Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
storm
Emily feels like a feather in my arms, a small bundle of butterfly wings and exhaustion. Her head rests against my shoulder, mouth slightly open in sleep, one hand still clutching a chocolate bar she refused to surrender even as her eyes drooped closed.
Camryn walks beside me as we climb the stairs to her room, her own fairy wings slightly worse for wear after the night's events. She keeps glancing at me holding her daughter, an expression in her eyes I can't quite decipher.
"You didn't have to carry her," she says softly as we reach her door. "I could have managed."
"I don't mind," I tell her, shifting Emily gently as Camryn unlocks the door. "She weighs about as much as my boots."
A small smile tugs at her lips. "Still. Thank you."
The room is dark and quiet as we enter, a stark contrast to the noise and chaos of the Halloween party still going strong downstairs. Camryn leads the way to Emily's bedroom, turning on a small bedside lamp that casts soft, golden light across the space.
I lay Emily carefully on the bed, trying not to disturb her wings.
Camryn moves in, deftly removing the costume pieces with the practiced ease of a mother who's done this many times before.
I step back, giving her space to work, but I don't leave.
There's something mesmerizing about watching her with Emily; the gentle way she eases the sleeping child out of her costume; the soft murmurs of reassurance when Emily stirs; the love so evident in every touch.
It makes my chest ache with a longing I've never felt before.
When Emily is settled under the covers, butterfly wings hung carefully on a hook on the wall, Camryn leans down to press a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "Sweet dreams, baby," she whispers.
I follow her out of the room, closing the door softly behind us. In the living room, Camryn begins removing her own wings, wincing slightly as she reaches for the straps around her shoulders.
"Let me help," I offer, stepping closer.
She hesitates, then nods, turning her back to me. I work the fastenings carefully, my fingers brushing against the soft skin at the nape of her neck. She shivers slightly at the contact.
"Cold?" I ask, though I suspect that's not the reason.
"No," she admits, turning to face me once the wings are removed. "Not cold."
We stand there for a moment, close enough that I can smell the sweet scent of her perfume and see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. The air between us feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
"Eric showing up like that," I say, breaking the silence. "You handled it well."
She looks down, a strand of hair falling across her face. "I was terrified," she confesses. "Not for myself, but for Emily. The thought of her seeing him, of him trying to talk to her..."
"That wasn't going to happen," I say firmly. "Not while I'm around."
Her eyes lift to mine, searching. "He'll try again, won't he? Him or Cantlay, or both."
"Probably," I acknowledge, seeing no point in lying to her. "But we're ready for them."
"What does that mean, exactly?" she asks, a slight edge to her voice. "What happens next?"
I consider how much to tell her. She deserves honesty, but she doesn't need all the bloody details of what's to come.
"It means we're going to resolve the situation," I say carefully. "Permanently."
"By killing them?" she challenges, her voice barely above a whisper.
"If it comes to that," I admit. "But that's not the first option. Cantlay's a businessman, albeit a shady one. There are other ways to handle him."
She wraps her arms around herself—a defensive gesture I've come to recognize. "I don't want anyone dying because of me. Even Eric."
Of course she doesn't. Despite everything the bastard did to her, despite the fear he's caused her and the threat he poses to Emily, Camryn's not the kind of person who wishes death on others. It's one of the many things I admire about her.
"I understand that," I tell her. "And I'll respect it as much as I can. But I need you to understand something too." I step closer, close enough that I have to look down to meet her eyes. "I will do whatever it takes to keep you and Emily safe. If that means blood on my hands, then so be it."
She doesn't flinch away from the statement, just holds my gaze steadily. "You've already got blood on your hands, don't you?" It's not really a question.
"Yes," I answer anyway. "More than I care to admit."
"Does it bother you?" she asks, her expression unreadable.
"Some of it," I say honestly. "Not all. Some people deserved exactly what they got."
"And who decides that? You?"
"Sometimes me. Sometimes the club. Sometimes the universe." I shrug. "I'm not claiming to be judge and jury, Camryn. I'm just a man who's good at certain things. Violence happens to be one of them."
"You're good at other things too," she says softly. "I've seen how you are with Emily. How you listen to her, respect her. Most men don't bother."
The compliment catches me off guard. "She makes it easy. She's a great kid."
"Because of you," she continues, as if I hadn't spoken, "Emily had fun tonight despite everything. She felt safe enough to fall asleep in your arms. That matters, Storm. That matters a lot."
There's a weight to her words that feels significant, like she's trying to tell me something beyond the obvious.
"What are you saying, Camryn?"
She takes a deep breath, seeming to gather her courage. "I'm saying that there's more to you than violence, more than the road name and the reputation and the blood on your hands. And I see that. Emily sees it too."
My heart pounds in my chest, a feeling of vulnerability sweeping over me that's more terrifying than facing down armed enemies. "And what do you think of what you see?"
She steps closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body and smell the hint of chocolate and punch on her breath. "I think," she says slowly, deliberately, "that I'm tired of fighting what's happening between us."
Before I can process her words, she rises on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine. Unlike our first kiss, which was tentative and questioning, this one is sure, determined. Her hands slide up my chest to my shoulders, fingers tangling in my hair as she deepens the kiss.
I respond instantly, my arms encircling her waist, pulling her flush against me. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat that sends heat coursing through my veins. I walk her backward until she bumps against the wall, which I use to support us both as the kiss intensifies.
Her lips part under mine, inviting me in, and I accept without hesitation.
My tongue sweeps into her mouth, tasting the sweetness of the punch she drank at the party and the chocolate she stole from Emily's stash.
My hands slide down to her hips, fingers pressing into soft flesh, careful not to grip too hard.
Despite the heat between us, despite the urgency building in my blood, I keep myself in check.
Camryn might be initiating this, might be signaling that she wants more, but I know her history.
I understand the trauma that lurks beneath her brave exterior.
The last thing I want is to trigger those memories; to make her feel trapped or overwhelmed.
So I let her set the pace, follow her lead as her hands roam over my shoulders and down my back, her touch increasingly confident as the kiss continues.
When she pulls back slightly, breathing hard, I don't chase her lips.
I rest my forehead against hers, giving her space to decide what happens next.
"Storm," she whispers, her voice husky in a way that makes my skin tingle. "I want—"
The rest of her sentence is lost as a loud knock sounds at the door, startling us both. We freeze, still entangled, as the knocking comes again, more insistent this time.
"Camryn? Storm? You in there?" Ace's voice calls through the door.
I suppress a groan of frustration. "Yeah, we're here," I call back, reluctantly releasing Camryn. "Give us a minute."
She smooths her dress, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from our kisses. Despite the interruption, she gives me a small smile that promises we're not finished with this conversation.
I take a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control, before opening the door. I find Ace standing in the hallway, his Viking costume discarded in favor of his usual jeans and cut.
"Sorry to interrupt," he says, his eyes taking in our disheveled appearance with a knowing look, "but we've got a situation. Cantlay's men are back and they're asking to talk. Specifically to you, Storm."
All the heat from moments before instantly cools, replaced by sharp focus. "Just talk?"
"So they say. They're waiting by the gate. Shadow and Digger are keeping an eye on them."
I nod, my mind already shifting into strategic mode. "I'll be right down."
Ace glances past me to Camryn, who's composed herself admirably despite the flush still coloring her cheeks. "Sorry about this. We've got it handled, but they specifically asked for Storm."
"It's okay," she says, her voice steadier than I expected. "Do what you need to do."
Ace nods and heads toward the stairs. I turn to Camryn, conflicted about leaving her now, especially after what just happened between us.
"Stay here," I tell her. "Lock the door behind me. I'll be back as soon as I can."
She nods, but there's worry in her eyes. "Be careful," she says softly.
I step closer, cupping her face in my hands. "Always am," I assure her, pressing a brief, firm kiss to her lips. "And Camryn? What you were about to say before Ace knocked? I want that too."
Her eyes widen slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Go," she says, pushing me gently toward the door. "The sooner this is dealt with, the sooner you can come back."
I hold her gaze for one more moment, then turn and leave, listening for the click of the lock behind me before I head downstairs.