51
Luna
Two decades of rage and vengeance turn to ash, golden handles gleaming against the black remnants like a memorial to everything he’s letting go.
“Your kill list . . .” I swallow hard. This isn’t just paper burning. It’s his whole life’s mission going up in flames. For me. “You just . . . Why?”
He closes the distance between us. “Vengeance kept me alive. But you, Luciana, you make me want to live.”
His raw vulnerability steals my breath. God, I don’t think I could possibly love him more than I do right now.
“So, is there any other reason you think it’s too soon? Do you need time to feel . . . more comfortable with me? To know more about me?”
I shake my head. I don’t need time. “I trust you. You know that.”
His voice hardens. “It’s your health then. The LS.”
“ I’m scared,” I admit, guilt twisting in my chest as I watch ash drift across the counter like snow. He just burned his past for me, and I can’t even promise him a future.
“Baby, I know.” He reaches for me. “You’ve got me, no matter what.”
“I can’t be that selfish.”
“Christ, Luciana.” He drops to one knee, and my heart stutters to a halt. His green eyes bore into mine, blazing with an intensity that leaves me trembling. “I’m fucking dying to make you mine. Anything you want is yours, baby. Anything. All I ask is that you give up your fear.”
Scalding tears blur my vision as my trembling fingers slide into his hair. “I don’t know, Cade.”
His hands, rough and callused, settle on my bare hips beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
“You want to go back to Chicago. You want your family’s legacy protected.”
It’s not a question. Of course, I want those things.
His head falls gently against my abdomen as his arms tighten around me, anchoring me to him. His voice breaks as he murmurs, “I’ll take that seat for you.”
I gasp. “Cade, I—I can’t ask you to give up your home. The Reaper Druids need their president—”
“Luciana. Have you not heard a single word I’ve said? Wherever you go, I’ll go. Whatever you need, I’ll be.”
Fresh tears stream down my cheeks, hot and unrelenting. This man—this unyielding storm—offering to reshape his entire world around me.
“Ask me again in a few weeks,” I choke out, trying to buy time enough time to give him what h e deserves.
“Luciana—”
“One week then,” I blurt, my voice trembling. “Cade, give me one—”
“—Gia Romano,“ he interrupts, wielding my full name like a whip.
“Caden, I swear I’ll have an answer for you in three days.”
He arches a brow. “You mean you’ll have a report for me in three days.”
I can’t deny it. I need him to know what he’s getting into—need him to understand the cost of loving me.
He tilts his head back, his jaw tightening as his eyes take on a hard edge.
“Alright. Here’s how it’ll go—we’ll have forever, or however long we get. But I won’t ask you again.” His voice roughens, each word rasping against my skin. “And if down the line you get tested, and that somehow changes how you feel about getting married, I don’t want to know. Ever.”
A spark ignites low in my belly as I absorb the force of his will. Even kneeling before me, he strips me bare, pushing me to the edge of submission, commanding me in a way only Cade can.
“Don’t give me ultimatums, Cade,” I manage, cursing the breathless tremor in my voice.
“Baby, I won’t need to if only you’d let me love you the way you deserve. Unconditionally. Unreservedly. Irrevocably.”
Fresh tears blur my vision, his words battering through every last one of my defenses. I clutch his face between my hands, desperate to hold onto something solid. “God, you don’t fight fair.”
“Hell fucking no.” His lips curve into the barest hint of a smirk, but his eyes remain resolute. “Now, will you marry me or not?”
I ’m cornered, but the truth is, I don’t want an escape. How can it be selfish if he’s asking— begging —me to trust that his love is stronger than my fear?
“I—” I start to answer, but the kitchen door opens.
Scar comes in and quickly shuts the door, keeping Saint from following him and ignoring the dog’s whines. He leans against the door, his gaze flicking between Cade and me then his lips curve into a eerily brilliant smile.
“Now that’s a sight I never thought I’d see. Cade Quinn on his knees. Begging.”
Cade rises in one fluid motion, his body shifting instinctively to shield me. His arm braces against me, protective, every line of him taut.
Scar pushes off the door and strides toward the island, crouching as he yanks cupboards open.
“Pretend I’m not here, as usual.” His chuckle is low, dark—like he hasn’t just intruded on the most intimate moment of our lives. He crouches to rummage through the lower cupboards. “I’m only looking for a collar and leash. And some fucking grubs. Saint’s going absolutely mental this morning.”
Despite Scar being on the other side of the island, Cade keeps herding me toward the wall, his presence like a barrier between us. He’s shielding me, his movements deliberate.
“Cade?” I press my palm against his back, feeling the coiled tension in his muscles and the electric energy thrumming through him.
“Stay behind me,” he orders in a harsh whisper.
“What’s going on?” I whisper, craning my neck, desperate to see around his broad shoulders. Why is he protecting me? From what?
Scar slams the last cupboard shut, rising slowly with a dog collar dangling from his hand. His gaze f licks between Cade’s stance and my position behind him—the way Cade shields me like I’m something fragile.
Something shatters in Scar’s expression.
It’s not rage or hatred—it’s something rawer. Naked hurt burns in his eyes, so stark it makes my chest ache.
“Really?” His voice cracks. “Is that what you think of me?”
A tremor runs through Cade, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t lower his guard.
Scar takes a few unhurried steps toward the pantry, then stops. His shoulders sag on an exhale. “You know,” he says without turning, “I’m not sure which hurts more. That you couldn’t let yourself love me back or that you think I’d hurt the woman you claim to love.”
Scar is in love with Cade.
And suddenly, it all makes sense. Cade is really the center of Scar’s world world.
Though I shouldn’t be surprised—Cade has that effect on people. But this man already wears Cade’s face, his name, his life . . . and it still wasn’t enough.
Broken and devastated wouldn’t even begin to describe what Scar must be feeling now.
Some instinct makes me want to reach for Scar and comfort this broken thing, but Cade’s grip tightens on my hip—as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Scar shakes his head as if clearing emotion. “You must think I’m a monster, Pretty.”
“Derek, come on,” Cade begins, his voice soft, like he’s talking down a spooked horse.
Scar goes still. “It’s Cade.” A sound escapes him—raw, wounded, almost like a sob as he disappears into the pantry.
My stomach churns. “Cade,” I whisper, needing to know. “Were you and Scar . . . ever a thing? I mean . . . without the women you shared?”
Cade turns to me, and the look in his eyes steals my breath—guilt tangled with regret.
“Jesus! You and him?”
“No,” Cade cuts in. “Never.”
“But he obviously loves you.”
“Don’t use that word. Please.” His jaw tightens. “It’s not love. It’s something else. Something twisted I was too fucking blind to see.”
Obsession.
The word hangs unspoken yet understood.
It will get worse every time Cade gives me something Scar wants.
Cade’s voice drops, a harsh edge to his tone. “I should never have brought you here.”
Shame and regret wash over me. “And I should’ve listened to you instead of pulling jealous, possessive bullshit—”
“Baby.” Cade cups my jaw, his touch gentle but grounding. “You were being your real, raw self in those moments. And I love it.” His gaze softens, the warmth returning to his eyes. “Now, can we go?”
Movement catches my eye—Scar emerges from the pantry, turning toward the door without a single glance our way.
Relief floods me for a single heartbeat.
But then something’s wrong.
Instead of leaving, his tattooed back gets closer. Too fast. Too silent. It takes me a second to realize—Scar isn’t walking out. He’s walking backward.
My brain stumbles over the impossibility of it, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. The moveme nt is fluid, unnatural, almost inhuman—as if he knows every inch of the kitchen without needing to look.
How is he doing that?
The question is drowned out by the alarm bells pealing in my head. My body reacts before my brain catches up, instincts overriding logic.
“Look out—!”
Cade moves before I can process what’s happening, grabbing me and rolling away from Scar. But Scar feints with Cade, as if already anticipating the move, and then Scar’s fist catches Cade in the back.
The impact sounds wrong—wet, thick.
Cade’s body jerks forward with a sharp hitch of breath as Scar’s arm swings high.
And that’s when I see it: a flash of metal catching the light, dripping red before sinking again into Cade’s back.
Oh God.
Scar isn’t hitting Cade.
He’s stabbing him.