Chapter Eleven #3
Rowan looks at the floor, then up at me.
His face is vulnerable in a way I haven’t seen in years—clean and unguarded.
“Yes,” he says, voice small. “We were kids. We were both idiots. It was private.” He swallows.
“I had planned to tell you. I wanted you to know.” He pauses, the old stubbornness bleeding into a new, brittle honesty.
“Then that weekend happened.” He exhales, and the memory sits like a stone.
“By the time I thought to tell you, what was the point?”
Emerson and I nod, the motion slow and tired, and the room hums with the strange, raw thing that is relief braided with shame.
Emerson’s mouth tightens, and he blurts what I’m thinking—what I need him to say.
“You did right by her,” he says quietly.
“You should’ve told us, but even then—you kept her safe when it counted.
In a way none of us could’ve seen coming. If they’d gotten to her first…”
Rowan’s eyes find mine then, and whatever small armor he’s been wearing drops for a beat.
There’s something wet at the corners of his lids I don’t want to name, and he gives a half-smile that’s almost a confession.
“I know,” he murmurs, barely audible, but it lands like an answer to more than one thing.
I see it in him—remorse, gratitude, the quiet relief that maybe, finally, the pieces are close enough to fit together.
I clap my hands once, hard enough to slice the hum of plans and promises in the room.
That’s my signal. I’m done for the night.
Getting to my feet, I let the words drop like a lead weight.
“I’m going back to my room to bury myself in my Pixie for a couple of hours. Don’t expect me until late morning.”
Rowan’s middle finger shoots up from the couch without looking, the gesture blunt and useless, but the corner of his mouth quirks in a way that tells me he means it with affection. “Fuck you,” he says, but it sounds like a laugh.
Emerson rubs his temples and says, “I’m going to check on Kimber, then shower and crash.” He looks at me, the steadiness back in his voice.
“I’ll be quiet,” I promise, though everyone knows I won’t.
Rowan snorts and leans forward. “I’ll duck into Berk’s room,” he says, eyes already flicking to the doorway.
“I won’t touch a thing without her, but I want to see what she’s been running.
She’s earned the right to keep her toys.
” There’s hunger in his words, curiosity and that old need to know the edges of things.
“Don’t touch without her,” I warn, flat. The threat is less for him and more for my need to keep her safe from well-meaning hands.
Emerson meets my gaze and nods. “We’ll loop her in before morning. We have a few hours to make sure there’s no heat on us. Get some sleep. Take care of our girl.” He flicks his head toward my bedroom.
I give them both a hard grin. “We only have a brief window before we bring Berk up to speed. She’ll want to add her own flair to the mix. Be ready to listen.” My voice tightens with the promise of what comes next. “Revenge is going to be beautiful.”
Rowan folds his arms. “We’ll make sure Bryce gets what he’s owed.”
Emerson’s jaw works once, twice, then he says, “Control the narrative. Make him flinch. Let him expose himself.” Agreement passes between them like a physical thing; a pact sealed in the small living room of a house that smells like chicken and rice.
I head down the hall before either of them can add another warning. My hand stills on the door. For a moment, the noise of the night narrows to a single point, the echo of what we’ve lost and what we’re about to reclaim. Then I push it open.
She’s curled under the blankets, hair wild, eyes heavy with sleep but focused the second they hear the door open and find me. Up close, she’s smaller than the version of her I carry in my head—and somehow larger at the same time. Seeing her has always been enough to undo me.
“Pix,” I say, voice low. She smiles and reaches for me like she’s been practicing the motion in the dark. I drop to my knees by the bed and pull her into my arms. Her skin is warm, still scented faintly of antiseptic and smoke. Her fingers press into my neck, steadying me more than I steady her.
“You okay?” she asks, blunt and immediate.
“Better now,” I murmur, my voice low and rough. “With you.” I lean in until my lips hover just above her ear, my breath brushing her skin as I whisper, “I’m never letting you slip away again. Never.”
She laughs, a small sound edged with something fierce and tucks her face into my neck. “Good,” she says. “Because I’m done running.”
Her words hit me like a blade to the chest, sharp enough to cut, and deep enough to remind me I’m alive.
The vow sits heavy inside me, twisting tight until it feels like my ribs can’t contain it.
Love. Obsession. They are the same thing when it comes to her.
My breath grows ragged as I lean in closer, and the only answer I have is action.
“You don’t know what you do to me, Berk,” I rasp, the sound rough in my throat, before my mouth crashes onto hers. The kiss isn’t soft—it isn’t careful—it’s a claim. My lips tell her the words I can’t hold back anymore. You’re my world. Mine. Always.
She doesn’t surrender easily. Berk never has.
Her tongue meets mine with the same ferocity that has kept her alive this long, and for a second, she seizes control, devouring me, dragging every ounce of my restraint out of reach.
A groan rips from my chest, and I clutch her tighter, because she’s fire and I’m not letting the flames consume me without taking her with me.
“Fuck,” I mutter against her lips, pulling back just enough to look at her, to see the wild spark in her eyes. “You’ll ruin me.”
She smirks, breathless, and whispers, “Maybe that’s the point.”
The challenge twists into something primal, and I answer the only way I can.
My body shifts over hers, slow and deliberate, caging her beneath me.
I never break the kiss as I crawl over her, every inch forward claiming more of her space, more of her air, until there’s nothing left between us but heat and the promise of destruction and devotion tangled into one.
Her fingers curl in my hair, anchoring me, and I know she means for me to stay. The vow she gave me isn’t just a promise—it’s a brand I’ll wear forever.
Her body arches into mine the second I press her down into the mattress, the heat between us sparking like a fuse already burning toward something we can’t stop.
My mouth moves over hers, hard and hungry, until I’m breathing her in like oxygen.
Her nails drag over my shoulders, down my back, digging just deep enough to remind me she’s flesh and fury wrapped in one.
“Ronan,” she whispers against my lips, the sound half a moan, half a vow. “I promised I wouldn’t run. Not from you. Not from them either.”
Her words still me for a heartbeat. I pull back just enough to see her face, her eyes glassy but fierce. “You’re saying it, baby, but do you mean it?”
“I swear it,” she breathes, chest rising and falling. “I love you. I love them too—Rowan, Emerson. You all have me. I’ll close the distance. I’ll give us another chance. No more walls. No more lies.” Her hand cups my cheek, trembling but sure. “I’m yours. All of yours.”
The admission cracks something open inside me. I press my forehead to hers, my voice breaking low. “You don’t know what that does to me. To hear it. To feel it. You’re our world, Berk. You always were.”
Then I take her mouth again, deeper this time, as if I can seal those words into her bones.
Our bodies move in a desperate rhythm, each thrust and grind pulling moans from both of us, a storm of need and devotion.
She clings to me, her whispers tangled with mine, a litany of love and promises spoken into the heat of our skin.
When release finally tears through us, it’s not quiet—it’s shattering, a breaking point that rebuilds us in the same breath. She cries my name like it’s both curse and prayer, and I hold her like I’ll never let her go.
After we collapse together, slick with sweat, our hearts racing in tandem. My arm stays wrapped around her, her head tucked under my chin, her breath softening against my chest until sleep claims her. I kiss the crown of her head and close my eyes, letting the moment brand itself into me.
Tomorrow, the world burns again. Tomorrow, revenge and justice will lead our steps. But tonight—just for tonight—we have this. Her promise. My vow. And the fragile, unbreakable truth that love and war can live in the same heartbeat.