Chapter Thirty-Four
ZARA WAS SITTING cross-legged on the floor, a coloring book spread wide, the waxy crayon clutched so tight I half-expected it to snap. She hummed as she worked, her tongue caught between her teeth, her whole body bent over the page like nothing outside the lines existed.
Malik sat beside her, headphones pulled tight, his thumbs tapping steady against the buttons of his handheld. He didn’t talk much, not to anyone but me and Zara, and his shoulder brushed hers every so often like he needed the contact to comfort himself. He stayed close. Like always.
I was wiping down the bathroom counter, rag damp in my hand, when Zeke stepped through the doorway. He filled the space with his usual weight—broad, solid—but there was something different this time. A shift in the air around him. Almost… nerves.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my rag pausing mid-swipe.
He nodded once, his gaze flicking toward the partially open door. “Got someone I want you to meet.”
The rag went still in my grip, water dripping into the sink. My stomach tightened, hot and cold at once. Meet someone. In my old world, that never meant good.
“You don’t have to,” he added quickly, hands loose, his voice careful, like he could feel the storm already brewing under my skin. “Only if you’re up for it.”
I swallowed hard, the taste of metal searing at the back of my tongue. Forced my chin down in a nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
But my chest was already tight, because the memory of last night slammed into me again—his body caging mine against the wall, his mouth hovering over mine, his words scraping me raw: When I take you…
there won’t be stoppin’ me. My skin still buzzed with it, every nerve alive like I’d been lit from the inside out. And now he wanted me to meet someone.
Was it another woman?
Men in the circle often had many vessels. I prayed many nights Gabrial would, but he never seemed to tire of me. My pulse tripped hard, faster than my breath could keep up.
The door creaked open, hinges whining, and a woman stepped inside.
She wasn’t what I expected.
Tall, but not imposing. Her dress was plain, blue cotton that brushed her calves. Her silver hair—same shade as Zeke’s—was pulled back into a braid, and her face, lined by years, was still striking. Pretty in a way that had nothing to do with vanity.
Her eyes found me first. Blue, steady, piercing. A gaze that stripped layers away without cruelty, but without hesitation either.
Then she smiled, it wasn’t polite, and it wasn’t practiced. It was real.
“This her?” she asked, her voice sure, but her gaze never left me.
“Yeah,” Zeke said, and there was something threaded in his tone I hadn’t heard before—pride. “This is Sable. And those are her kids, Zara and Malik.”
The woman stepped forward and held out her hand. My fingers twitched, hesitation digging claws in me, every instinct screaming not to reach. But I did.
“I’m Miriam, this one’s Momma,” she said, looking at Zeke.
Her skin was warm, her grip strong. Not bruising, not testing, just… firm. A hand that told me she wouldn’t let go easy. The kind of grip I’d never had from another woman. My palm tingled even after she let go, nerves sparking like I’d been branded.
I felt Zeke’s eyes on me then, heavy as a touch. When I flicked a glance at him, he was watching close, his jaw tight, eyes probing, memorizing my every reaction. The weight of that look made my stomach twist, made me feel caught between a spotlight and a cage.
Miriam roved her gaze once more, head to toe, then back again. Not judging. Measuring. Seeing.
“You been through it,” she said softly, her voice dropping lower, hitting somewhere deep in my chest. “I can see it in your eyes. The way you stand like you’re waitin’ to be hit.”
The words struck deep, and my whole body locked, and my breath caught. Fingers curled into my palm, and my skin crawled with too many nights waiting for the blow to come.
But Miriam didn’t flinch. Didn’t apologize. She just nodded once, like she’d said what needed saying.
“So have I,” she added, steel humming under the calm. “So if you’re stayin, know this, you’re not the only one who had to claw her way out of somethin’ unholy. You’re in good company.”
Air shifted heavy in my lungs, too thick to swallow down.
Zara peeked up from her coloring, blinking at the stranger. “Are you Zeke’s mommy?”
Miriam’s smile deepened, warm lines creasing her face. “Sure am, sweetheart.”
Zara hopped up, clutching her paper, and marched over on bare feet. “This is a unicorn. She’s magic. Like my mommy.”
The lump in my throat rose hard, choking.
Miriam bent slow, and took the drawing like it was treasure. “Well, I’d say that makes her pretty special then, wouldn’t it?”
Zara nodded solemnly, satisfied with the answer.
Across the room, Malik’s head lifted, just for a second. Miriam caught it, gave him a nod, and then looked away like it cost her nothing to give him that space. Didn’t crowd him, didn’t press. Just like Zeke had done the first time. Too familiar.
Zeke moved closer, his presence hot against my side. His voice dropped low, for me alone. “I figured she might be good for you to meet. Momma’s… been through some things too.”
I tore my gaze from Miriam long enough to glance at him. His eyes were locked on me, piercing, proud, like he was already claiming the way I stood here, not running.
“What kind of things?” I asked, though my voice barely carried.
His jaw flexed. He didn’t answer.
Miriam saved him the trouble.
“Let’s just say I know what it’s like to live in a place where love comes with rules,” she said, her tone even but edged, “and salvation’s got teeth.”
My body went cold, ice crawling down my spine.
I didn’t ask more. I couldn’t. Because I already knew. Without details. Without confession. Miriam had lived in a cage, too. And when I looked back at Zeke, his eyes hadn’t left me. Watching. Waiting. That dark heat tangled with pride, with something rougher, something close to hunger.
A shiver rippled through me. I pressed my arms tight across my chest, but it didn’t stop the way my skin prickled.
Then his hand brushed the small of my back, just a whisper, just enough to ground, but the warmth of it seared. Not possessive. Not innocent. Just there. A reminder.
It was nothing and it was everything.
Comfort. Fear. Want. They tangled inside me until I couldn’t tell one from the other.
And I wasn’t sure if that made me safer… or in even more danger than before.