Chapter 20 Rhett
Rhett
It’s been nearly three weeks since we found her in the chamber.
Standing before that massive mirror, hand pressed to the glass, looking more confident than I’d ever seen her. The mist swirling around her feet was more black than silver, moving with purpose instead of fear. She turned when we called her name and smiled like she’d been waiting for us to find her.
She’s been different ever since. Stronger. More certain.
She hasn’t slept alone since.
Not because she asked.
Because I couldn’t let her.
Sometimes she calls for Jace when I’m already there with her. The old Bree would have asked me to give them privacy, would have been embarrassed about wanting someone else while I was right there.
But now she just pulls Jace into bed with us like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When I try to leave—give them space, give myself space to breathe—she tells me to stay.
“I need you both,” she says, and her voice carries that new certainty that makes it impossible to argue.
Because the first time I tried to insist, she looked at me like I’d ripped out her heart and stomped on it.
So I sit and I watch as she touches him, kisses him, moves with him.
My fire magic spikes under my skin—heat that has nowhere to go.
Heat crawls up my neck, settles in my chest like a weight I can’t shift.
Jace doesn’t seem bothered by it—he never has cared much about who’s watching. But the way she looks at me while she’s with him, making sure I see everything, like my discomfort feeds something in her…
My hands clench against the sheets.
This is what sharing means, right? That jealousy is something I have to work through? She deserves whatever makes her feel whole after everything she’s survived.
Maybe she’s testing me. Testing how loyal I am, how much I really love her. Making sure I meant it when I said I’d share her with the others.
But sometimes, in the quiet moments, I miss the way she used to flinch when the wind moved the curtains too fast. How she’d curl inward at night, reaching for me like I was her anchor. All those little tells that meant she needed me—they’re gone now.
She doesn’t startle anymore. Doesn’t check over her shoulder for threats. Doesn’t grip my hand too tight when we walk past strangers.
I should be happy about that. I am happy. It means she’s healing, right? That she finally feels safe.
So why does it feel like I’ve lost something?
She still reaches for me now, but it’s not the same. She doesn’t whisper my name in her sleep. Doesn’t look at me like she used to when I would touch her cheek. But she still calls me hers.
And gods help me, it’s tearing me apart inside.
But I push it down. Like I always do. Like I did when I passed Jace in the hall last night—shirt wrinkled, hair a mess, walking like he’d forgotten where his feet were. He didn’t say a word. Just nodded once, eyes wide and dazed, like he’d seen something that rewrote his understanding of the world.
I didn’t ask.
There’s been a lot of that lately. People not saying what they should. Me not noticing what I don’t want to see.
The morning light filters through the sanctuary windows, casting everything in gold. I’m already awake—have been for an hour, just watching her sleep. The way her dark hair spreads across the pillow, the peaceful expression on her face. No nightmares. No terror.
She’s safe. Finally, completely safe.
“Morning,” she murmurs without opening her eyes, and the sound goes straight through my chest like an arrow.
“Morning, firefly.” The nickname slips out naturally now. She never used to let me call her that—too intimate, too presumptuous. Now she melts when I say it.
She stretches against me, all warmth and soft curves, and I have to bite back a groan. Three weeks of this—of her trusting me, choosing me, needing me—and I still can’t quite believe it’s real.
“Stay with me a little longer?” she asks, and there’s something in her voice I can’t identify. Not the old hesitation, not fear. Something else. Something that makes my fire magic stir restlessly under my skin.
“As long as you want,” I tell her, meaning it completely.
She turns in my arms, green eyes finding mine in the morning light. There’s a confidence there that still catches me off guard sometimes. The old Bree would have looked away, would have doubted her right to ask for what she wanted.
But now she knows she’s wanted. Knows she’s mine to protect.
“Will you make tea?” she asks, fingers tracing patterns on my chest. “That blend Theo brought back from the market?”
“Of course.”
She rewards me with a smile that could power the sanctuary for a week. “You’re so good to me.”
The words do something to me every time she says them. Good to her. Like it’s a choice, like I could be anything else. Like I wasn’t built specifically for this—to shield her from harm, to anticipate her needs, to be the wall between her and everything that wants to hurt her.
I press a kiss to her forehead, breathing in vanilla and something deeper, something that makes my magic purr with contentment.
“Always,” I promise.
The kitchen is quiet when I pad downstairs, bare feet silent on cool stone. Most of the sanctuary is still sleeping—these early hours have become sacred to me. Time when it’s just us, just the soft sounds of her breathing and the steady beat of my heart against her back.
I measure out the tea carefully. Earl grey with bergamot, and a touch of honey. The way she’s started taking it lately. Not the simple chamomile she used to prefer, but something richer, more complex. At least that’s what Theo tells me.
She’s changing. Growing. Becoming the woman she was always meant to be.
The water is just reaching a boil when arms slip around my waist from behind. Familiar weight, familiar warmth. She presses a kiss between my shoulder blades, and heat flares through me so suddenly I have to grip the counter to stay upright.
“Smells perfect,” she murmurs against my skin.
“Not ready yet,” I manage, though my voice comes out rougher than intended.
“I wasn’t talking about the tea.”
Her hands slide under my shirt, palms flat against my stomach, and my fire magic responds like she’s struck a match. Heat races through my veins, pooling under my skin wherever she touches.
She laughs softly, a sound I’m still getting used to. Rich and knowing and completely unafraid.
“I love how you react to me,” she says, lips moving against my spine. Her hands drift lower, fingers working at my belt. “Like you can’t help yourself.”
I can’t. That’s the truth of it. My breath catches as her hand slips inside my pants, warm fingers wrapping around me with confident familiarity.
“The others are worried about you,” she says, voice conversational even as her hand moves with deliberate slowness.
I try to focus on her words, but heat is building under my skin, making it hard to think. “What do you mean?”
“Gray asked me yesterday if you were okay.” Her thumb traces over the head of my cock, and I have to grip the counter to stay upright. “Said you’ve been… intense lately.”
My hips jerk into her touch before I can stop myself. “Are you—fuck—are you worried about me?”
She increases her pace slightly, and my vision blurs at the edges. “No. I like you intense. I like that you can’t bear to let me out of your sight.”
The kettle whistles, but I can barely hear it over the blood rushing in my ears. Her free hand reaches around me to turn off the burner while she continues stroking me with maddening precision.
“I can’t lose you again,” I manage, the words torn from somewhere deep in my chest. “After we found you in that chamber—”
“Shh.” Her teeth graze my shoulder blade, and I’m lost. “You didn’t lose me. I’m right here.”
Her hand moves faster, and the fire under my skin flares brighter. For just a moment, I swear I feel something pull from me—warmth, energy, something essential. But then I’m coming apart in her hands, pleasure washing over me in waves, and rational thought disappears entirely.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers against my spine as I shake in her arms. “I promise.”
I believe her. Gods help me, with her touch still burning on my skin, I believe everything she tells me.
Even when a voice in the back of my head whispers that promises can be broken. That the woman we found standing at that mirror, confident and unafraid, felt different than the one who used to reach for me in the dark.
Even when I remember how she used to take her tea with just honey, no bergamot.
Even when my fire magic reacts to her touch like it’s trying to tell me something I’m not ready to hear.
But Bree deserves whatever makes her feel whole. Whatever helps her heal. If that means enduring the performance, the tests, the way she looks at me while she’s with Jace—then that’s what I’ll do.
She’s been through too much to have me questioning her now. Too much pain, too much fear. If this is who she needs to be to feel safe, to feel powerful, then I’ll be whatever she needs me to be.
Even if it’s tearing me apart.
Even if some nights I lie awake missing the girl who used to flinch at shadows and reach for me like I was the only solid thing in her world.
This is what love means, right? Putting her needs first. Protecting her from everything that wants to hurt her.
Even protecting her from my own doubts.