Chapter Sixteen
Berkley
I drift in that hazy space between sleep and waking when a soft shift of movement pulls me back.
The mattress dips with added weight, subtle but unmistakable, followed by the quiet catch of a breath in the dark.
The covers lift just enough to let a ribbon of cool air slip beneath them, brushing over my bare skin and sending a shiver through me.
Goosebumps bloom along my arms, and without thinking, I reach out for warmth—seeking the familiar comfort I’ve only just learned to expect.
Then there’s warmth—solid and undeniable—settling against my side.
Skin to skin. A startled heartbeat stutters beside me, followed by a quiet, disbelieving grunt.
“Fuck,” he breathes, going completely still, like moving might shatter the moment.
I don’t need the sound to know who it is, though.
His scent gives him away instantly. Rowan.
He smells of cedar and smoke, like the woods after rain.
There’s something grounded in it, something that always reminds me of home—of safety, even when I shouldn’t feel safe.
Beneath it, I can still catch the faint trace of soap and the ghost of coffee on his skin, like he’s been too busy thinking to rest.
For a moment, I stay perfectly still, pretending to sleep, waiting to see what he’ll do.
But the tension rolling off him is impossible to ignore, his body rigid beside mine as if being this close might break him.
I can’t help myself—I shift just slightly, inching closer until my back meets the warmth of his chest.
His breath stutters, a low, uneven exhale warming the back of my neck.
I smile into the pillow, a quiet spark of satisfaction flickering through me.
Even half asleep, even with all the time that’s passed, teasing him feels instinctive—etched into muscle memory.
I hum softly and shift closer, letting my body settle against his, fitting there the way it’s supposed to.
His arm hesitates, hovering above me for a heartbeat, then slowly settles around my waist. The contact is tentative at first, cautious, but when I don’t pull away, his grip tightens just slightly. His warmth seeps through me, chasing away the last of the cold.
He brushes a gentle kiss along the back of my neck, just behind my ear—right where I’ve always been weakest. His breath follows, slow and unsteady, sliding over my skin like he’s finally allowed himself to breathe again.
The sound he makes is quiet but undone, and it wakes something deep inside me—warm, tentative, and achingly familiar, like a piece of myself I thought I’d lost years ago.
Before I can stop myself, I turn in his arms until I’m facing him. His eyes meet mine, gold flickering in the low light, molten instead of the dark storm I’ve grown used to. There’s something almost shy in the way he looks at me, as if he’s afraid that if he blinks, I’ll vanish again.
“You doing okay?” I ask softly. My voice barely carries between us, but it’s enough to make him huff out a humorless laugh.
“I should be asking you that,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb along my jaw like he’s tracing words he can’t find.
“I’m good,” I tell him, and for once, I mean it.
“Really. A lot has happened, but this… between us, whatever’s rebuilding—it’s healing pieces of me faster than I thought possible.
” My chest tightens, and I force the words out before I lose courage.
“All I’ve ever wanted was to have you guys back.
To have Reign back. The revenge… it wasn’t about killing them.
It was about proving something—to myself, and maybe to you.
I wanted you to see that I was strong enough to come back.
Worthy enough after disappearing. After not protecting her. ”
My throat goes tight, and I drop my gaze to the scars on my arm, unable to meet his eyes. Shame stings, familiar and sharp. But his fingers find my chin, tilting my face until I have no choice but to look at him.
“Berk,” he says, voice rough, “you have to understand—none of this is your fault.” His thumb strokes my cheek, slow and steady.
“You couldn’t have known what was coming.
None of us could. If Reign hadn’t kept everything from us, maybe things would’ve gone differently, but…
who am I kidding?” He lets out a sharp exhale, eyes flicking away for a second.
“We were kids. We didn’t have a chance in hell of stopping them. ”
He looks at me again, and what I see there makes my chest ache.
It’s guilt, but it’s more than that—it’s heartbreak.
“I believed the worst about you too easily,” he admits, voice breaking.
“I’ll never forgive myself for that. For touching you with hate in my heart.
For every time I hurt you when all you ever did was love us.
” His hand moves down, brushing over the burn marks on my arm.
His fingers are so gentle it makes my throat ache.
“I love you, Berk. Beyond words. We all do. None of us blames you for what happened. Not for surviving, and not for running.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to mine.
“But never again,” he growls quietly. “One of us will always be with you,” he says quietly.
“You won’t face this alone again. I swear it.
We’ll see this through—and the ones who took from us will answer for it. ”
The softness that follows catches me off guard. He nuzzles my nose with his, his breath warm against my skin, the smallest smile ghosting over his lips. Then, out of nowhere, he says, “You better believe when we have kids, I’m going to be the best damn dad.”
For a second, I just stare at him, stunned into silence.
Then I can’t help it—I laugh, a soft sound that bubbles out of me before I can stop it.
“You want that?” I ask, my voice quiet again, but steadier this time.
The truth hangs heavy between us. I want it too.
Always have. A home. A family. A chance to build something out of the ashes.
He growls low in his throat, burying his face in my neck again. His voice is muffled but thick with meaning. “Fuck, baby. You better be ready, because when this is over…” His hand drifts down, tracing light, possessive circles over my stomach. The implication makes my pulse trip over itself.
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my lips as I thread my fingers into his hair. “When it’s over,” I whisper, “we’ll make something new. A life worth surviving for.”
He hums against my skin, and the sound feels like a promise—one I already know he intends to keep.
He leans over me slowly, his shadow swallowing the faint light between us.
The warmth of his body seeps into mine before his lips touch me.
When they do, the kiss is deep and desperate, a collision of breath and memory that steals every thought I’ve tried to hold on to.
My fingers find his shoulders, tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath his skin, feeling the tremor that runs through him as he exhales against my mouth.
When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far—his forehead stays pressed to mine. Our breaths tangle, uneven and shallow, the air between us tight with something fragile and electric. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, stripped bare of pretense.
“I need you,” he whispers, the words trembling as they brush my lips.
“I know it’s selfish—to ask this, after everything, before I’ve earned my way back to you.
” His thumb traces my cheek with a reverence that makes my chest ache, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he presses too hard.
“But I need to be inside you. I need to feel you—know you’re really here. ”
His words aren’t fueled by desire alone; they’re threaded with something deeper—raw, aching, and unresolved—need tangled with regret and a love he’s done hiding from.
The emotion hums through me, syncing with my heartbeat until I can’t tell where his ends and mine begins.
In the low light, I catch the flicker of fear behind his golden eyes—the quiet worry that he’s reaching for something he hasn’t earned back yet.
I lift my hands to his face, palms warm against his skin, and trace the rough line of his jaw with my thumbs until his gaze steadies on mine again.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” I whisper, my voice steady even though my pulse is hammering. “You’re here. That’s enough.”
He lets out a sharp breath—half relief, half disbelief—before his mouth finds mine again.
This time it’s unhurried, deliberate, carrying every promise we haven’t spoken out loud.
The world condenses to the weight of him over me, the warmth between us, and the quiet certainty that for the first time in years, we’re both exactly where we’re supposed to be.
He moves over me with a slow, deliberate grace that steals the air from my lungs.
The mattress dips beneath his weight, the faint sound of fabric shifting as he pushes his boxers down and lets them fall to our feet forgotten.
His skin brushes mine, hot and electric, and when his knees nudge my thighs apart, I let him.
My pulse stutters, the tension between us tight as a drawn bowstring.
The weight of his warm cock against my thigh makes me shiver—solid, undeniable, real enough to send want coiling through me.
He dips closer, his mouth hovering just shy of mine, his voice rough with restraint.
“This first time,” he murmurs, the words carrying the gravity of a vow, “we take it slow. You deserve to be worshipped.” The corner of his mouth curves, that same wicked smirk I used to catch glimpses of years ago, back when life was still simple and the world hadn’t broken us yet.
“But then…” he adds, letting the words hang.
I tilt my head teasingly, my voice soft but daring. “Then?”