Chapter 20 #3
“You kept it safe,” Viper said, glancing over Ward’s shoulder toward the Dolmen. “I could feel that, too.”
“Always.”
Behind them, Reaper cleared his throat none-too-subtly. “If y’all are done eye-fucking, some of us need a shower and a goddamn chair.”
Ward didn’t let go, and neither did Viper, but they laughed, and for the first time in days, it didn’t sound broken.
The cabin smelled like rosemary, garlic, and something warm and starchy by the time the last duffel hit the floor.
Ward stirred the pot on the stove with one hand and reached for a folded kitchen towel with the other, flipping it over his shoulder like he owned the place.
Which, technically, he didn’t. But Trace had shoved him toward the pantry the second they arrived and muttered something about “you’re the only one who’s not too tired to cook,” so here he was, and honestly?
He didn’t mind. The ritual of cooking helped.
Chopping. Sautéing. Stirring. Feeding people was as close to peace as he got.
The stew on the stove was thick with root vegetables and seared beef, bubbling softly in the Dutch oven. A tray of biscuits—homemade, thank you very much—rested on the counter under a tea towel. Ward reached for the salad bowl just as the back screen door creaked open.
“You made real food.” Viper crossed the kitchen to claim his lips in a soft, needy kiss.
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Ward grinned at him. “I can read a recipe.”
“You do more than read it. Smells like something I’d fight Reaper for.”
Ward smirked and tilted his head back slightly. “You might have to. He’s already claimed two of the biscuits by name.”
“I’ll fight dirty.”
“Thought you’d say that.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Come steal the forks from the drawer. The table’s still half-set, and I’ll pay you in early access to the biscuit basket.”
Viper started pulling open drawers and gathering flatware. He worked in silence, setting places for each of them. It was mundane. Domestic. Totally out of character for the life they led.
It’s completely perfect.
Voices filtered in from the hallway. Zero cursing about something tech-related.
Kaze asking if they were having wine or whiskey with dinner.
Reaper groaning as he sank into a chair.
It was chaotic, grounding background noise, and Ward breathed it in like it was a balm to his battered soul.
He ladled stew into deep ceramic bowls and lined up the biscuits, the herbed butter already softening in a dish nearby.
Viper returned, this time with glasses for water which he set down without a word.
Ward caught his hand as he passed and pressed a biscuit into it. “I made enough for seconds,” he said.
Viper looked at him with a soft, unreadable heat. “That why you made dinner? To keep me coming back for more?”
“No,” Ward said, stepping in close enough to whisper it against his jaw. “I made dinner so you’d let me stay.”
Viper brushed his fingers over Ward’s spine and leaned in close enough that their shoulders touched. “I’m not letting you go anywhere. You’re mine, I’m yours. That’s what matters. The rest we figure out as we need to.”
Happiness burst through him, and he smiled widely at Viper. He loved that Trace’s den felt full in the best kind of way. The hum of conversation drifted through the stone-and-cedar walls.
Behind him, someone bumped the back of his knee with a tray. “Outta the way, Gordon Ramsay,” Kaze grunted. “Some of us are starving.”
“You’re holding a salad, Kaze. Let’s not pretend you’re suffering.” Ward tossed the snark right back.
“He’s suffering emotionally,” Juice interjected. “Kale tends to do that to people.”
“Unholy leaf,” Reaper agreed as he strode past with a stack of clean plates. He thumped them onto the counter beside Ward. “Here. Feed us before we start eyeing the houseplants.”
Ward shook his head but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his mouth. “Ten more minutes.”
“Copy that.” Viper leaned one shoulder against the frame, watching him, which made his pulse skip. The shadows beneath his eyes hadn’t faded completely, and he still moved like his body was half-wired for battle. But his gaze, when it landed on Ward, softened.
Ward met it with a look of his own—steady, sure—and he sent a message down the mate bond.
Still here.
Still yours .
Outside, the last of the light faded into twilight, the trees’ dark silhouettes against a sky brushed in indigo.
Inside, though, it was all warmth: lamplight pooling gold across the countertops and the smell of herbs, garlic, and something faintly sweet clinging to the air.
Familiar voices rumbled through the space like the house had come alive since the guys had come back.
Ward plated the food with practiced ease, and the others helped without needing to be asked—dishing up, carrying platters to the long reclaimed-wood table, and pouring drinks. By the time everyone found their place, there was a hush that settled naturally, reverent and real.
Ward looked around the table at the men who had walked through fire together, who had kept each other alive, and who had somehow ended up here, whole, healthy, and making each other crazy.
For the first time in days, his chest didn’t ache with the weight of waiting.
He was home, and soon— soon —he’d be in Viper’s arms again, not just near him, and not just orbiting the same room.
With him. Fully.
But for tonight, there was food, laughter, and the family they’d claimed for themselves. Tomorrow would be theirs. Forever.