Chapter 9 #2
Then I'm being hugged hard. She's real. She's solid. She's warm. She's here. She smells like woodsmoke and pine and coffee. She's alive. She's actually alive.
Tears burn my eyes. My throat closes. "I thought you were dead." The words come out choked. They're broken. "We all thought you were dead. There was a memorial service. Your family—God, Caryn, your family."
"I know. I'm sorry." She pulls back and looks me over. She takes in my condition. Exhaustion is written all over me. There's dirt and blood probably. There are haunted eyes definitely. "Come inside. You're freezing. We'll get you warm and then we'll figure this out."
My legs want to give out. Seeing her. After all this time. After believing she was gone. Relief and anger and confusion are all tangled together. "How could you just disappear? How could you let us think—"
"I'll explain. I promise." Her voice is gentle but firm. "But first you need to get warm and eat something. You look like you're about to collapse."
The cabin interior is warm. It's solid. It's safe in a way I haven't felt since this nightmare started. Zeb disappears into a back room with Magnus. It's probably a strategy discussion. That leaves me with Caryn in a kitchen that smells like coffee and woodsmoke.
She puts a mug in my hands. I wrap my fingers around it and let the heat seep into frozen joints. We sit at a rough-hewn table. She doesn't push. She waits for me to be ready.
"You stayed." I finally manage. "You found him and you stayed."
"I found him. Fell in love with him. Couldn't leave." Voice simple. Honest. "This is the life I chose."
"Are you happy?"
"Happier than I ever was before." Leans forward. Eyes serious now. "What about you? Magnus. Is he—"
"I love him." Words surprise me even as I say them. Not what I wanted. Not what I expected. But true. Undeniable. "I know what he is. What he does. I watched him kill people today and I'm here anyway."
Caryn nods slowly. No shock. No judgment. Just understanding. "Men like them aren't safe. Not civilized. But they're honest about what they are. And when they commit, they commit completely."
"How do you live with it?" My voice drops. Raw. "Violence. Danger. Knowing what they're capable of."
"Because the alternative is worse." She squeezes my hand. "Going back to a life where I was safe but empty. Where I followed all the rules and smiled at faculty parties and felt nothing. This? This is real. Raw. Sometimes terrifying. But I'm alive in a way I never was before."
"I watched him kill three men." Need her to understand. "Just. Pulled the trigger. No hesitation. No remorse. Like it was nothing."
"It wasn't nothing." Caryn's voice is firm. "But it was necessary. And that's the difference. Men like Zeb and Magnus, they don't kill for pleasure. They kill to survive. To protect. Would you rather Magnus hesitated? Let them kill you both?"
"No." Immediate. Certain. "No, I'm glad he didn't hesitate."
"Then you accept what he is. You can't separate the darkness from the rest of them. It's all part of who they are. Violence and protection. Danger and absolute certainty. Either you accept all of it or none of it. There's no middle ground with men like them."
I think about Magnus. The way he checked me for injuries with shaking hands after the shootout. Concern and something more was in his voice when he asked if I was hurt. His focus was absolute focus when he was eliminating threats. Two sides of the same coin. You can't have one without the other.
"I accept it." Saying it out loud makes it real. "All of it. The darkness included."
Caryn smiles. It's sad and knowing and relieved all at once. "Then you'll be okay. It won't be easy. But you'll be okay."
Later, Magnus and I are alone in the bedroom. Zeb and Caryn gave us their room for the night. It's privacy we desperately need after the day we've had. The tension that's been building all day finally has room to expand.
"You killed three men today." I state it as fact.
"I did." He's watching me. He's waiting for judgment.
"They were going to kill us."
"Yes."
"You did what you had to."
"Yes." His voice is flat. There's no apology. There's no justification. It's just fact.
I cross the space between us. I stand close enough to feel his heat. "I love you."
He goes still. He's absolutely motionless. He's watching me like he's not sure he heard correctly.
"I love you." I repeat. "I know what you are. I've seen what you can do. I'm here anyway. I'm choosing this. I'm choosing you."
His hands come up to frame my face. They're rough. They're possessive. "You can't take it back once you say it."
"I don't want to take it back."
"I'll never let you go." His voice is fierce. It's certain. "You're mine now. Completely. You understand that?"
"Yes."
"Say it. Say you're mine."
"I'm yours." I hold his gaze. "And you're mine."
He kisses me hard. He's making his claim. His hands fist in my hair. When he pulls back, his eyes are burning. "I love you. I'm keeping you. No matter what happens. No matter who comes for us. You're mine and I'm not giving you up."
There's no doubt in his voice. There's no uncertainty. There's no worry about corrupting me or destroying me. He's stating fact. He's making his claim on what's his. This is the man I fell in love with. He's dark. He's possessive. He's completely certain of what he wants.
"Good." I pull him closer. "Because I'm not leaving. Ever."
"Ever." He agrees against my mouth.
Kisses me again and this time there's no space for words. His hands are on me. Rough. Possessive. Claiming every inch. My hands are on him, feeling the solid muscle, the warmth, and the strength that killed three men today to keep me safe.
We're alive. We're together. We're committed to whatever comes next.
Tomorrow we'll figure out the evidence. Plans. Future.
Tonight, we have this. Tonight, I'm his and he's mine and nothing else matters.
His mouth trails down my neck. His teeth graze the spot where my pulse pounds. I feel the scrape of his stubble and the heat of his breath. "Mine," he growls against my skin.
"Yours," I breathe back. I mean it. Every syllable.
He lifts me and I wrap my legs around his waist. Strong. Steady. Carries me toward the bed like I weigh nothing. Eyes never leaving mine. Dark. Hungry. Possessive in ways that should terrify me.
They don't.
"Show me," I tell him. Voice rough. Needy. "Show me I'm yours."
His smile is wicked. Dangerous. Perfect. "With pleasure."
He lays me on the bed and follows me down. His weight presses me into the mattress. Solid. Real. His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones. He’s gentle despite the hunger in his eyes.
"I love you." Voice fierce. Certain. "You're mine. Say it again."
"I'm yours." Arch up against him. "Completely yours."
"Damn right you are." His mouth crashes down on mine, claiming and devouring me. His hands move over me, peeling away the layers. Cold air hits my skin before the heat of his body covers mine. We're skin to skin with nothing between us.
His hands map every curve, every hollow, learning and memorizing me. His possessive touch leaves fire in its wake. I do the same, exploring the hard planes of his muscles and the scars—the evidence of violence written on his skin. This is what he is. Dangerous. Deadly. Mine.
"I'm never letting you go." His breath is hot against my ear. "Never. Do you understand?"
"Yes." My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. "I don't want you to."
He takes me apart slowly, deliberately, watching every reaction, every gasp, every shiver. He's learning what makes me moan, what makes me beg. Control and hunger war in his expression.
"Magnus." His name is a plea, a demand, a promise.
"I've got you." His voice is dark and rough. "I've got you, baby. I'm right here."
Then he's inside me and the world narrows to just this—the thick stretch, the burning fullness. My body adjusts to accommodate him. He stills, letting me feel every inch, waiting, controlled even now.
"Move." I barely recognize my own voice—needy and desperate. "Please, Magnus."
He pulls out slow, achingly slow, then drives back in hard, punching the air from my lungs. He sets a rhythm that's claiming and possessive, taking what's his.
His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, anchoring me, holding me exactly where he wants me. The marks bloom under his fingers—the evidence of his possession. I don't care. I want them.
Each thrust hits deeply at the perfect angle. The pleasure builds with every stroke. I can feel him everywhere, consuming me, overwhelming me.
"So fucking perfect." His voice is rough against my ear. "Made for me. Only me."
My nails rake down his back, drawing blood probably, claiming him the same way he's claiming me.
The rhythm builds—harder, faster. Our bodies are slick with sweat. There's the sound of skin meeting skin, the gasping breaths, his name falling from my lips like a prayer.
"Look at me." His voice is demanding and fierce.
I do. I meet that dark gaze and see myself reflected there—wanted, claimed, loved.
"Mine." He says it with every thrust, every claiming touch. "Mine, Neve. Only mine."
"Only yours." I'm gasping and clinging to him. "Only ever yours."
It builds between us, the tension coiling tighter. His name is on my lips. My name is on his. When I shatter, he's right there with me, holding me through it, anchoring me, keeping me safe even as I fall apart.
After, we're tangled together, our sweat-slicked skin pressed close, our hearts racing. His face is buried in my neck as he breathes hard.
"I love you." He whispers it against my skin. "So fucking much."
"I love you too." My fingers trace patterns on his back, feeling his muscles twitch.
Outside, the wind howls. Danger waits. The hunters are still out there somewhere. But in this moment, wrapped in Magnus's arms, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Safe. Claimed. Home.