Chapter 48
Chapter Forty-Eight
Dahlia
Four months later
My legs are caught between his, my body covered entirely, as he brackets me with his arms, thrusting into me from behind.
I squeeze my eyes shut and tense up to stop from yelping at the shock of his body pounding into mine.
I understand his moods now.
After four months alone in the farmhouse with a savage Xin De male, a Shadow and assassin, I am becoming accustomed to his insatiable needs.
Still sore from first-light, his relentless friction inside me aches. The mellow pain is agonising and addictive. With each inward thrust, I fist the sheets, but then he draws out, and I moan for him to return.
I let him take me.
His body radiates heat.
Arms and legs tensing.
Just before first-light, after I finished breastfeeding our baby girl and checking in on Spero, Lagos made love to me slowly, teased my nipples until they wept with milk and touched me everywhere.
He can be gentle, soft, tracing fingers, and easy caresses.
But he is also this— a brutal lover, obsessive, taking and taking my body, filling me and using me.
I gasp into the pillow as my smaller body jerks on the soft mattress, my breasts filling with milk, tingling from the friction.
He doesn’t pull out completely, his huge figure covering me, thighs and forearms walls of muscles boxing me in.
A low groan comes from his chest, rumbling against my sensitive spine. “Such a good girl for your Shadow. You love the way I use you. The way I need you. The way I need to feel your insides.”
I whimper as his hips become demanding, motion somehow faster, harder, and I don’t have time to adjust or?—
I moan long and hard. Heat spreads from my head to my toes, culminating where he enters me.
And I come apart, moaning wildly, clawing at the sheets, but that doesn’t slow him down. He merely growls his approval, his hot, dark breath rushing down on me.
Orgasm after orgasm is wrested from me and then absorbed by his thick, unyielding dick.
I run out of air, panting into the pillow. I feel dizzy. “Oh, Lagos… Please.”
“I love you.” His fingers slide over mine, feeding through the gaps. He squeezes. “You’re doing so well. My pure little flower, still trembling for me. Still unsure of what is to come. Or what I am capable of. Tell me you love me.”
“I love you so much.”
Grunting, he finishes inside me, still thrusting slowly, still so deep. Rough breaths. Deep groans. Long rumbling sigh…
“I want more,” he says.
“I need a few hours, brute.”
“No.” He untangles our hands and slides his between me and the mattress. Cradling my soft lower belly, he says, “Your womb is empty, little flower. I’m going to fill it again.”
I nod into the pillow. “Please.”
I want more, too. So many more. Our daughter was born at the Common Community at thirty-two weeks of pregnancy. I was induced, and it was a perfect labour, not too long, only a little painful, and Lagos was a guard dog in the room, never leaving my side.
And I have never seen him smile the way he did when he first held his little Wren in his arms.
I was told that thirty-two weeks is early for a Common human, but not a Xin De. They develop faster and easier.
Despite this, she is petite, with big green eyes that match my own. Nothing like her big boofhead of a brother, Spero, and yet, her iron levels are unusually high. A Shadow baby. I don’t know what that means for her. Lagos says there are no known Shadow females.
My head lolls on the pillow as Lagos stands, briefly disappearing from the room before returning.
He gathers me from the mattress, and I immediately melt into his hard, warm torso. Nuzzling the dirty-blonde hair at his chest and inhaling him, I sigh.
Safety.
Male.
Mine.
As he carries me into the bathroom, perfumed steam dances from the ceramic tub and whirls up my nostrils.
“ Mm.” I make a low sound of pleasure. “For me? I’m spoilt.”
“I was rough,” he says, his tone gruff but not cruel, tight with silent concern and loud regret.
Oh, brute.
“You aren’t too much for me, Lagos. I’m worried that I’m not enough for you.”
He gently lays me into the pool of warm water, and I stifle a sigh of utter ecstasy as the soothing liquid embraces my weak body. This is…
This is perfect.
“Not enough?” He grips my chin, tilting my face up to meet his stern gaze. “Keep your legs together for a while,” he orders, “or I’ll have to fill you again.”
“Yes, brute.” I giggle. “If we have another girl, can I name her Maple?”
“Yes,” he says.
As I relax into the warm water, I catch sight of his reflection in the mirror, of his tight brows that create a crease in the middle of his steely eyes. He is virile—strong, rugged, and fierce. I only hope that I can hold his interest. Hope the world outside these stone walls won’t beckon him one day.
* * *
I am outside in the enclosed greenhouse Lagos made for me. It is latched onto the roof of the farmhouse and is strong enough to withstand the Redwind and large enough for me and the children to play on the grass and plant seeds. It hasn’t been tested in a Redwind Whip storm but if it falls, we will rebuild.
I learnt a thing or two about greenhouses at the Common Community. How to set them up. Where to store seeds.
I may not have been at my best there, but that little place did add a bit to Dahlia—like Tide said. And because of my time at the Common Community, we have a healthy baby girl, and I have extra gardening skills.
“I know why the farmhouse is empty.” I look up to find Lagos striding toward me, a bulking half-human monster, tearing a path through the Redwind, wearing the crimson mist like a cloak. He is dressed in dark jeans and his black jacket. Tattoos visible, rushing down each finger, and licking up his throat, noosing his neck.
But then I notice the blood splatters on his cheeks. A scarlet gash on his upper lip. And on his left shoulder, he wears the dead carcases of two large animals like they are weightless drapes.
“Oh, my,” I gasp. “What happened?”
“Aquilla cats. Close your eyes, little flower. I don’t want you to see.”
I cover my eyes but peek through my fingers, not as fragile as he believes. Then I see the river of blood pouring from jowls full of busted teeth and turn my back to him, speaking over my shoulder.
“Are they dangerous?”
“Yes.” I hear him grunt, then the unmistakable thud of the lifeless bodies hitting the ground. “They’ll maul a raider to pieces within a minute.”
I swallow, my eyes darting to the door to check it is closed. The children are safe inside. Two under one means lots of intermittent sleeping. “Then why are you happy about the killer animals in the mountains?”
I hear his amused huff and can’t help smiling despite the conversation.
“Because I can use them. I can push them back further into a position. Feed them to keep them in place, station them, condition them. They’ll have pups. We’ll have fresh meat forever.”
Pups? Right. Right…
I don’t want to know. “ But you’re bleeding,” I say, jabbing my finger in his direction. “Did they hurt you?”
“Wasn’t prepared. Won’t happen again.” He sounds deliciously unaffected by the blood and wounds, his tone guttural and hoarse from overuse. Has he been in a fight? Snarling and growling? I often forget he is not a raider, not a Common, barely human—a monster in his own way. I wonder what the Aquilla cats think of him, when they sniff him out. Do they think prey or… No, they know. There is no mistaking that Lagos is a predator.
“Think of them as security,” he adds, moving around behind me, rustling and hauling the animals. “No one can come from the west, north, or south without encountering their burrows. I only have to watch the east.”
“And the kids? Are we safe.”
“I’ve built you strong walls, little flower. They can’t jump over them.” He pauses, and I find my gaze wandering up the ancient brickwork of the farmhouse. The weathered stone is entwined with delicate vines, like pretty green ribbons.
“So…” I chew my lip, listening to the subtle movements behind me. I know what he is doing, putting the animals into the crate we keep in the corner. It is full of salt—and other minerals I don’t know—and when I go to sleep, he will preserve the meat. “This is a good thing?”
“Yes.” I hear him shuffling, grunting some more and then he says, “You can turn around now, little flower. It’s safe for your precious gaze.”
I turn to face him, my eyes curiously scanning around him, from the solid door to the clusters of pots, to the crates, and back to him. “I like my walls. They are big and powerful walls, and everything is more remarkable when it’s big and powerful.”
He hums. “Hm. Good.”
“I can stay here forever, Lagos, but what about you? You’re a rogue.”
“No.” He strides over to me, his potent energy cracks through the air. “I’m a Xin De man obsessed with a Common girl.” Stopping in front of me, his intense stare cuts through his lashes, his expression deadly serious, with blood still splattered across his striking features. “And I want some quiet with her.”
I gaze up at the monster that I love, my heart humming in my chest. “The kids might want to leave one day?” I whisper, fully aware of this sad truth. They will need to explore and meet people and visit places to find their bits .
“Anything could happen in two decades, little flower.” A warm hand slides between my hair and the nape of my neck, cradling my head with gentle dominance. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Two decades?
But he is Lagos the Rogue. Travelled The Cradle, a fisherman, a vigilante, a saviour, a Shadow, an assassin, met thousands of people, probably slept with hundreds?—
A niggling entity inside my belly warns me; he will get bored of me, of this life. "What will you do next?” I ask, willing my voice to mask my anxieties.
He cocks a brow. "Next?”
"Yes. What is your next task?”
"Fix the windows,” he states, a small grin tugging at his lips, suspicious of my questioning. “Stop them from scaring my girls at night.”
"How long will that take?"
"Few weeks,” he grunts.
I give him big, pleading eyes.
"And then what?"
"A dam.”
"How long will that?—"
"A year."
"And then?”
“Repairs on the truck.”
“And then?”
“A climbing fram?—"
“I don’t want you to get bored!” I finally blurt out and huff petulantly, because he didn’t end my insufferable questioning like a normal person by asking what is wrong.
A smooth smile glides across his masculine face, easy and genuine, but somehow still bears heat and darkness, still silently warns. “How could I?”
“One day,” I shrug, “it’ll just be me. No Spero and no Wren, or the other unnamed babies…”
“Just you?” He shakes his head, displeasure weaving across his brows. “ You, with your too-many freckles. If all I had to do was look at all those pink and cream dots, I still wouldn’t be bored.”
I smile-sulk. “You’re not taking me seriously.”
“I take every fucking word out of your mouth seriously, little flower. I don’t want to go anywhere, not without you. Everywhere is disappointing until you see it with your big green eyes full of awe. Awe over silly things like a waterfall or a fish or a fucking wall.” A steel-coloured gaze drowns me. He sighs—soft for me. “I wanted so fucking badly to find you annoying, but instead, I lost focus, and you became my mood.”
“Your mood?”
His jaw pulses. “Listen to me,” he demands. “You make everything better, little flower. For me.” He drops to his knees and grips my hips, huge hands fully circling me. The look in his eyes… Oh , I melt. I cover my heart, or else its eager thumping will crack another rib.
“My sweet little flower.” He stares straight at me. “I want to grow old in that mood. I want to die in that mood. Do you understand what I’m fucking saying? You gave me awe, joy, hope.”
Hope.
Spero .
His words fill my lungs, making it hard to breathe around my emotions.
I wasn’t even meant to meet you… It was meant to be Maple. “Hope,” I say to him without context.
He nods. “It won’t always be easy. I won’t always be easy. Inside me is darkness and rage, and without you and the kids, that is all I am.”
My lower lip wobbles, so I suck it between my teeth and chew on it.
“I will provide for you and my children, little flower, and I will protect you until my impenetrable flesh dissolves. I will die in that mood, if you’ll let me. If things get—” He pauses, and a rare fragility lowers his tone. “Don’t give up on me, little flower. You’re all I have. When things get tough, if I’m dark or lost, use the taser, but don’t—” He bites back the vulnerable word, chewing it in his tight jaw.
Don’t abandon me. He means to say don’t abandon me.
A conversation we had at The Bite bounces between my ears.
‘You’re young, fragile, Common, and you will abandon that Xin De infant when you realise the danger that follows him.’
‘I won’t abandon him. I promise.’
He was talking about himself or relating, perhaps. He thinks I might leave him one day. After the kids leave, of course, I could go to the Common Community, but Lagos will never be accepted. He doesn’t play well with others. He won’t obey commands or rules.
A Shadow is designed to be a loner, too feared and dangerous to join raiders or Common, and used and abused by the ones that designed him.
He has no place.
He is rogue.
This farmhouse, isolation, and simplicity… This is right.
I sigh, my heart full. His Shadow can retire here, and the Rogue in him can isolate, and my brute can be vulnerable in my arms, living life’s great experiences.
He will always be Lagos and Six, and my brute, and they will war inside him forever. Baby Lagos had no smiles or joy, but my brute has a stunning smile. I won’t abandon him.
No matter the danger.
I cup the sides of his thick neck, feeling the cords beneath, and press my forehead to his, our breath mingling, the air buzzing with electricity. With magnetism. “I won’t abandon you, brute.”
He sighs roughly and stands, a wall of muscle lifting in front of me moments before I am in his arms with my legs circling his waist and my body supported by strong, warm hands.
“Kids asleep?” he asks, and I feel his smile move across my lips as he speaks.
“For now,” I answer. “But it’s not like you can be quick.” I laugh.
So does he.
THE END