Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE FIRST THING that hit me was the quiet. Not the hollow silence I learned to move in inside that old farmhouse, where even breathing felt too loud. This was different. Alive. Ashen’s chest rose and fell under my cheek, his arm heavy across my waist, pinning me in place like he owned me.
The sheets smelled like us. My body ached in a way that didn’t bruise, the kind that told me I’d been claimed. Every inch of me still burned with the memory of his mouth, his hands, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing worth seeing.
I should’ve been afraid. Fear had lived in me for years. But this morning it was shoved back in the shadows. What filled me now was stronger, hungrier — the weight of being wanted, and wanting him back.
I shifted to see his face. Stubble rough on his jaw, lips parted in sleep, a crease still dug between his brows like even in dreams he couldn’t lay it all down. My hand moved without thinking, tracing the scar across his collarbone.
His eyes snapped open, cutting as a blade even half-asleep. “You watching me, Wren?” His voice was rough, all grit and gravel.
Heat rushed up my throat. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” His arm clamped tighter, dragging me flush against him. His chin dropped to my head. “Don’t mind waking up to you staring at me like that.”
I let out a shaky breath. My fingers pressed flat against his chest, counting the heavy beat. “I thought I’d… feel different.”
He shifted, eyes narrowing on me. “And?”
“I do.” The words came raw, scraped out of me. “Not broken. Just… me. I didn’t think I’d ever get that back.”
His jaw ticked, eyes burning unshakable. “You were never broken. Don’t let that bastard twist that in your head. Last night? That was you taking yourself back. On your terms. With me.”
Tears pricked. I bit them back. “I was scared you wouldn’t want me like that.”
A rough laugh cut out of him, no humor in it. “Fuck. You have no idea.” His hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me steady. “I’ve wanted you since the day I pulled you out of that room. I wasn’t gonna shove myself at you, but you asked. That meant everything.”
I pressed my forehead to his chest. “I’m glad it was you.”
His hold went iron-tight. “It’ll always be me. Long as I’m breathing, you’re mine. Nobody lays a fucking hand on you again. Not Bones. Not anyone. I’ll put them in the ground before they get close.”
The words should’ve sounded harsh. Instead they wrapped around me like a warm blanket.
I tipped my head back. “Even if the worst happens?”
His eyes went cold. “The worst isn’t happening.” He kissed me, hard and deliberate, sealing it like an oath. “Not while I’m still alive.”
Outside, engines rumbled, laughter cracked loud in the yard. The clubhouse was waking. Bones was still out there. Someone inside these walls was feeding him. The thought iced my insides.
Ashen’s arm tightened. I threaded my fingers through his, gripping back just as hard.
“I don’t want to waste time,” I whispered.
“You won’t.” His voice was stone, no hesitation. “You’re with me now. Every second fucking counts.”
I turned my face into his chest and let the tears fall. He didn’t ask. He just held me, thumb dragging rough over my knuckles until the storm burned out.
When I looked up, his face was stripped bare in a way I didn’t think anyone else ever saw.
“You doubt yourself again,” he said softly, “remember this. Remember how you asked for me and I gave you everything. That’s power, Wren. Yours. Don’t forget it.”
My throat closed, but I forced it out. “I love the way you make me feel.”
His mouth caught mine, fierce, certain. “Good. Because I’ll make you feel that way until the day I stop breathing.”
The ache in my chest loosened. The glass bird on the dresser caught a slash of morning light.
Then his hand slid from my neck to my jaw, holding me firm, his eyes drilling into mine. “And listen to me. No more silence. You’ve got a voice — a beautiful one. You trust me with it. Always. Don’t ever hold back with me.”
The words hit harder than any promise. My silence had been my protection, my prison. But here, caged in his grip, keeping quiet felt wrong.
“I will,” I whispered. Then stronger: “I don’t want to be quiet anymore.”
His grip tightened, approval flashing in his eyes. “That’s it. Give me your words. You got something to say, you fucking say it. Don’t ever be afraid to speak around me. I’ll cut the throat of anyone who tries to shut you up again.”
A shiver rolled through me, not from fear but from the absolute truth in his tone. “Then I’ll tell you everything from now on.”
He kissed me hard, rough, claiming. “That’s what I want. All of you. Every word. Every breath.”
For the first time in years, I believed speaking wouldn’t destroy me. It might save me.
Because I wasn’t just surviving anymore. I was his. Alive. And no one was ever taking that from me.