Before I can protest, he's gone, slipping into the rain with silent efficiency. The abrupt shift from loving partner to vigilant protector is jarring.
I lock the door as instructed, then move to the window, scanning the treeline for any sign of movement. The rain reduces visibility, transforming the familiar landscape into a misty, uncertain terrain. Somewhere out there, Elias is tracking whatever triggered the alarm, putting himself between potential danger and me.
The minutes stretch endlessly. I pace the cabin, checking the time, checking the window, anxiety mounting with each passing second. Just when I'm about to disregard his instructions and go looking for him, the security panel chimes again. The front door opens, and Elias steps inside, dripping but unharmed.
"False alarm," he says, setting the shotgun back in its place. "It was just deer. A whole family of them crossing the eastern boundary."
Relief washes through me, followed by embarrassment at my overreaction. "Sorry for freaking out."
"Don't be." He crosses to me, rain-damp hands cupping my face. "Being cautious isn't the same as being afraid. And I'd rather check a hundred false alarms than miss one real threat."
The intensity in his eyes reminds me that for Elias, this isn't abstract. His military background has shown him exactly what happens when threats are dismissed as paranoia.
"You're right," I acknowledge, covering his hands with mine. "Better safe than sorry."
He presses a quick kiss to my forehead before releasing me. "I need to change. Then we should make that list for Sawyer."
As he disappears into the bedroom, I move to my laptop, already compiling a mental inventory of the evidence we'll need for Monday. The work gives me focus, channeling my nervous energy into something productive rather than endless worrying.
By the time Elias returns, dressed in dry clothes, I've created a detailed document listing everything from witness names to the dates and times of Brad's most egregious behavior. Seeing it all laid out in black and white makes me wonder how I managed to stay as long as I did.
"This is good," Elias says, reading over my shoulder. "Very thorough."
"Years of journalism training," I explain, saving the document. "Facts, dates, verifiable details."
His hand squeezes my shoulder. "Your father would be proud of you, you know. Standing up for yourself like this."
The simple affirmation brings unexpected tears to my eyes. "I hope so."
"I know so." He pulls me into his arms, solid and reassuring. "Bill Hart raised a fighter. And fighters don't give up, even when the odds are stacked against them."
I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Neither do McKennas, from what I've seen."
"Damn right we don't." His voice rumbles beneath my ear. "And we protect what's ours. Always."
The possessive declaration should feel confining, but from Elias, it only feels like safety. Like finally finding my place in a world that's often been indifferent to my struggles.
The restof the day passes in a strange blend of domesticity and vigilance. Finn returns, soaked but thorough in his security check, reporting nothing suspicious around the property perimeter. Elias maintains regular contact with Sawyer, coordinating the collection of evidence from my storage unit and the preparation for Monday's hearing.
Between these moments of practical preparation, we find time for softer connections. Teaching Elias how to make my mother's pasta sauce, that I learned from my dad, from the limited ingredients in his pantry. Curling together on the couch while rain drums against the windows, sharing childhood stories that have nothing to do with protection orders or courtrooms.
By evening, a tentative peace has settled over the cabin. Finn retreats to the guest cabin after dinner, pointedly giving us privacy with a wink that makes me blush and Elias roll his eyes.
After the door closes behind his brother, Elias pulls me into his arms, his embrace conveying everything words cannot. The stress of the day fades beneath the certainty of his touch.
"I've been wanting to do this all day," he murmurs against my hair.
"Just this?" I tease, pressing closer to feel the evidence of his desire against me.
His laugh is low and rich. "Not just this. But it's a good start."
I tilt my face up for his kiss, surrendering to the hunger that's been simmering between us despite the day's distractions. Hismouth claims mine with practiced familiarity now, yet the thrill remains just as intense as the first time.
We make it as far as the couch before clothes start disappearing, hands rediscovering planes and curves with growing urgency. Elias takes his time with me, his touch both reverent and possessive, drawing out my pleasure until I'm begging for release.
When he finally joins our bodies, the sense of completeness is overwhelming. This is what was missing before, not just physical satisfaction, but the soul-deep connection of being truly known, truly accepted. As we move together in the firelight, learning each other all over again, the shadow of Monday's hearing recedes to insignificance.
Whatever comes, we face it together. And in that unity lies a strength greater than any courtroom, any legal decision, any threat Brad Cooper might pose.
