Chapter 12
Twelve
FLYNN
The beam in Talulla’s eyes grows brighter the farther we get from the city, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, and for some absurd reason, I feel a warmth in my chest where my heart used to beat.
God, and I’m supposed to resist three weeks of not touching her?
What the hell was I thinking when I devised this punishment?
Some half-baked idea about control—mine, not hers.
Because I know she can take care of herself.
I know they wouldn’t have killed her, not when she represents so much in our world.
But fuck, I was scared.
Terrified.
There was still that sliver of a chance. The kind that keeps even monsters awake. Me, the monster that sleeps beside her. They could have called Emil. Could have made him come and take her away from me.
And if he had her now—if he had her, knowing what I am to her—it wouldn’t be easy to get her back. Not when he could use his knowledge of me like a blade, twist her training, her hatred of what I am, until she turned it on me. Even if I already destroyed the only real threat.
And that threat is gone. He’s gone. I made sure of it.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she says, breaking the silence as I keep my eyes on the road ahead.
“I’m kind of nervous, I guess.”
She turns in her seat, the light catching the gold in her eyes, making them glow almost unnaturally bright in the daylight. “You? Nervous?”
“Yeah. I just hope I’m not totally wrong about this.”
“Flynn,” she says softly, “I’m pretty sure the house could look like a shack and I’d still love it because it would be ours.”
“It’s not a shack.”
She laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that makes the muscles in my jaw loosen without my permission. “I’m just saying…I’ve never seen you like this. Nervous.”
“I’m good at hiding my emotions.”
“Says the guy who cried on my shoulder.”
I grimace. “It was one time. And I teared up, not cried.”
“You big old softie.”
I groan at her teasing. “I just found out you were going to die,” I mutter, though there’s no real heat in it. “Excuse me if I panicked a little.”
Her hand slides over mine on the gearshift, warm and grounding. “You can panic. And cry. And get nervous. And do whatever you need to do with me. I’d never judge you for it.”
“I don’t need to cry, thank you very much.”
She smiles. “No tears, you big alpha man.”
I can’t help but sigh in defeat. “Bloody hell.”
“What? On your nerves?”
“I might not make you come,” I say darkly, “but I can still spank you.” And fuck do I want to do that just about now.
“Don’t tempt me with a good time, fangs.”
I snort just as I turn onto the side road that leads to the property.
The pavement narrows, giving way to a long, winding driveway framed by old-growth trees—oaks, maples, and a few sycamores.
Their branches arch overhead, forming a natural cathedral.
The gravel crunches under the tires, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet of the approaching evening.
I glance at Talulla and notice the subtle changes in her expression.
A soft inhale, the way her hand unconsciously brushes against the door handle, the faint widening of her eyes.
The road curves gently, rising and falling with the hills.
Birds flit through the branches, their calls echoing faintly, and for the first time in weeks, I allow myself to breathe a little easier.
This is what I wanted for us. Privacy, space, safety.
I can feel the house before I see it—a pulse in the land, a rhythm in the trees.
The land opens up slowly. The house doesn’t loom. It waits, dignified, patient, like it knows it will be loved.
Set back from the road, surrounded by green, it sits like it belongs here—like it has always belonged here. The property is large enough that no one will stumble too close by accident, enough that she can breathe, enough that she will be safe.
It’s not a mansion. Not some obscene display of wealth meant to intimidate or impress. It’s big, yes, but human big. Two stories. Wide, not towering. A place meant to be lived in, not worshipped from a distance.
I know she would have said no to anything monstrous.
This—this is something she can make into a home.
The Victorian structure is painted a deep, muted green, the kind that blends with the trees instead of fighting them.
Cream trim outlines the windows and door, softening the edges, giving it warmth.
A wide porch wraps around the house, wide enough for chairs, for mornings spent sipping tea or whatever drink she wants, evenings spent watching the sun sink behind the tree line.
A wrought-iron swing hangs lazily from one corner, creaking faintly in the breeze.
Window boxes bloom with lavender and marigolds, scents that will follow us indoors if she lets them.
I glance at her, waiting.
Her mouth is open. Her eyes are wide. For a second, I worry—actually worry—that I’ve miscalculated everything.
Then her eyes shine, glassy, and my chest tightens.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“This—” she breathes, turning to me, “is perfect.”
“You haven’t seen the inside yet.”
“Flynn,” she says, almost laughing, “how the fuck did you find this place?”
“Language,” I mutter as I park and step out, already moving to open her door. The air smells like pine, damp earth, and old stone. She steps out and the soles of her boots crunch the gravel, and for a moment I just watch her, mesmerized by the way she moves, how her hair catches the fading light.
“Let’s walk inside before we say the final yes,” I say.
“I don’t need to see it. You picked the perfect place.”
I shake my head. “That’s the problem, Tal. I might have found it, but this is where we’re going to live. You need to say yes, or we’re not buying it.”
“It’s your money.”
“There’s your name on the account,” I remind her. “It’s our money.”
She frowns. “I still don’t need to know how you did that.”
I hand her the keys. “Wanna do the honors?”
Her smile stretches impossibly wide as she nods and practically runs to the door.
The moment we step inside, I know I’ve lost her—in the best way.
The space opens immediately to a large kitchen flowing into the living area, sunlight pouring in through tall windows.
Hardwood floors gleam with age, warm and welcoming.
High ceilings without feeling cavernous.
A gentle scent of wood polish, lavender, and sun-warmed stone lingers in the air.
To the right, a spacious office—quiet, private, perfect. I can imagine her working here, surrounded by books, sunlight on her face, a mug of tea steaming beside her.
“I was thinking,” I start, already gesturing, “we could have two desks in here. Work side by side. And back here”—I point to the empty built-in shelves—“your books. All of them. And space for my first editions too, and there’s more shelving right—”
She cuts me off by throwing herself into my arms.
I catch her instinctively, molding my body to hers as if we’ve always fit this way. Her grip tightens like she’s afraid I might disappear, and the irony nearly breaks me—because when I tell her everything, when she knows all of me, it might be her who pulls away.
“I love you, Flynn.”
My body goes still.
“What?” I breathe.
She laughs, soft and nervous and unbearably her. “I love you,” she repeats.
I crush my mouth to hers, all restraint slipping for just a second. “I can’t believe you’d say that when you know I can’t fuck you.”
“I love you, Flynn. I’m so fucking in love with you.”
The third time breaks something open inside me. My head shakes, disbelief and awe colliding. I’m a monster dressed as a promise, and she still loves me. And I know I don’t deserve it. I know I’m a fraud that can’t deserve this kind of life. A perfect one, with her. Always.
“And I love you, Talulla,” I whisper, resting my forehead against hers. “So bloody much.”
I hold her tighter, and somehow this—this stillness, this choice—is more intimate than any night we’ve spent tangled together.
“This is our house,” she whispers. “Our home.”
I smile. “Yeah?”
“But we need to repaint the living room. That weird yellow doesn’t work with the dark green in the office.”
I snort. “Whatever color you want, red ruby. Anything.”
“Would you agree even if I said the whole house should be red?”
“My favorite color,” I reply, with a small tug on one corner of my lips.
“Brown,” she tests, pressing a finger on my chest, and her eyes light up as she awaits for my response.
“Like the trees in a forest.”
Her smile is so big right now that I would actually agree to brown if that is what she actually wants, but she’s not done. “Black?”
I press my lips to hers once more and tease her when I say, “You know I look wonderful in black.”
“You’re absolutely incredible, Mr. Lancaster.”
I growl as I hold her face in my hands. “And you’re my entire world, Ms. Popescu.”
She gasps at the formal title, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll allow me to change it one day. “When can we sign?” she asks, and my grin grows.
I release her from my embrace and motion toward the other side of the house. “Go look on the kitchen counter, papers are all ready for us.”
Because everything she wants—I will always make sure she has.