home and effort and care.
I’m halfway through my plate when I notice it.
His forearm shifts as he reaches for his glass, and there it is. Fresh ink. Dark and angry against his skin, the edges still a little raised, still healing.
I freeze.
“Blade,” I say softly.
He follows my gaze immediately and stills, then exhales through his nose like he knew this moment was coming. He sets his fork down and turns his arm slowly so I can see it properly.
Up close, it steals the breath right out of my chest.
A heavy chain runs along his forearm, thick links inked so solid they look like they could weigh something down. Halfway up, the metal is torn apart, snapped violently, jagged edges frozen mid-break.
And growing through it is a wildflower.
Not delicate. Not pretty-pretty. It looks stubborn. Fierce. The stem wraps through the broken chain like it refuses to be stopped, petals slightly rough, roots pushing through iron like the metal never stood a chance.
Above it, in clean block letters, is my name.
brIANNA.
Below the break, closer to his wrist, two words sit quiet and permanent.
STILL brEATHING.
My throat closes so hard I can’t speak for a second.
“When did you—” I start, then stop, because the answer already feels obvious.
“While you were gone,” he says quietly.
I look up at him, heart pounding. “Blade…”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand, turning his arm so I can see everything clearly.
“The chain is what they tried to do to you,” he says. “To us. Control. Ownership. Breaking you down piece by piece.”
My fingers tremble as they trace the ink lightly, careful not to hurt him.
“And the break?” I ask.
“That’s you,” he says immediately. No hesitation. “You didn’t snap clean. You fought. You tore your way out.”
My eyes burn.
“The flower,” he continues, voice roughening, “that’s you too. Growing anyway. Stronger than the shit wrapped around you. Stronger than me some days.”
I swallow hard. “And… my name?”
His jaw tightens. “So I never forget what matters. So if I start slipping into the dark parts of my head, I look down and remember who I’m fighting for.”
My gaze drops to the words near his wrist.
“Still breathing,” I whisper.
He nods. “That’s what kept me going. Every day. I told myself you were still breathing, even when I had no proof. And I needed that reminder too.” His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “I was too.”
Tears slip free before I can stop them.
“You marked yourself for me,” I say, my voice breaking.
He squeezes my hand. “I marked myself because of you.”
I lean forward and press a kiss to his forearm, right over the broken chain, my lips lingering there like a promise.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He stands suddenly, pulls me up with him, and wraps me in his arms, holding me like he’s never letting go.
“I know,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve always known.”
I lean forward and press a kiss to his forearm, right over the broken chain, my lips lingering there like a promise.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He stands suddenly, pulls me up with him, and wraps me in his arms, holding me like he’s never letting go.
“I know,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve always known. And I fucking love you too. You’re my air, my oxygen. Without you, I don’t breathe. I don’t exist.”
Then he lifts me, sets me on the dining room table, and slides everything off it in one brutal sweep. He kisses me hard, punishing and claiming, like he needs me to feel it in my bones. Like he’s reminding me exactly who I belong to.
I belong to him. I always will.
He yanks my shirt over my head and sucks one nipple into his mouth, rough and unapologetic. I arch into him.
“Oh, God,” I murmur, threading my fingers through his hair, holding him there as he drags his mouth between my breasts and closes his lips around the other, slow and devastating.
He eases me back, kissing down my stomach, and hooks his fingers into my leggings. One sharp tug and they’re gone, panties with them, tossed aside like they never mattered.
Then he’s there, kneeling in front of me.
He kisses up my thighs, spreads me open, and inhales deeply like he’s starving.
And when his tongue slides up my center, I start to come undone.
His tongue circles my throbbing clit, slow and cruel, drawing it out until I’m shaking.
Then he presses two fingers into my core, stretching me, owning the space inside me.
“Oh fuck, baby,” he growls. “You’re so fucking tight around my fingers. Feel that? Your cunt is squeezing me like it already knows what’s coming.”
His fingers work me harder, deeper. I’m panting, desperate.
“Is that what you’re gonna do to my dick?” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “You gonna come for me? I need you to come for me before I take you.”
My body gives up. I come hard, clenching around his fingers, crying out as everything breaks open.
He pulls his hand away and stands, eyes dark and hungry. He unbuckles his belt, shoves his pants down, kicks out of them, then grips my hips. He lines himself up with my soaked pussy and presses into me, slow and relentless, filling me until I can’t breathe, until there’s nothing left but him.
He pummels in and out of my pussy, relentless, over and over. His hand slides up my stomach and closes around one of my breasts as he fucks me harder, fingers rough, possessive. He pinches my nipple, sharp enough to sting, and I moan at the flash of pain.
Then his hand comes up around my neck, firm but controlled, and he helps me sit up, guiding me as I scoot my ass to the edge of the table, breathless and shaking.
“I don’t know how I lived without you for that long, baby. I’ll never be able to do it again. Six weeks without you… without your mouth, your pussy, your sass.”
He groans, forehead dropping to mine. “Fuck, I missed you so fucking much. I’m not gonna last, baby. I need you to come. Come for me, sweet girl. Come all over my cock.”
“Oh god, Blade,” I sob, breaking apart on his name. “Right there. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
I cling to him like I’ll die if he lets go. “I’m so close. Fuck. I need you. I need you so bad.”
My voice shakes, feral and undone. “I’m gonna come on your cock. I’m gonna milk every ounce out of you because I’m yours. I can’t do this without you. Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”
He growls low, breath ragged. “That’s it, baby. You’re mine. All mine.”
His forehead presses to mine. “Come for me. I want to feel it. I want you breaking on my cock.”
His voice cracks, desperate and dark. “Take it. Take all of me. Don’t hold back. I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? I’ve got you.”
I come apart a second before he does, undone by him, by us, by the way I never stood a chance. He doesn’t rush away from me. He stays close, breathing me in like he needs the reminder that I’m real, that this isn’t something he imagined in the long stretch without me.
His forehead rests against mine. His hands loosen, not leaving, just softening, like the fight finally drains out of him.
“There you are,” he murmurs, quiet and wrecked. Not possession this time. Relief. He runs his hands up and down my back, slow and steady, like he’s soothing us both, like he’s making sure I know I’m safe right here.
I nod, still catching my breath. Still shaking. Still his. And when he pulls me into his chest, holding me like something precious instead of something he might lose, I realize that loving him was never the risk. Surviving without him was.