24. Chapter Twenty-four #3
When I wake, I feel it first in my bones, the deep, aching heaviness of something that can never be undone.
My body hurts everywhere. Wrists raw. Ankles bruised. Skin sticky with blood that might not be mine. For a second, panic claws at my chest. But then a familiar scent surrounds me, dark and rich, edged in violence, unmistakably Kane…and I know I’m safe.
Even if safe now has a different meaning.
My eyes flutter open slowly, adjusting to the soft, low light of the bedroom. His bedroom. Back at the compound.
His hand tightens gently around mine, the other palm flat against my stomach, heavy and possessive. When I glance up, he’s already watching me, eyes dark, haunted, jaw tight enough to shatter bone.
He says nothing.
Just breathes.
“Is it over?” I whisper.
A flicker passes across his face, something ruthless and stark, but he nods. “He’s gone.”
Not dead. Gone. As if Kane didn’t just take his life but erased his entire existence.
My breath shakes. “Good.”
I turn my head slightly, pressing my face into his chest, breathing him in until my lungs stop trembling.
“Did he…”
“No,” Kane cuts in immediately, voice dark, absolute. “He didn’t.”
“But you did,” I whisper quietly, tracing a small scar along his shoulder, avoiding his gaze. “You killed him.”
“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate. No remorse. Just a simple, brutal truth. “Slowly.”
The quiet satisfaction in his voice should scare me. And maybe it does, a little. But the part of me that he’s awakened, the part he’s carved out and reshaped to fit him, only feels relief.
I don’t say anything else for a long time. Neither does he.
But he holds me. Strokes my hair. Kisses my temple with quiet reverence. And each touch slowly erases the ghosts that cling to my skin.
Eventually, he breaks the silence, voice rougher, lower. “I shouldn’t have let this happen.”
“You didn’t,” I say firmly, shifting until I can look into his eyes. “They did.”
He flinches slightly. Not visibly, he’s too controlled for that, but I feel it beneath my palm. That fracture of guilt he won’t ever speak aloud.
“Camille…”
I stop him gently. “You came for me.”
His eyes darken, glittering fiercely. “Always.”
I know what that means, what it cost. I saw it in his eyes when he walked into that room, a hurricane of vengeance, raw, relentless.
I reach up, cupping his face, feeling the stubble scratch my palm. “I don’t regret any of this. Not you. Not us.”
His expression softens by a fraction, eyes haunted. “I’m supposed to keep you safe, Camille. That’s the deal.”
“You did.”
“You don’t understand,” His voice breaks slightly, just enough that I see beneath his armor.
“You’re not just mine. You’re my reason for breathing, my reason for fucking existing. If I lose you…”
“You won’t.”
“…there won’t be anything left,” he finishes harshly, like a vow. “Nothing but blood and ashes.”
My heart pounds heavily, grief tangled with love, fear twisted with a fierce, unyielding kind of devotion. “Then we bleed the same. We burn together. Because I’m never leaving you.”
He exhales sharply, closing his eyes briefly. When they reopen, the darkness isn’t gone, but it’s tempered. Warmed by something deeper.
“I’m yours,” he whispers finally. “To the fucking bone.”
I nod, pulling his mouth to mine gently, letting the kiss say everything we can’t yet speak aloud.
We’re survivors now, forged by blood and violence and loss. We’re more than lovers. More than partners.
We’re bonded by something unbreakable.
And even if hell itself rises to drag us down, we’ll descend hand-in-hand, because neither of us knows how to let go anymore.
And neither of us wants to learn.
Kane
She settles against me, but there’s no softness. No release. Her spine remains rigid, breathing shallow, careful, like she’s balancing on a blade’s edge, a single wrong breath away from shattering.
I feel her tremble, the silent vibrations of fear and strength wrapped into one body, one soul, so fucking fragile, yet stronger than anything I’ve ever known. And I realize the truth sharply, painfully clear: if I speak now, if I move wrong, she’ll crumble right here, right now, in my arms.
So I stay quiet.
I hold her with a patience I’ve never allowed myself before, my palm resting at her waist, thumb tracing slow, gentle circles. No demands. No expectations. Just touch, just presence, steady and unconditional, trying to anchor her in a moment where nothing else is safe.
The silence spreads, thick, charged, humming softly with every shadow we’ve barely survived, every horror still waiting just outside our locked doors. But I know darkness. I’m accustomed to trauma. Ready for violence, for grief, for screams.
What I’m not ready for is Camille pulling away slightly.
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at me. Instead, she takes my hand, guiding it downward, her fingers trembling slightly as she positions mine, carefully, purposefully, against her stomach.
My breath stalls in my chest, my lungs refusing to move, my pulse hammering behind my ribs like gunfire, sharp and wild.
Camille places her own hand over mine, pressing softly, as if holding us both together. Then, in a whisper so fragile it feels like spun glass, she says it:
“I think you’re going to be a dad.”
The words strike like lightning, electric, bright, silent, but deafening.
Not bullets. Not blood. Just this…a moment of fragile hope amid ruin, something small and powerful and impossibly pure in a world stained by everything I’ve done.
She finally lifts her gaze, eyes bright with tears, uncertainty pooling in their depths, raw vulnerability etched into every line of her face.
And I feel something rip open deep inside…something locked tight for so long I barely remember it existed. It floods through me, warmth, wonder, awe mingled with a deep, aching fear. Not for me. For them.
My family.
“Say it again,” I breathe, voice rough, broken, the man I’ve become split wide open, laid bare in front of her.
Her lip trembles slightly, but she doesn’t look away. “I think I’m pregnant, Kane.” Her voice cracks, raw and beautiful. “I think you’re going to be a father.”
My hand stays locked gently on her stomach, fingers spread, protective, reverent. I lean forward slowly, carefully pressing my forehead to hers, absorbing this truth. Letting it in.
And I shatter quietly.
This isn’t something I thought I’d ever deserve. Not after everything I’ve done. Not with the blood still staining my hands, the screams still echoing in my ears. But she’s handing it to me anyway, a second chance, redemption in the form of something innocent, something ours.
My voice is ragged against her skin. “I’ll protect you both. With everything I have, everything I am. I swear it. I’ll kill for this. I’ll die for this.”
Her hands wrap around my wrists, holding on tight. Her gaze holds mine fiercely, unwavering.
“I know,” she whispers. “That’s why I’m still here.”
I kiss her slowly, gently, like I’m drowning and she’s the only breath left in my lungs. Not like a man who owns her. But like a man given grace, like a monster given forgiveness by the only angel who ever saw him clearly.
Like a man who’s just been saved.