Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Declan
The weight of guilt that should be pressing down on me is absent.
Not the right kind of guilt, anyway.
I shouldn’t have brought Emery deeper into my world. Not when I know what the curse does to anyone who gets too close. I should be more worried about the mark climbing her arm.
Instead, all I can focus on is how warm she feels curled against my side.
How soft and sleepy she is, trusting me to keep her safe.
How fast I’m falling for a woman I shouldn’t have touched.
I should’ve gotten her out of Crowsbridge Hollow sooner. Now, letting her go feels impossible.
A slow, warm slide down my thigh snaps me out of my brooding.
I bolt upright, jostling Emery to the side. She murmurs unintelligible words and lazily strokes her fingers over my hip.
“Ah, fuck,” I groan as I stare at the split condom, fluids leaking everywhere. A string of curses ricochet inside my skull. “Em.” I reach back, nudging her shoulder. “Baby, the condom broke. I’m so—”
“What?” She jolts upright, fully awake now.
Gingerly, I roll out of bed. “Give me a second.”
Instead of waiting, she follows me to the bathroom. Beautifully naked, she laces her fingers behind her back and leans on the doorway, completely unaware she looks like a centerfold teenage me would’ve torn from a magazine and worshipped in secret.
Watching her in the mirror, I clean up, then grab a dry washcloth, wet it and approach her.
She stares up at me with big eyes, glossy like she’s about to cry.
“I’m sorry.” I kneel in front of her and push one hand between her thighs, silently asking her to open for me. “There’s a pharmacy right over in Arrow I can take—”
“It’s fine,” she whispers, tipping her head down to watch as I swipe the cloth against her sticky thighs.
“I test regularly,” I say. “Since I work with needles. They’ve always been negative. But like I said, I…” How could I be so careless? More worried about the stupid curse and marking her permanently when I should’ve asked if she’s on birth control. Having kids has never ever been in my plans.
I stand and she gives me a wobbly smile.
“It’s okay, Declan. Really.” Her voice is steadier than her expression. “I can’t have kids. So, it’s fine.” She lifts her gaze to mine. “And I trust you.”
That last sentence hits harder than a fist to the ribs. I trust you.
The rest of her words sink in.
I open my mouth to say…something. But she cuts me off with a quick, practiced shrug and a flat voice. “Found out at sixteen. Everything works.” She lifts her chin as if asking me to confirm. “I just can’t…make babies.”
For a second, I can’t think of a single response. Every automatic line—I’m sorry, that must’ve been hard—feels like an insult. She doesn’t need my pity.
So, I brush my knuckles against her cheek. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Em.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” she says with forced cheerfulness. “Are you?” Her gaze skips away and pink blooms over her cheeks up to her hairline. “Despite that, I’ve never, um, been with someone without a condom. And my tests are always good too.”
A wild spike of possessiveness heats my blood at been with someone. She’s trying to have a calm, grown-up conversation, and I’m standing here like a primitive creature ready to pound my chest and snarl mine, mine mine.
I drag in a breath, counting back from ten until my brain unscrambles enough to speak.
Underneath her words, I sense she needs reassurance.
Did someone in her past belittle her when she shared this?
Telling her I’ve never wanted kids seems selfish and way too convenient.
Like I’m lying to make her feel better or downplaying something that obviously still cuts her deeply.
She deserves better than some half-assed platitude, so I pull her into my chest instead, wrapping my arms around her until her cheek presses against my skin.
Her body’s stiff at first, like she’s bracing for judgment.
The mark on her arm brushes my side, warm and pulsing—another reminder of how I’ve screwed up.
“Em.” I tip her chin up with two fingers. “Look at me.”
She slowly lifts her gaze.
“As long as you’re okay,” I say. “That’s my only concern.”
Her throat bobs. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.” I grasp her shoulders and turn her toward the hallway. “Let’s go back to bed.”
Her shoulders shake with laughter. “Give me a second, stud.”
She slips out of my grasp and back into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Waiting outside the door like an eager puppy is probably a step too far. I retreat to the bedroom, stoke the fire, slip on a pair of shorts, and search through my drawers for a shirt Emery can sleep in.
“Hey,” she says softly, stepping into the bedroom. “I feel weird walking around your apartment naked.”
Laughing, I hold out a faded black T-shirt. “Personally, I’m a big fan of your naked body. But if you want something to sleep in…”
“Sleep in, huh?” She snatches the shirt from my hands but doesn’t put it on. “You want me to stay?”
Vulnerability lurks under the question. Was she expecting me to kick her out? “I’ll be insulted if you don’t.”
“Okay.”
I need to be much closer to her. Crossing the distance, I push her toward the bed, settling us both under the covers. She arranges herself the way we were before—her head on the uninked side of my chest, breasts pressed to my side, legs entwined. Her hand teases the waistband of my shorts.
“We need to talk about something.” Her voice seems to be aiming for serious but missing the mark.
“What’s that?” I sneak my free hand closer and cup her breast, rolling her nipple between two fingers.
Her lashes flutter. “No fair, I had something to say.”
“So say it.” I rub my thumb against the hard tip.
“When…why did you do this?” She slips her hand under my shorts and grazes the first piercing.
“How’d they work for you?”
“Uh, amazing.” She slides her hand lower, wrapping her fingers around my swiftly hardening cock. “I think this one tickled some special zones I never knew I had.”
Unexpected laughter bursts out of me. “Discovering new lands, I like that.”
She gives me a gentle squeeze that turns my laughter into a low groan. “I’m serious.” She releases me and shifts her body so we’re almost eye to eye. “Did you do it for an ex?”
Ahhh, now I get what she’s after. “No. You’re, um…” I clear my throat. “The first one to test them out.”
“Bullshit.” She pulls back and frowns at me.
“Not my first. The first since I had them done,” I clarify.
“Oh.” She laughs softly and pink spreads over her cheeks. “What made you do it? Did it hurt?”
“It hurt like a motherfucker. But only for a few minutes.” I shake my head. “I had an apprentice in the shop last year.”
She tilts her head, waiting for me to continue. I rub my thumb over her hip, hoping the tame backstory won’t disappoint her.
“He needed the experience. Can’t have my shop on someone’s resume if they’re a menace to the world, ya know?”
That’s the clean, easy answer.
She blinks.
“You volunteered?”
I shrug and consider a joke to laugh it off and move on. But she’s staring at me intently, waiting for my answer.
“Yeah, I volunteered. It felt like a choice I finally got to make.” I pause, searching for the best way to explain it.
“My whole life, decisions have been made for me. Even my own body.” I rub my hand over the horse tattoo on my pec and the chains trailing over my ribs.
“I didn’t choose these. They were burned into my skin when I turned sixteen. ”
“That’s why they move and react the way they do,” she whispers.
I nod and trace my finger over her shoulder. “I don’t have a pain kink, and it wasn’t for a partner.” I swallow hard. “It’s just a modification that I chose.”
Her expression softens. “Something all yours. I get that.”
“Yeah.” I exhale, relieved.
“And you helped out a fellow artist.”
“Well, Lucy supervised—”
“Wait, she what?” Emery pokes my side.
“Trust me, it was as horrifying for her as it was for me.” I squeeze my eyes shut and force an exaggerated retching sound from my throat. “We made a pact to never, ever speak of it. And not to have any more apprentices in the shop.”
Emery bursts into laughter, the movement jiggling her breasts in the most distracting way. “Poor Lucy.”
“Poor Lucy!” I widen my eyes with false outrage. “What about poor Declan?”
“Yes, having two people—wait, did anyone else have to supervise?” She sputters the words in between fits of laughter.
“No.” I can’t help grinning.
“You’re laughing.” She points a finger in my face. “I like it on you.”
“Thanks.” I cup her breast again and swirl my thumb over the tip. “I didn’t do as thorough an inspection as I’d planned. But you’re a blank canvas, aren’t you?” I push her hair aside and pretend to peer over her shoulder.
She pulls her shoulders back, giving me space to cup both breasts.
“Your nipples are perfect.”
“Don’t get any ideas.” She glances at my hands. “No steel through my nips.”
“Titanium?” I lean forward and suck one nipple between my lips.
She laughs, then gasps. “No way.”
“They’re very sensitive. You might enjoy it.”
“I might enjoy a lot of things I’m not going to try.” She sits up straighter and holds out her unmarked arm. “I thought about maybe getting a tattoo, though.”
I circle my fingers around her wrist and tug her closer. “What’d you have in mind?” One corner of my mouth slides up. “Let me guess—crows?”
“Yes!” She grins and bounces slightly.
Her enthusiasm is a shot of sunlight straight to the darkest spaces in my chest. I drag her back down, settling her on top of me, her hair falling like a curtain around us.
“What are you thinking?” I ask. “An attempted murder…or a full-on mass murder?”
She grins at my goofy crow pun, then rests her chin on her folded hands. “I haven’t decided if I want a big artistic piece—a proper murder of crows—or just one sad little black crow all by himself.”
“Crows,” I murmur, brushing my fingertips along her spine. “Figures. Little curious crow.”
She scrunches her nose at me. “You know it’s perfect for me.”
“It is,” I agree. “When you’re ready, I can help you.” I pinch my fingers together and trace an invisible line along her shoulder. “I’ll sketch something.”
“A Declan Sterling original?”
It sounds so silly the way she says it; I duck my head to the side. “Yeah, yeah.”
I pull the blanket higher around us and lazily slide my hand up and down her back, nothing urgent, only the slow, familiar claiming my body seems to do on its own around her.
Her breaths soften, her body sinks into mine, her amusement tapering into a sleepy hum.
“Tired?” I whisper.
“No,” she mumbles. “Content. Very content.” She nuzzles against my chest. “And maybe a little exhausted.”
A smug rumble of laughter escapes before I can stop it.
“Cocky,” she scolds, tickling her fingers over my hip.
“You know it.” I capture her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her knuckles.
She sighs, a soft, content breath.
“We can talk body mods in the morning.” I tuck her closer to me and brush my lips over her forehead.
“You make a nice pillow.” She kisses my chest.
“Not going anywhere.”
After a few minutes her breathing evens out and slows.
I stare at the ceiling, one arm locked around her. The faint warmth of the curse prickles against my ribs. I should be worried about what’s coming for her.
Instead, I close my eyes, breathe in the scent of her hair, and let myself pretend—just for tonight—that she’s mine for good.