Forever, I hope.
When it’s done, we stand there for a long moment, staring into the water.
Juliet breaks the silence. “I don’t know about you all, but I need a fucking shower and a week of sleep.”
“Same,” Sysco mutters.
Roman runs a hand through his hair, blood drying under his nails. “We regroup after sunset.”
Everyone agrees. One by one, we drift apart into the city.
But Ares reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers with mine.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.
We head for home.
The penthouse is quiet. Still.
After seeing so much carnage, it almost seems impossible that it hasn’t spread throughout the entire world. The walls here are so clean. The floor untouched by blood. The only sound is the faint hum of the refrigerator.
I walk into the living room and just stand there. What are we supposed to do with our lives now? How… how do we just have a normal day after everything that just transpired?
Ares walks up and wraps his arms around my waist. And it’s the most natural thing in the world when I loop my hands behind his neck, but it’s something that I will never, ever take for granted.
“I still can’t believe it,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says, his voice rough.
“I watched you die,” I say, and my words crack as emotions try to strangle me. “I felt it. You dropped to your knees, and I… I couldn’t breathe.”
He pulls me tighter against him, and I lean into the strength of his body, into the heat of his skin. He’s alive. Warm. Breathing.
“I thought it was over,” I admit, my voice cracking. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m here,” he says softly. “Thanks to Juliet.”
I look up into his eyes. “I don’t want to waste any more time.”
His brows pull together. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I say, pressing a hand to his chest, right over the place the stake pierced him, “I want to marry you. Tomorrow. I want to be yours, officially. Permanently. I don’t want to wait anymore.”
His breath catches.
Then he growls—a deep, rough sound that vibrates through me. His hands frame my face.
“Say it again.”
“I want to marry you,” I whisper.
His mouth crashes into mine, all teeth and fire and devotion. It’s not gentle. It’s everything. His lips bruise mine, his hands grip my body like he’s trying to mold me to him. I kiss him back just as fiercely, matching his desperation.
He lifts me without breaking the kiss, carrying me down the hall. My back hits the bed as he tips us onto it. His hands roam down my thighs, spreading them, anchoring me around his waist.
“I love you,” he says, his voice ragged against my throat.
“I love you more,” I whisper, clinging to him.
