Chapter 21 Aurora
AURORA
My body is pleasantly sore in a way that brings a flush to my cheeks as memories of last night flood back. The sunlight streaming through the windows casts a golden hue over everything. Hunter’s arm is heavy across my waist, possessive even in sleep. For a moment, I allow myself to feel safe.
But reality crashes back quickly. Liv is still missing. Jax still has her. And we’re no closer to finding them.
Hunter stirs beside me, instantly alert in that unnerving way of his. His hand slides up my bare back. “Morning,” he murmurs against my hair.
“Morning,” I reply, turning onto my side to face him. “Any news?”
He shakes his head. “Drones are still searching the Montana area. We should know something by this afternoon.”
I nod, swallowing my disappointment. Every hour Liv spends with Jax feels like an eternity.
“I think it’s safe for us to head back to the city today,” Hunter says, sitting up. “I’ve had the penthouse swept for bugs, and security’s been doubled. There are men stationed in the lobby now too.”
My stomach tightens. “I don’t know if I can go back to the city without her.”
“We’ll find her,” he promises, the certainty in his voice almost convincing me.
“Have you...” I hesitate, “Have you spoken to my dad about all this?”
Hunter’s expression shifts subtly. “Yes. He’s helping with resources, information. He’s understandably upset about what’s happened.”
“Did you tell him about us?” The question comes out smaller than I intended.
Hunter’s fingers brush my cheek. “Not yet. It didn’t seem like the right time, finding out you’d both been kidnapped. He’s focused on finding Olivia.”
I nod, understanding his reasoning even as I wonder how my father will react when he does find out. His stepdaughter and his daughter’s fiancé. It sounds like the plot of a bad soap opera.
“We’ll tell him,” Hunter says, reading my thoughts. “Together. Hopefully after we bring Olivia home, unless we need to tell him sooner.”
“But what do I tell him when he asks where I’m staying? Because he will ask.” I twist the bedsheet between my fingers. “I can’t exactly say I’m living with his business partner, who is, as far as he’s concerned, still engaged to his daughter.”
Hunter’s expression doesn’t change as he traces patterns on my bare shoulder. “You don’t tell him anything. He doesn’t need to know where you’re staying.”
“But—”
“I’ve already spoken to Derek about your security,” Hunter interrupts. “I assured him I’d find secure accommodation for you, under protection. He was satisfied with that.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And he didn’t ask for details?”
“He tried. I explained that the fewer people who knew your location, the safer you’d be.” Hunter’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “Your father understands security is paramount.”
I nod, releasing a deep sigh. Part of me wants to come clean immediately and stop living in the shadows. But another part recognizes Hunter’s logic. With Jax still out there and Liv by missing, maybe complete honesty isn’t the priority right now.
“Come on.” Hunter slides from the bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips. “Let’s get some food.”
I watch him move toward the door, all lean muscle and predatory grace. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
He glances back, something almost playful crossing his features. “There are still a few things you don’t know about me, Aurora.”
In the kitchen, I perch on a barstool while Hunter moves with surprising efficiency, cracking eggs into a bowl, slicing bread, and measuring coffee grounds. The domesticity of the moment feels surreal after everything we’ve been through.
“How did you learn to cook?” I ask as he whisks the eggs with practiced movements.
“Necessity.” He doesn’t look up from his task. “When you grow up without parents, you either learn or starve.”
The simple statement catches me off guard, a reminder of the layers still between us. I don’t know a lot about him or his past. I watch silently as he pours the eggs into a sizzling pan, thinking about all the questions I still need to ask him.
I watch him move around the kitchen with practiced ease, the revelation about his childhood hanging in the air between us. The question forms before I can stop it.
“Why did you grow up without parents? What happened to them?”
Hunter’s hands pause momentarily over the stove. His shoulders tense, and I immediately regret asking.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to—”
“No,” he interrupts, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You should know.” He flips the eggs onto plates and turns off the burner before meeting my eyes. “Car accident. I was seven.”
The simple statement lands with crushing weight. I remain silent, giving him space to continue or stop.
Hunter places the plates on the counter and leans against it, eyes fixed on some distant point.
“Rainy night. Drunk driver. They were coming home from a charity event while I was being watched by the babysitter.” His voice is methodical, as if reciting facts from a report, but I can see the muscle in his jaw working.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“My uncle took me in afterward.” A bitter smile crosses his face. “Not out of familial love. My parents left everything to me in a trust. He wanted control of it.”
“That’s horrible.”
Hunter shrugs. “He provided a roof. Food. Private schools to keep me out of his way. Otherwise, I barely existed.” His eyes finally meet mine. “I learned to cook because he fired the staff who showed me kindness. But a few maids took pity on me anyway. Taught me things when he wasn’t around.”
I slide off my stool and move to him, placing my hand over his. “That must have been incredibly lonely.”
“I adapted.” His fingers intertwine with mine. “I built my own life. My own family with the Vipers.”
The pain beneath his controlled exterior makes my heart ache. I understand better now—why control matters so much to him, why he holds people at a distance.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For telling me.”
Hunter’s gaze softens, and in that moment, I glimpse the child he once was—abandoned, determined to never need anyone again.
I step closer to him, placing my palm against his cheek. The man who terrifies enemies and commands empires leans into my touch like he’s starved for it.
“You know you don’t have to be alone anymore,” I whisper. “Not ever again.”
“Aurora...”
“I mean it,” I continue, my thumb tracing his jawline. “I know we’ve been through hell, and there’s still so much ahead of us, but whatever comes next, we will face it together.”
Hunter pulls me against him, burying his face in my hair. I feel him trembling, his breath uneven against my neck. When he lifts his head, I’m stunned to see moisture in his eyes.
“Hunter,” I breathe, reaching up to touch a tear tracking down his cheek.
He catches my hand, looking almost surprised at the wetness on his own fingers. “I haven’t cried since I was a kid,” he admits. “Not since the funeral.”
I rise on my toes and kiss him softly, our lips barely touching—so different from our usual desperate hunger. This kiss feels like a promise, tender in ways neither of us is accustomed to giving or receiving.
When I pull back, another tear has escaped. I brush it away and find myself smiling. “Look at that. The great Hunter Reed, brought down by a few childhood stories and a kiss.”
A low chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Careful,” he warns, though his eyes remain soft. “People might think you’re melting all that ice around my heart.”
“Good,” I say, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It was getting a bit chilly there anyway.”
His arms tighten around me as he laughs again—a real laugh that transforms his entire face. “Only you,” he murmurs against my temple. “Only you could do this to me.”
His arms tighten around me, our forgotten breakfast cooling on the counter. In this moment, with sunlight spilling across the kitchen tiles and the world temporarily held at bay, Hunter’s vulnerability strikes me as the most precious gift he could offer.
I rise on my toes again, my hands sliding up to frame his face. His eyes—those blue-gray eyes that have looked at me with lust, possession, even rage—now hold something infinitely more dangerous: trust.
Hunter’s hands cradle my face like I’m something precious. His thumbs brush my cheeks as he deepens the kiss with aching slowness. I taste salt from his tears, feel the slight tremble in his fingers.
“I’ve never let anyone see me like this,” he whispers against my lips.
I press closer. “I know.”
When he kisses me again, I feel walls crumbling—not just his, but mine too. The barriers we’ve built around our hearts, the defenses constructed from years of loss and pain, dissolve with each gentle brush of his lips.
His forehead rests against mine, our breathing synchronized. “I meant what I said, Aurora. I love you.” He says the words carefully, like they’re new tools he’s learning to use. “I’ve never said that to anyone before.”
Tears sting my eyes. In all our passionate encounters, in all the possessive words he’s growled against my skin, nothing has ever made me feel more his than this moment of quiet confession.
“I love you too,” I whisper back, the words carrying the weight of everything we’ve been through, everything we still face.
His smile—soft and real and just for me—is worth every moment of pain that brought us here.