25. Esmerelda #2
"You watch him like he's a puzzle you're trying to solve.
Like there's something written in his movements that you need to decipher.
Every meal, every morning briefing, every time he walks into a room with that careful distance he maintains from everyone.
You know exactly where he is, even when you're pretending not to look, when your eyes are supposedly fixed on your food or your hands or anything else. "
The silence is different now. Heavier. Weighted with things unsaid, with years of watching and wanting and holding back.
"Maybe he is a puzzle," she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "One I've been trying to figure out for a long time. Too long, probably."
"How long?"
She doesn't answer immediately. The garden seems to hold its breath around us, the wildflowers swaying gently in the morning breeze. But the way she swallows hard, the way her fingers tighten and twist on her lap, knuckles going white, tells me more than words could ever express.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." Her voice is firm, controlled, the walls snapping back into place with practiced efficiency. But then something cracks, just slightly. Just enough to let a sliver of vulnerability through. "Not yet. I'm not... I'm not ready. But... thank you. For asking. For noticing."
"When you're ready, I'm here. No pressure, no timeline."
She looks at me then, really looks, and I see something vulnerable beneath the carefully constructed exterior.
Something that wants to trust but doesn't know how.
I recognize that look too. I've seen it in the mirror, in the months before Stellan, when I was so busy taking care of everyone else that I forgot I needed care too.
"I know," she says. Almost a smile. "That's why I trust you. You don't push. You don't try to fix. You just... wait."
"I learned from the best." I think of Stellan, of all the times he held back, gave me space, let me come to him in my own time. "Sometimes love isn't about doing. It's about being. Being present. Being patient. Being there when someone's ready to reach."
June is quiet for a long moment. Then she stands, brushing off her jeans, her expression carefully neutral again.
"I should get back," she says. "Kira wanted help with the supply inventory."
"Of course."
She starts to walk away, then pauses. Turns back.
"Esme?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For seeing me." Her voice is quiet, almost fragile. "Most people don't. They see the mechanic, the coworker, the woman who keeps to herself. They don't see... the rest."
"There's a lot of rest to see," I say gently. "When you're ready to show it."
Something flickers in her eyes. Pain, maybe. Or hope. Or the first tiny crack in walls she's been building for years.
Then she's gone, disappearing into the compound, and I'm left alone in Eliza's overgrown garden, thinking about all the stories we carry and all the love we're afraid to reach for.
The sun is setting when Stellan finds me on the porch.
I've been sitting here for an hour, watching the light fade over the Nevada desert, thinking about everything and nothing.
The compound is quiet around me, the day winding down, brothers heading to dinner or retiring to their rooms. Somewhere inside, I can hear laughter, the clink of glasses, the sounds of a family at peace.
Stellan settles beside me, his massive frame making the bench creak. He doesn't say anything at first. Just sits with me, watching the sky turn orange and pink and purple, letting the silence be enough.
"What are you thinking?" he asks finally.
"That I'm happy." The words surprise me, even though they're true. "That I found something I didn't know I was looking for."
"What's that?"
I turn to look at him, this man who's become my whole world. This gentle giant with his scarred hands and his rumbling voice and his beast that purrs when I touch him. This monster who turned out to be the kindest soul I've ever known.
"Someone who takes care of me too."
He rumbles, that almost-laugh that I love so much.
"Always, little one. Always."
I turn in his arms, wrapping myself around him as much as his size will allow. He pulls me close, his chin resting on top of my head, his arms like a fortress around me.
"The war isn't over," I murmur against his chest, feeling the steady rumble of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
"No," he agrees, his voice a low vibration that I feel as much as hear.
"Dragan's still out there. Plotting. Planning his next move."
"Yes." His arms tighten fractionally around me.
"And Kieran and June..." I trail off, thinking of my friend's haunted eyes, of the warrior who watches her with barely concealed hunger.
"Their story is just beginning." He presses a lingering kiss to my hair, breathing me in. "But that's not our battle to fight. Not our war to wage."
"I know." I pull back enough to look up at his face, to trace the familiar lines and scars with my gaze—at the man I love, at the future we're building together brick by careful brick.
"But I'll be there for her. When she's ready to face whatever comes next.
The way you were there for me when I needed it most."
His expression softens, something warm and proud flickering in those dark eyes. "That's who you are, little one. The woman who reaches for broken things and refuses to let go."
"The woman who loves them," I correct gently, reaching up to cup his rough jaw. "All of them. Beast and man. Every scarred, damaged, beautiful part."
He kisses me, soft and deep and full of promise. The beast inside him purrs, content in a way I know he never expected to feel. We've both found something we didn't know we were missing. We've both learned that love isn't something you earn. It's something you accept.
The sun disappears below the horizon, and the first stars emerge. Somewhere out there, Dragan Voss is planning his revenge. Somewhere inside, Kieran Cole carries wounds that haven't healed. Somewhere in the compound, June Novak guards secrets that will eventually demand to be told.
The war isn't over. The final battle is coming. Book six of our story is waiting to be written.
But for now, in this moment, there's peace.
For now, there's love. For now, that's enough.
That's everything.