Chapter 45
Ivy
Sunlight bleeds through the blinds. Warmth is the first thing I feel, pressed between two hard bodies.
I’m curled into Phoenix, my cheek resting on his tattooed chest, heartbeat pulsing in my ear as his ribs rise and fall.
Myles is pressed tightly against my ass, his arm draped over me possessively. His body is slightly sticky and warmer since he’s making more contact, as if he’s afraid I might sneak away if he lets go.
Just thinking about the last few days with them makes me blush. The way they’ve showered me, touched me, carried me everywhere and fucked me in wild positions.
Every muscle aches, sore and swollen—but my heart overflows. And I can’t get enough.
They haven’t tried to leave again since I stopped them a few days ago, and I’m revelling in every moment with them.
I’ve never felt like this before. Secure. Treasured. I could stay like this forever, breathing them in.
They smell like soap and pomade. Surrounding me like castle walls. It’s something sacred I never thought I’d be allowed to feel.
Tracing my fingers gingerly along Phoenix’s forearm, I watch his muscles twitch from my light touch. Myles murmurs something behind me in his sleep and I find myself smiling at the moment that feels so serene.
A little private moment, so perfect and simple.
But I can’t help wondering where Zane is. Out hunting already? Or did he slip back into his own bed?
Carefully, and quiet as I can, I slip free from the pile. Myles’s arm drags across my waist before falling heavy onto the mattress, leaving behind the ghost of warmth.
Finding one of their shirts, I pull it on before creeping out the door.
After finding Zane’s room empty, I make my way down the stairs on sore legs, enjoying every twinge in my muscles. I take a quick shower, before padding barefoot into the kitchen and start a kettle on the old stove.
The silence is peaceful, even with the distant moan of wind pressing against the building like a monster trying to find entry.
I drop a tea bag into a mug and pour the boiling water over it. Steam curls against my face, stinging my nose before softening into warmth. The dried leaves smell floral. Chamomile, maybe?
I wrap my hands around the hot mug and breathe in the faint scent. Reminding me of the peaceful mornings spent on my old balcony.
It’s been years since I let myself remember those days. They felt like a lifetime ago, too painful to touch.
Especially when my survival hinged on sadistic men who wanted me to believe they were purifying me whilst beating me like a dog. Safety became foreign, and all I had left were memories.
A quiet shift of movement comes from the doorway behind me. I jolt so hard the tea sloshes against the rim of my mug.
Spinning on my heels, I find Zane shirtless, arms casually slung over the doorframe like he’s been watching a while.
His huge frame fills the entire doorway, his scars lending to his intimidating size, his face lit with a crooked grin. “Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
Heat floods in my cheeks. “Morning.”
He raises an eyebrow, eyes trailing down to the oversized shirt I’m wearing. “Or maybe Belle… since you’ve been taming beasts all night.”
“Oh god,” I groan, hiding behind the rim of my mug. Since when was he an expert on Disney princesses?
Zane laughs—a warm sound that slides under my skin in the gentlest way. “Don’t be shy,” he grins cheekily, not even pretending to be sincere. “You were magnificent.”
I cover my eyes with my hand. “Please stop talking.”
“No way. You’re the best entertainment I’ve had in months,” he chuckles, reaching past me for another mug.
He pours some foul, stale coffee, then gestures toward the front door. “Come outside with me?”
The words stop me for a second. No one’s said that to me in over a month. But thinking about the last time I was out there—the panic, the exhaustion, running until I collapsed—unease swirls in my stomach.
But this is Zane. If I say no, he won’t push.
Inhaling, I nod. “Okay.”
He leads the way to the front door and opens it for me. The air hits me like a kiss. Fresh, warm and alive.
As I step down the same stairs I was dragged up weeks ago, the sun breaks across my face and something inside me just… opens. Goosebumps skitter over my skin the moment the light touches me.
For two months I’ve been hiding from Bennett, from his men, waiting for rope around my wrists and chains on my throat.
But standing here in the sun, Zane’s hand brushing mine, I realise… I’m not afraid. Not anymore.
Something bubbles up that feels like who I used to be.
Me. Ivy.
Standing there with my eyes closed, I let the warmth of the sun wash over my face. My bare feet find the cracked concrete sidewalk, warmed from the sun. The wind lifts my hair gently, brushing it back from my skin like even the world itself missed me.
“I forgot what this felt like,” I whisper.
Zane watches me in silence before murmuring, “Yeah… it hits different after weeks inside,” he kicks the steps, adding, “sorry… about that.”
Glancing at him, I smile, still glowing from the warmth and something deeper. “Don’t apologize. It ended up working out pretty well… for all of us,” I wink, seeing a glint in his green eyes.
Laughing under his breath, a grin spreads across his face as he shakes his head and takes my hand in his. “Come, I wanna show you something,”
He guides me around the edge of the steps, to a narrow strip of dirt that clearly used to be a flowerbed. Except now, it looks like it’s just been tilled, the soil turned over, cleared of debris. It’s a little dry, but it’s… nice.
I blink at it. “You brought me out here to look at dirt?”
He laughs genuinely and pulls a little canvas bag from the pocket of his combat pants, opening it to show me the paper packets inside.
Seeds. Tomatoes, basil, peas, bell peppers.
Where did he find these?
My breath catches. “Are you serious?”
A lump forms in my throat as I meet his gaze. His eyes are full of tenderness. Of adoration.
“Dead serious. You told me that you liked gardening, right? And I’ve seen the way you look at the dried herbs in the kitchen,” he smirks, “Figured maybe you missed fresh ones.”
Reaching for one of the packets, my fingers tremble slightly as I turn it in my hand.
Sunflowers. My favourite.
My chest aches with something heartbreaking but bright. I look up at Zane, unsure what to say.
“It’s not much,” Zane says quietly. “But it’s a start.”
Dropping to my knees, my eyes burning as I brush my fingers through the soil like it’s sacred. As if I can coax life out of it with just a touch.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, the soil cool against my skin.
For the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel like a death sentence—it feels hopeful.
Zane crouches next to me, his shoulder brushing mine. “Good. Because I want to help you bring it to life.”
I focus on him, taking him in completely. There’s dirt under his nails already, a small cut on his knuckle.
He did this… for me.
He smiles softly, reaching for my thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. For the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel like a ‘thing’ that needs training or ‘purifying’. I don’t feel like a problem or a perversion.
I feel like something real. Something valued. Alive.
Human.
Soil works its way beneath my nails, sunlight soaking into my skin. And for a second, it feels like the world never ended.
Zane sits beside me in the dirt, in comfortable silence, sleeves rolled up and dark eyes watching everything. There’s sweat on his brow and dirt smudged along his arm, but he looks more at peace than I’ve ever seen him.
“You ever done this before?” I ask, breaking the silence as I press another seed into the earth.
He shrugs, his voice rough. “Always figured I’d die before anything I planted had time to grow.”
My throat tightens, because that used to be me too—living as though the future held nothing but a grave.
“What changed?” I ask quietly, brushing hair behind my ear.
He glances at me, then away, a smile tugging at his lips. “I guess I started hoping for more.”
Deciding not to push, I just brush some soil over the seed he planted, my fingers grazing his. He doesn’t pull away.
We fall into rhythm, side by side. I show him how to measure out the space between the rows with his knuckles. He listens, genuinely invested, and I can’t contain the heady feeling it gives me.
Zane’s not afraid of killing. He’s afraid of investing, of planting something and hoping to see it grow. As if he’s accepted that he’ll never live to see old age.
But he doesn’t realise that he never hesitated to build things with me. It rolled off him so naturally, as if his presence alone is the perfect atmosphere for growth.
“I was scared of you the most, you know,” I say softly. “That first night.”
His hands still, hovering over the soil.
“You are the biggest,” I justify with a breathy laugh. “And you guys had just burnt that poor man alive. I thought you were gonna kill me too. You didn’t move like someone who needed to prove anything. You just… watched. Quiet and patient. I thought that meant you were the most dangerous.”
His jaw ticks as he glances at me. “That guy was a flesh trader… not some ‘poor man’,” he grits out before schooling his tone. “I am dangerous, Ivy… but never for you.”
Zane draws in a deep breath, then lets it out slow. “When I was with the flesh traders. They turned me into someone I didn’t recognise. And when Phoenix and Myles found me, I vowed to never be that man again. To do everything I could to stop the barbaric practice.”
He digs his fingers into the soil, jaw ticking. “I told you about The Pit. But I didn’t tell you everything. Their forms of entertainment… it was part of training women we stole from the groups we raided.”
My stomach clenches, bile rising. He’s hinted at this before. But it’s hard to hear him say the words. I have to curl my fingers tighter into the dirt just to stay grounded. I know he was just as much a prisoner as I was.