Chapter 37
The Trickster
I t’s hard to believe it’s already been ten days since I carried Eve out of the warehouse. And now, I’m watching her dress for dinner.
Her movements are careful but steady, determination threading through each one. This morning Dr. Carmichael removed her stitches, declared our recovery on track, and gave Eve the all-clear.
My wife’s wounds have all closed, leaving behind pink scars that will eventually fade to silver. But some marks go deeper. I see it in the way she pauses before mirrors, in how her fingers sometimes trace the line on her cheek as if to confirm it’s really healed.
A stretch of days can’t erase what Shelby did to her. Maybe nothing will.
“Stop staring,” Eve says without turning, her voice lighter than it’s been in days. She pulls a soft sweater over her head, wincing slightly as she raises her arms. “It’s creepy.”
“It’s appreciation,” I correct, coming up behind her to help smooth the fabric over her shoulders. “You look beautiful.”
She turns in my arms, gray eyes assessing my face with the clinical precision she never quite sheds. “And you look like you’re plotting an escape route.”
“I’m not,” I grin, dro pping a kiss on her forehead. “But if I’m honest, I’m ready to get the fuck away from our wardens.” It’s only half a joke. They’ve both been acting like they have a say on any movements we’ve made.
Eve’s eyebrow arches, skepticism etched in the gesture. “Carolina went to a lot of trouble for this dinner. The least you can do is pretend to want to be there.”
I sigh, conceding the point. “For you, I’ll endure small talk and my brother’s insufferable smugness.”
“Such sacrifice,” she mocks, but there’s warmth in her voice, a spark of the Eve from before. It makes something loosen in my chest, a knot I didn’t realize I was carrying.
We move through Nick’s corridors, my hand at the small of Eve’s back—support without show. Her gait is stronger, but I feel the lean into me on the stairs, the measured breath before each step.
Golden light spills from the dining room, pooling across polished floors.
Inside, Carolina has clearly gone all out.
Candles flickering on the long table, fine china gleaming, wine already poured into crystal glasses.
In the bassinet near Carolina’s chair, Willow sleeps, tiny fists curled against her cheeks.
“There you are,” Carolina says, rising to greet us. She kisses Eve’s cheek, then mine, her smile genuine but careful. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your minds.”
“And miss your cooking?” Eve replies, squeezing Carolina’s hand. “Never.”
The ease between them still surprises me—this friendship forged in the aftermath of violence. Carolina has been Eve’s most frequent visitor during our convalescence, bringing books, food, and the quiet solidarity of someone who understands what it means to love a Knight man.
Nick guffaws from where he’s sitting. “She hasn’t—”
“If you want to get laid tonight, you better leave that sentence unfinished,” my sister-in-law threatens.
“Sorry, Kitten,” he grins, not looking contrite at all. My brother’s eyes track me as I help Eve into her chair. “You look better.” I’m not sure which of us he’s addressing until he adds. “Less like death warmed over.”
Taking the mature route, I flip him off while Carolina admonishes him. Eve just smiles as she settles her napkin in her lap.
“I’ll take that as the Knight version of a compliment.”
“It was,” my brother confirms, lifting his water glass in a silent toast.
The first course arrives—a salad that looks anything but appetizing. We eat in companionable silence broken only by the clink of forks against china and Nick’s occasional glances toward Willow’s bassinet.
“She’ll sleep through anything,” Carolina says, noticing my brother’s vigilance. “Just like her father.”
Nick’s expression softens in a way I rarely see, a tenderness reserved solely for his wife and daughter. “A useful trait in this family.”
The words land heavier than he means, the reality of being a Knight thick in the air between us. I feel Eve tense beside me, her fork pausing halfway to her lips.
“Speaking of family traits,” Nick continues, his gaze shifting to me, “Jack has made a decision I think you should both know about.”
I roll my eyes at the way he phrases it, like he didn’t run and tell his wife the second I told him. Eve’s eyes find mine, questioning. I reach under the table, squeezing her knee gently.
“I’ve already told you. He’s talking about me being out,” I say simply.
“Right.” She nods. “I’m still not sure what that means.”
“Of the family business,” Nick clarifies, as servants clear the salad and bring the main course—steaks so rare I lick my lips in anticipation, roasted vegetables, fresh bread still steaming. “Jack’s retiring from Knight Enterprises.”
Carolina starts serving, passing plates with practiced grace. “Which means more time for you two to figure out what comes next,” she adds, her tone deliberately light.
Eve doesn’t look away from my brother, her face neutral. “And you’re okay with this?” she asks him.
When I told her about it while we were holed up in our recovery room, she kept nervously asking if I was sure I could leave, and if Nick would hold it against her or me. That’s why I told him to bring it up tonight at dinner.
He shrugs, slicing into his m eat with precision. “It’s his choice. Always has been.”
“So, what now?” Eve asks, turning to me. “If you’re not a Knight in practice, what are you?”
“Still figuring that out,” I admit, meeting her gaze. “As long as I’m your husband, I don’t really care.”
Leaning closer, she lowers her voice. “Is this because of the curse?”
I’m not sure I believe in the Knight family curse, or superstition, anymore. But that doesn’t mean I want to jinx it by saying that out loud.
“It’s because I want to discover what life’s like with you,” I rasp. “Away from all of this.”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, something sharp and knowing in her eyes. “Well, if it was because of the curse, I was going to say you could take my last name and become Jack Mortis,” she quips. “It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”
Carolina chokes on her water, laughter sputtering past her surprise. “God, Eve,” she gasps, reaching for her napkin. “Warn a girl before you say things like that.”
None of us point out that a change in last name didn’t save Ruby. She died a Simmons, not a Knight. But… maybe it’ll be enough since I’ve already died once. That means, Nick is the only one of us that never did. The last Knight standing by that logic.
Nick rolls his eyes, but I catch the twitch of his lips. “I like it.”
“Me too,” Eve laughs, the banter coming easier now, her shoulders relaxing by degrees.
I watch her, something warm unfurling in my chest at this glimpse of the woman beneath the wounds. For this moment, in this room, with our family, she’s safe. The scars are still there—visible on her cheek, hidden beneath her sweater—but they don’t define her.
Not here. Not now. Not fucking ever.
“You’d take her name?” Carolina asks me, with genuine curiosity in her tone. “Like, for real?”
I consider the question, rolling the idea around like wine on my tongue. “Knight, Mortis… what matters is who I am to her,” I say finally, my eyes never leaving Eve’s face. “Everything else i s just paperwork.”
Something shifts in Eve’s expression, a softening around the edges that makes my heart stutter in my chest. She doesn’t speak, but her hand finds mine under the table, fingers intertwining with silent understanding.
Talk drifts to mundane topics—Willow’s sleeping habits, Carolina’s plans for the east garden, Nick’s latest acquisition. The details of family life don’t thrill me, and when I look at my beautiful wife, I’m relieved to see I’m not the only one looking bored.
When Willow stirs, fussing in her bassinet, Carolina lifts her with practiced ease. The baby blinks up at us, dark eyes curious, tiny fingers flexing in the candlelight. Eve leans forward, her smile softening as Willow grasps her offered finger.
“Cute,” Eve murmurs, though she sounds more polite than sincere.
“Want to hold her?” Carolina’s already rising from her seat.
Eve hesitates, uncertainty flickering across her face. “I don’t know if I should—”
“You won’t break her,” Carolina assures, placing Willow carefully in Eve’s arms before she can protest further.
I watch my wife cradle my niece. Eve’s hands, capable of both healing and harm, are now gentle against Willow’s delicate form. The baby settles against her chest, trusting in a way that only the innocent can be.
“She likes you,” Nick observes, the pride in his voice unmistakable.
Eve doesn’t respond, her attention wholly captured by the child in her arms. But I see the way her jaw flexes, like she’s waiting for the right time to give Willow back to her parents.
“So, I actually have an idea,” Carolina interjects, smirking as she looks at Eve. “Because if tonight’s taught me anything, it’s that this kind of life would bore the both of you to death.”
“Are you going to tell them now?” Nick asks, straightening in his chair.
She grins wickedly. “Not a chance,” she sing-songs. “Let’s wait until after the Sanctuary closes. There are only four days left until Halloween.”
Later, when dinner is done and Willow’s in her nu rsery, we linger at the table. The ease thins as the talk turns to the best way to get rid of Shelby. Though my sister-in-law makes it clear she prefers killing to be done off the premises, she graciously offers to waive the rule this once.
My cock hardens as Eve looks at me, and when she shoots me a chilling smile, I stand abruptly, quickly pulling my wife with me and positioning her in front of me to hide my growing arousal.
“Time for bed,” I rasp, my lips near the shell of her ear.