Page 65 of Echoes From the Void
“I was smooth as hell.”
“You walked into a door because you were staring at Frankie.”
“Tactically walked into a door,” Leo corrects with dignity. “And at least I never made a spreadsheet about optimal ways to ask someone out.”
“That was one time,” Bishop protests through our bond.
“You had a pie chart,” Tori adds. “About romantic success probability based on location and time of day.”
As another character makes a questionable decision that has us all groaning, I feel the last tension finally release. Through our various bonds – pack, twin, mate – flows simple contentment. Even Dorian has given up pretending to research, his cutting commentary on the “statistically improbable survival rates of horror movie protagonists” becoming increasingly elaborate.
Tomorrow we’ll face it all again. But tonight?
Tonight we’re just us.
Together.
Watching teenagers make terrible decisions in a slasher film.
Making fun of Bishop’s ties.
Pretending not to notice how Finn’s light keeps reaching for Tori’s shadows.
Living.
As Leo starts the sequel – despite Dorian’s protests about “diminishing returns in horror franchises” – I curl deeper into my pack’s embrace. Through our twin bond, I feel Finn’s matching contentment, his growing understanding that this isn’t temporary. That he belongs here, with us, in this strange family we’ve built.
That sometimes, after the darkness, you get to come home.
That sometimes, home is a pack house full of slasher movies and hot chocolate and people who love you.
That sometimes, that’s enough.
More than enough.
Everything.
“If anyone gets murdered in their sleep,” Dorian mutters as the sequel begins, his shadows curling contentedly despite his tone, “I’m noting it in my research as death by poor judgment.”
“Shh,” Leo throws a marshmallow at him, his shadows dancing playfully. “Some of us are trying to enjoy the mindless violence.”
“I’m surrounded by heathens,” Dorian sighs, but his shadows curl with ours, another strand in the web of belonging we’ve woven.
And really, what more could I ask for?
Chapter 22
Frankie
Matteo’sgentle touch rouses me from a dreamless sleep as he lifts me from the couch. The movie credits roll across the screen, casting shifting shadows in the dark room. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I glimpse Tori and Finn tangled together on the opposite couch, peaceful in their shared slumber.
A jaw-cracking yawn escapes as Matteo cradles me against his chest. I burrow into the warmth of his arms, savoring this rare moment of tranquility. We won’t get many of these precious seconds of peace. Right now, I need this.
I need him.
“Where is everyone?” I murmur against his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.
“Well,” he whispers, amusement coloring his tone, “Leo is passed out in the bedroom with Dorian, ironically.”
