Chapter 38
Rhys
Iwake up when the first pink threads of dawn bleed across the sky with one arm draped around Fallon’s waist. My face buried in her hair, I breathe her in like the air isn’t there without her scent.
And my sheets are never going to be the same.
My entire body hums with satisfaction. Her mouth, her laugh, the way she came apart every time I made her come isn’t something I’ll ever forget.
But this isn’t me. Or it’s not supposed to be me. None of this was supposed to happen. Least of all, how I feel about her.
I should untangle myself. Move. Pretend last night was a mistake.
But Christ, I can’t. She fits here. Fits in my arms. Fits me.
Her breathing shifts as she makes this soft, sleepy sound I’m already addicted to. It’s a half sigh, half of a content little coo. It drags a smile out of me before I can stop it.
The change in my breathing makes her roll onto her back. Hair spilling over the pillow, her eyes flutter open. After a few blinks, she turns to me.
And I wait.
I wait to see the horror in her eyes. That she slept with an assassin. One she saw kill a man. That we took things too far. That I was too impatient and pushed against her will like that bastard Kosta.
When a soft smile reaches her eyes, there’s no regret. Not even a shadow of it.
She just…beams.
And I know.
I’m done pretending. No more fake boyfriend. This is now real, and she is mine.
She figured out she was perfect for me before I did, slipped straight through my defenses without even trying.
Masterfully.
Now all I can do is catch up. Adjustments need to be made to my life, and I’m looking forward to being less lonely. Aching for the kind of happiness my brother and cousins have.
I kiss her shoulder. “Morning, love.”
“Hi,” she whispers.
All I want to do is freeze this moment. Stay like this, our bodies tangled in a soft, afterglow of all the love we made last night.
My ugly world hasn’t crept back in yet, and I want to keep it out. Just for a little longer.
But Fallon stretches, yawns, and says, “We have so much to do today.”
I groan at the cracked spell, but I’ve been feeding off her energy. I respect all her hard work. Her passion is to bring life and beauty into an ugly world.
“Hey,” I say, pulling her back next to me. “You okay? About last night.”
She blinks and breathes.
Oh no.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” She leans in and kisses me. “We’re in a relationship. This was the natural next step.”
Her moments of complete clarity floor me. Like when she’s crisp and not fanciful and dreamy. But I don’t mind her imaginative side. I’m used to how she talks to her plants now. I’ve seen mates talk to their dogs and then make up voices like the dogs are talking back.
No one thinks that’s weird.
We all need a way to get through the day.
I hope I can be the emotional anchor Fallon needs.
That she can come to me without a plant tribunal every time she spirals.
I have to watch her moods, and I’m okay with that.
And that she will be there for me in return.
To let me hold her after a kill until I turn human again, to let me work off the aggression with her in my bed.
To fill the silence when my head is screaming, but also let the quiet moments do their thing, because sometimes we don’t need words. Just each other’s breathing.
I went into this with my eyes wide open. I know what I’m getting and what I’m getting myself into.
And fuck, I can’t wait to see what happens next.
While I’m in my head, Fallon charges straight through to drill sergeant, reminding me of the upcoming events.
Here we go…
Operation Lobby Decorating Committee:
Strategy Meeting
Fallon claimed she only signed up to meet people in the building. To live a life not just made up of friendly nods, but genuine smiles and maybe even a little small talk. But within five minutes in the meeting room, she is barking orders like she’s commanding an elite strike force.
“Garland over the elevator arch. And tight, not like last year’s drooping, sad noodles. The ornaments will go on the tree by color family, not size. We want cohesion, people!”
I lean against the wall, quietly horrified but secretly impressed as she dictates rules on how to string the lights and how to wrap the fake gifts under the lobby tree.
She’s relentless against the resistance of lazy ideas. Precise with her instructions. And brilliant in her strategy.
She hands out sheets that show a detailed diagram of how the ornaments should hang. When and where she got these printed is the stark reminder that while I’m sleeping off a kill, or stalking someone, she’s whistling happily at a print shop.
As the group scans it over, a few very stupid people choose to laugh at it. She just blinks at them, confused, like she can’t fathom what’s funny about excellence. Their chuckles die when their eyes meet my death glare. Then they focus and show their appreciation.
All I can think of is how I want to destroy every person who doesn’t respect her. I’ll be spending my life maiming or murdering a lot of people because Fallon is different, and people are cruel arseholes.
More people need to see the passion burning in her as a gift, like I do. And God help me, I want more of this in my life.
More of her.
Operation Lobby Decorating Commencement
On the night of the actual decorating, Fallon moves like a platoon commander, and the residents obey her without question. Ribbons are tied around the banisters, bows are fluffed on the portico poles, and the lights wrapped around the pine garland are spaced perfectly.
I don’t know how she roped me into being the tree guardian, but I’m supposed to inspect all the donated trimmings and make sure the placements adhere to her plan.
Once it’s approved by the general, I string the tree lights while she directs the angles. When she goes quiet, I peek over my shoulder to see her adorable nose crinkled in concentration. Her tongue peeks out between her teeth, and her eyes narrow the way mine do when I’m focusing on a kill shot.
The shudder that runs through me feels like an aftershock.
With all the trimmings laid out for placement on a folding table, I notice she’s labeled our ornaments with tiny stickers that say Rhys and Fallon. Where she got those made, I have no idea. But I want a set.
When the tree is finally decorated, she steps back, sighing like she’s the coordinator for the tree at Rockefeller Center. Fuck, if she applies for that job, I will hold the hiring manager at gunpoint until they give it to her.
I’m in complete and utter awe of Fallon. Every year, I waltzed through this lobby and never gave a thought to how any of the holiday decorations got here. But I always liked how it looked, how it made me feel.
Fallon was behind this comfort before I even realized it.
Operation Neighborhood Caroling
On caroling night, I expect reluctant and sarcastic adults. Instead, it’s children. A dozen nine-year-olds from a nearby school. Once again, my elf made her magic happen by meeting with the principal to arrange this event.
She doesn’t even have a kid in the school.
I don’t question how some woman who shows up in candy-cane tights and her hair in a braid with red and gold ribbons passed for a responsible adult to chaperone children, but here we are.
Parents wait on a street corner and just hand over their kids to her and her assassin boyfriend.
Honestly, they all look like they need a break, a drink, or both.
Fallon walks ahead, leading the pack down a street of townhomes strung with lights against the crisp night air. I breathe in relief when I see a couple of parents taking up the rear so no kids get snatched.
When I notice the street sign, shivers run down my spine. We’re on Griffin’s block.
Before I can stop her, Fallon bounds past the iron gate to his townhouse in a Santa hat and the world’s shortest skirt. She’s about to knock on the door of the head of the Irish Mob, who can flick his wrist to one of his eight guards, and she’ll be toast.
I can already see the headlines: Mob Boss Levels Carolers. Neighborhood Kids Traumatized.
Not that Griffin would ever want to hurt a woman. That’s not how the Quinlans operate. Hell, Raina kept breaking into Connor’s flat to kill him, and he not only let her live, but he also fell in love and married her.
Fallon knocks before I can stop her, and I hold my breath. Of course, this is the one night Griffin answers the door himself.
I watch as his eyes flick over her. He’s married, not dead. When he sees the children, the sheet music, and the Santa hats, the guy smiles, and I relax.
Griffin calls over his shoulder, “Siren, come see this!”
And there she is. Leaning against her husband.
Ava, sister to the Zervas brothers. A black op assassin in her own right, hiding in the military before Ares found her and dragged her back to New York to marry Griffin.
To say she wasn’t happy about the match is an understatement.
I heard she came at him with a knife when he found her.
Two years later, they are the picture of happiness.
There is a happy-ever-after for assassins, I guess.
I hang back in the shadows, praying for invisibility. And it almost works. Until Griffin’s gaze snags on me. Then back to Fallon leading the knot of sugared-up children.
Then back to me, again in a slow, horrified, disbelieving gawk.
His lips part like he’s about to ask a question, but realizes he doesn’t even have the vocabulary for whatever the fuck this is. So, he shuts his mouth.
I’ve seen the man stare down machine guns with less confusion. The kids finish, and Ava drops a wad of money into the donation bucket. The front door closes, and the eight empire guards retreat.
My phone doesn’t ring, and my heart restarts. Surely, a call is being made to Trace.
Who the fuck cares…
Operation Death by Cookies
Ten days later, I’m light-strung into something called a cookie exchange hosted by one of the neighbors in my building.
I can’t get the smell of cinnamon and ginger out of my nose because Fallon and I worked on trays of cookies until late last night. We fucked like sugared-up elves while they were in the oven to pass the time. I’ve never had stamina like this. I can’t get enough of her.
Fallon is glowing with her trays of ginger treats made with the root she grew herself. Everyone else’s cookies look and taste like sawdust sprinkled with stale sugar.
The flat of the host, a wealthy banker, is a gallery of excess, and their tree is nothing short of obscene. Floor to ceiling, perfectly green, perfectly shaped, perfectly sculpted with some designer’s idea of a family Christmas tree.
One year, our Christmas tree in Waterford had an entire section missing. Trace and I strung popcorn and tinsel and sat for hours watching the train underneath go around and around.
This one has an entire miniaturized replica of Manhattan under it.
Yet, Fallon stares at it like it’s the Mona Lisa.
Then something shifts in her eyes, and my heart stops. Is there something she wants? I want to give her whatever the hell she desires. She deserves it.
“What’s the matter, love?” I brush my lips against her ear.
No point in hiding our relationship, she’s been telling everyone for years that I’m her boyfriend.
“It’s almost Christmas,” she whispers. “And I don’t even have a tree yet.”
She sounds devastated. And I feel guilty as hell because I’ve kept her busy. In my bed.
The banker swaggers over all smug when we’ve lingered in front of his treasure for too long. “Drove to Vermont, cut it down myself, paid a fortune, then hired a designer to decorate it.”
No kidding…
“It’s beautiful,” Fallon says.
The guy finally gets a look at her, past her strange clothes and her crazy chatter. He sees it. Sees what I see. A gorgeous knockout with lips that suck my dick and make me come in her mouth better than any woman ever has. All while she’s naked except for Rudolph earrings.
I’m worried there’s something wrong with me that someone so quirky turns me on so damn much. But I’ve never been happier.
The banker’s wife sees her husband drawn to Fallon, too, and screeches his name from across the living room. He trots off like a trained poodle.
Smart bloke.
I stare at the tree and grin, making calculations. Height, width, ornament factor, and the location of the bedrooms. On the way out, I casually swipe a spare flat key from the bowl by the door.
In the elevator, I push Fallon against the back wall and kiss her.
“Your place or mine, tonight?” she asks softly, arching into my groin.
The sex is nothing short of phenomenal.
“Yours,” I say without hesitation.
Her smile could light the whole damn city. We barely make it inside her flat before I’ve got her pinned against the wall, kissing her like I’ve been starving. I strip her down, and the sex is quick and desperate and nothing like last night’s slow worship of her body.
I made her come so hard she looks ready to pass out. We collapse onto her bed. She curls against me, naked, satisfied, and perfect, the sheet barely covering her arse. The smile on her face kills me.
But I make her a quick spot of tea and put one of her sleeping pills in it because I need her to stay passed out.
I watch her fall asleep in a matter of minutes. Her hair spills across the pillow, a fiery chaos around her head. And in my life.
My chest aches from the kind of satisfaction I feel. How she’s so soft against the hard shell I let form around my heart. How she utterly trusts me.
She clung to me last night while I drove into her, harder than before. I’m slowly getting her used to how I like sex. All while making me a more passionate lover in bed because her crooked smile with her eyes closed while I fuck her is something I live for now.
Now, I’ve got work to do. I get dressed, but I can’t stop staring down at this creature who wandered into my web and wouldn’t leave. Now she can’t leave me.
Now you’re mine, little elf.
I press my phone to my ear, and when Blade answers, I say, “I need you and Jett. Right now.”
The next morning, a scream jolts me awake.
Adrenaline flooding my veins, I jump out of bed and grab my gun. “Fallon, what is it?”
With wild hair, she stands in the living room, wearing nothing but my T-shirt, holding the basil plant.
She spins toward me, eyes glittering with the most delicious mischief I’ve ever seen. “You stole their Christmas tree!”
I slept so fucking good next to her that I damn near forgot. I grin like the Grinch. Because there it is. The obscene designer tree. In her living room.
Fallon’s mouth falls open in delighted horror, and I love it. I love us. Fallon and me. The assassin and the quirky plant girl.
I can’t help it, I am falling so hard for this woman.
I only hope I survive it.