23. Esmerelda #2
But all I can think about is Stellan, still out there in enemy territory, still somewhere in the violent aftermath of the berserker state, fighting his way back to himself.
And Kieran, injured and bleeding, his fifteen-year quest for vengeance against Dragan still maddeningly, devastatingly incomplete.
"Team Alpha, what's the current status on Stellan?" I ask, unable to keep the strain from my voice.
Barrett's response comes through after a long pause, his words heavy with bone-deep exhaustion. "Coming back. He's fighting his way back to himself. Just give him another minute to find his way through."
I close my eyes, draw in a steadying breath, and press the transmit button one more time with trembling fingers. "I'm here," I say softly into the microphone, willing him to hear me across the distance. "Whenever you're ready, whatever you need. I'm right here."
The wait feels endless. Around me, Kira coordinates extraction. June handles logistics with hands that have finally stopped shaking. Reports come in, casualty counts, prisoners taken, the scope of what we've won and what it cost us.
Three brothers dead. Seven injured, including Kieran. But Bloodtusk's stronghold has fallen. Their leadership is scattered. Dragan escaped, but his power base is shattered.
This isn't over. But it's a turning point.
"Convoy incoming," someone calls out. "ETA ten minutes."
The command center erupts into controlled activity, everyone moving to prepare for the returning teams. Medical supplies are staged. Stretchers readied. The grim machinery of aftermath kicks into motion.
I pull off my headset and stand on legs that feel unsteady, moving toward the compound gates where the vehicles will arrive. Margot falls into step beside me, her face pale but composed. Roman is in one of those trucks, injured but alive. We're all waiting for someone.
"You did good," she says quietly. "Keeping him connected. That's not easy work."
"It didn't feel like work. It felt like the only thing I could do."
"That's what love is, sometimes. The only thing you can do, and the hardest thing in the world."
The morning has turned bright by the time the convoy appears, battered trucks and bikes rolling through the gates with the weary triumph of survivors.
Brothers pour out, some walking, some carried, all of them wearing the evidence of the battle they've just won.
Blood and dirt and exhaustion written on every face.
I search every face, every massive form, looking for the one I need.
Around me, reunions happen in fragments.
Margot runs to Roman, careful of his injuries but unable to hold back.
Kira finds Barrett, their embrace fierce and brief before they're both back to coordinating.
Eliza reaches Harlan, her hands running over his face like she's making sure he's real.
And then I see him.
Stellan emerges from one of the trucks, still covered in blood that isn't his, moving slowly, his eyes scanning the crowd with the same desperate focus I'm feeling. He looks exhausted, hollowed out, the aftermath of the berserker written in every line of his body.
But when he sees me, something shifts. The exhaustion doesn't disappear, but underneath it, relief blooms. Hope.
I run.
I don't think about protocol or propriety or the dozens of people watching.
I just run, throwing myself across the distance between us, and when I reach him, he catches me.
Lifts me off my feet. Holds me against his chest like I'm the only solid thing in a world that's been trying to shake itself apart.
"I heard you," he says against my hair, his voice rough with emotion. "The whole time. Every word."
"You came back."
"I always will." He pulls back just enough to look at my face, and I see the man I love, whole and present and here. "For you. I'll always come back for you."
I kiss him, not caring about the blood or the audience or any of it. Just needing to feel him, to taste the life still pounding through his veins, to prove to myself that he's real and alive and mine.
When we finally break apart, I become aware of the compound around us. Brothers reuniting with their women. The wounded being carried to the medical bay. The quiet grief for those who won't be coming home.
"Kieran?" I ask, my heart still hammering from the relief of having Stellan back, but needing to know about his brother.
"Being treated. He took a beating, but he'll live." Stellan's expression darkens, jaw tightening. "Dragan got away. Slipped through our fingers when we had him cornered."
"June told me." I remember the frustration in her voice, the controlled anger.
"The war isn't over. He'll regroup, rebuild his forces. This was just one battle."
"No." I reach up to touch his face, my fingertips tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the dried blood at his temple, anchoring myself in the solid reality of him standing here before me. "But this battle is. And you're here. You're safe. That's what matters right now."
"Thanks to you." He presses his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips. "Your voice was the only thing that made sense in the red. The only light cutting through the darkness trying to pull me under."
"Then I'll always be there. Whenever you need me. However deep you go, I'll follow."
He closes his eyes, and I see something release in him—some profound tension he's been carrying since before the battle, maybe since long before we even met. A weight finally lifting.
"I love you," he says, his voice cracking slightly on the words. "I love you more than I knew I was capable of loving anyone. More than I thought possible for someone like me."
"I love you too." I smile through the tears I can't hold back anymore, the ones that have been building since I first saw him walk through that door. "Now let's get you cleaned up. You're covered in blood and scaring the prospects."
He laughs, a rough, exhausted sound that scrapes out of his throat, but it's genuine. The first real laugh I've heard from him since before the battle began. "They should be scared. It's good for them."
"Of you? Never." I take his hand, twining our fingers together and feeling the calluses on his palm, the dried blood between our joined hands. "You're just a teddy bear with tusks."
"Don't let anyone hear you say that. I have a reputation to maintain around here."
"Your secret's safe with me." I squeeze his hand, a silent promise.
We walk together toward the compound, toward the medical bay where he'll be checked over and cleaned up.
Around us, the compound is processing the aftermath of victory.
Wounded being treated. Reports being filed.
The quiet grief for the brothers we lost mingling with the relief for those who survived.
I catch sight of June near the medical bay entrance, her expression carefully neutral as she watches a stretcher being carried inside. Kieran. Even from here, I can see the injuries, the blood. But he's alive. Fifteen years of hunting Dragan, and he's still alive.
June meets my eyes for a moment, and I see something there. Something she's been hiding for longer than I've known her. Then she looks away, back to her work, and the moment passes.
That's a story for another time, one that will unfold in its own way, with its own complications and truths. For now, I have my own story to tend to, my own path to walk.
"The war isn't over," Stellan says quietly as we walk, his voice carrying the weight of experience and hard-won knowledge. "Dragan's still out there, licking his wounds and plotting. He'll rebuild his forces. He'll come back stronger, angrier. Men like him always do."
"Then we'll face him again when that day comes." I squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against mine, the tangible proof that he's here, alive, beside me. "Together. All of us. Whatever he throws at us, we'll stand against it."
"Kieran won't rest until Dragan's dead and buried," he says, his tone somewhere between certainty and concern. "This is personal for him now. It's been personal for fifteen years."
"Neither will you," I point out gently, knowing him well enough to see through any pretense.
He's silent for a moment, his jaw working as he considers his words. "No. But I have something more important now than vengeance alone. I have you. I have a future worth protecting, worth fighting for. That changes everything."
"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me," I murmur, warmth spreading through my chest.
"I'll try to do better," he promises with characteristic gruffness.
"Don't change too much, though. I like the growly, mysterious version too."
We reach the medical bay, and the medics descend on him immediately, checking wounds I didn't even notice, cleaning blood I was too focused on his face to see. I stay beside him through all of it, holding his hand while they work, refusing to let go.
This is what love is, I realize. Not fixing someone. Not saving them. Just being there. Through the battles and the wounds and the long road home.
I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.