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That familiar hum rolls through my chest and finds hers, the two of us finally working together instead of pushing against each other the way we did when we first met. Mine slows as hers deepens, until somehow we fall into the same rhythm, every breath drawing her tighter against me.

Echo shifts. “Do you feel that?”

My arm tightens around her.

Yeah, I fucking feel it.

She lays her hand over mine where it rests against her stomach, threading our fingers together. “Everything’s quiet.”

Quiet has never meant peace to me. Quiet is the second before violence. The breath before the hellhound breaks loose. The tiny stretch of nothing before fire rips out of my throat and turns whatever stands in front of me into ash.

This is different.

My body feels heavy against the mattress, muscles loose instead of waiting to be set off. Even the constant burn beneath my skin has settled into a low warmth.

I’ve spent my whole-fucking-life carrying Hell inside me, and I never realized how loud it was until Echo made it quiet.

She turns her head until she’s facing me. Her eyes are already getting heavy, but she looks up anyway. “You okay?”

I brush the silver hair away from her face and tuck it behind her ear with a smile.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Me too.”

Her eyes close, and I lie there waiting for the restlessness to come back.

It always does.

Minutes pass… and nothing.

Echo’s breathing evens out against my chest, her fingers still tangled with mine while whatever lives between us settles into the same slow rhythm.

My hellhound stays curled somewhere deep inside, and he is calm. Never thought there’d be anyone who could quiet the beast without asking me to cage him. Turns out all he needed was a siren who knew exactly how to sing to him.

I press my mouth to the top of her head and close my eyes.

For the first time in my life, Hell goes quiet.

And I fucking love it.

Chapter Fourteen

ECHO

The Next Morning

I wake up warm.

That takes me a second to process, mostly because there’s a heavy arm wrapped around my ribs, a broad chest pressed against my back, and slow breaths brushing the side of my neck.

Carnage.

Memory comes back in pieces. The garage, his mouth on mine, walking down the hallway with his hand wrapped around mine, me asking if I could sleep in his bed like that was a perfectly normal thing to ask a man I’ve known for two-fucking-days.

Apparently, sleepy me had no problem with the decision.

I’m still tucked against him exactly where I fell asleep, one of his legs tangled with mine, his hand resting against my stomach beneath the shirt I slept in. Sometime during the night, I must have shifted closer because there isn’t an inch of space left between us.

And the weirdest part?