Page 52

"Good. That's—" She stops and studies my face, applying the intense scrutiny she usually reserves for crime scenes. "You look like hell."

"Charming as always." I step closer, following an undeniable thread that reels us together. "I had all night to think about what you said."

A subtle firmness fixes her features, bracing for rejection. "And?"

The response catches in my throat. All night I rehearsed this, rational and measured, the type of speech a man gives when he's thought it through. But watching her pack that bag, watching her prepare to walk away from me to protect me—it burned every rehearsed word to ash.

"You terrify me. Forget the entity and the incredible supernatural forces at play here. You make me crave a home and a future—the very things I swore were buried forever with my pack. Someone worth fighting for instead of just fighting."

A sudden rigidity claims her, her coffee cup halting halfway to her lips.

"I've spent seven years perfecting the art of not caring too much. Built my entire existence around keeping people at arm's length because caring gets people killed. But you—Christ, Rene—you walked into my life with that stubborn chin and those impossible eyes, and suddenly I'm lying awake at night wondering what it would be like to have something worth protecting beyond only duty."

Her cup hits the counter, striking it in a sharp clink.

"Protecting you forever is beyond my power, and survival through the coming storm is a gamble at best." The admission tastes like failure, yet it's the absolute truth. "The only certainty I have is that I love you—and that scares me more than any enemy I've ever faced."

A fragile, enormous quiet takes hold of the dwelling, holding its breath. Then she's moving, crossing the kitchen in three quick steps, and suddenly she's in my arms. The impact nearly knocks me backward—all that fierce energy colliding with my chest as her arms wind around my neck.

"You stubborn, impossible man," she whispers directly against my throat, her warm breath ghosting across my skin. "I thought you were going to let me walk away."

"Never." The word is fierce and possessive. My arms squeeze her waist and bring her closer until the last barrier of air vanishes. "Not without a fight."

She shifts back enough to look right at me, and the vulnerability there nearly undoes me all the way. "What happens now?"

Instead of answering with words, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her. It's different from that night at the cabin, carrying a far more intentional weight. This kiss cements the reality of my admission, an informed choice possessing full clarity of what comes next.

She melts against me, fingers tangling in my hair, and for one perfect moment the world narrows to her warmth and the way she fits against me like she was made for it.

We create a fragile few inches of distance, both breathing hard as I rest my forehead against hers.

"Now we figure out how to stop a blood moon ritual and save Chicago together." The pad of my thumb lingers on the sharp line of her cheekbone.

Her smile is small but real, the first genuine one I've seen from her in days. "Together."

But even as I hold her, even as relief floods through me at her agreement to stay, I know the hardest part lies ahead. The bleeding moon approaches while the coven grows stronger, and somewhere beneath the city, an ancient entity stirs in its prison.

Nothing is over yet.

The warmth of our confession fades as worry creeps back into Serenity's features, tension creeping back into her shoulders. She inches back slightly, hands resting on my chest.

"Nolan called while you were with Kellan. He found something. The ritual site occupies a prime location within the underground landscape. It's directly beneath Blackhearth Avenue—the heart of Chicago's oldest paranormal district, right where the original settlements took root."

"Of course it is." I step back, already reaching for my gear. "That ensures maximum symbolic power, inviting maximum collateral damage if something goes wrong."

"It gets better. He thinks they're planning a mass sacrifice that could involve hundreds of victims or more." She moves toward her jacket, checking the daggers strapped to her thighs. "Every missing paranormal with a lunar bloodline is being held somewhere down there."

"This is more than a simple unlocking; it’s a convergence. They are channeling blood magic and moon power to align with the dormant energy, creating the optimal conditions required for it to manifest."

"Which means we're out of time." She meets my eyes, and I see the familiar fierce determination building there. "We need to get down there now, before⁠—"

"Before you walk straight into another trap?" I block her path to the door. "Because that's worked so well for us lately."

"Do you have a better plan, or are we going to stand here debating while people die?"

The challenge in her voice makes a restless, primal energy stir within me. She's right, and we both know it. Every minute we waste gives them more time to complete their preparations.

"Fine, but we do this smart." I grab my weapons harness, checking each blade and gun as my hands move through the routine automatically. "We go in and out for information gathering only without any heroics."