I underestimated how much I want to be with the man. Want to press myself against him. Want to feel his hands on my skin.
Something inside me keeps pulling…
No.
Pulling is too gentle. It's more of a yank, hauling me around like a ragdoll, demanding I submit to this strange connectionbetween us. It's hazed my brain so it's hard to think of anything else, until I'm willing to accept everything he throws my way.
Even if it's more murder.
"So what happened?" I press gently, hoping against hope he has a good excuse this time.
Somehow, I feel like I wouldn't care even if he didn't. But the old Grace, normal, human Grace with morals and values who cares about people living and dying, is still inside my head beneath all the fated bond nuance, and shedefinitelycares. Sort of. Maybe.
Or I'm already too far gone.
He leans his head back with a sigh. "They're dead. Most of them." The flat, emotionless delivery doesn't even send a chill down my spine. Watching him out of my peripheral vision, I wait for him to continue.
"I'll have to ask your friend what's happening around here. She seems to know more than she's willing to share."
My stomach knots. The way he says "your friend" makes it clear he means Lyre. I can't help the spike of protective fear.
It's good to know I'm still Grace, the person who cares about her friends, and won't just throw Lyre under his claws in hopes of him getting his hands in my panties again.
"You're not going to—"
"Not unless she gives me a reason," he cuts me off, his voice still unnervingly calm.
I nod, but the worry doesn't leave my thoughts, even when I remind myself she literally…swooshedhim across the room like it was nothing.
A sleepy whine from the alcove interrupts my thoughts.
Bun toddles out. Her tiny fists rub at her eyes as she makes her way toward us with the slightly off-balance gait of a small child who's still mostly asleep.
Without hesitation, she flops directly into my lap face-first, landing with a dramatic sigh against my shirt like she's had the most exhausting day in toddler history.
Then again, with all those shifts—yeah, she did. I'm pretty sure it wins, hands down.
"Hey there," I say softly, my hand automatically moving to stroke her back. "Back so soon?"
Bun answers with an incoherent toddler mumble, her face buried in my shirt. Her little body is warm against mine, completely trusting. Something shifts inside my chest, unfurling like a flower to the sun. Something deeper and more expansive than anything I can understand.
When I look up, I find Caine watching us. His expression isn't quite soft—I'm not sure his face does soft—but the hard edges have smoothed somehow. His eyes track my hand as it moves in gentle circles on Bun's back.
"Are we keeping her?" he asks out of freaking nowhere.
My hand freezes mid-circle. "What?"
"The child." His eyes flick to Bun, then back to me. "Are we taking her with us?"
Chapter thirty-five
Grace: With Me
The way he phrases it makes my soul want to simultaneously crawl into his lap and drop kisses all over his face, and run screaming into the night so he can never find me again. It's a dissonance of free will/bonding desire, and I don't really know how to feel about it.
This wholefated to be with each otherthing is a little… much. Until Lyre had broken it down, I'd been under the assumption humans can'thavefated mates. Everyone says so, therefore it must be true—only… it's not.
Shifting my weight so my left buttcheek doesn't go numb, I answer, "She's staying with me."
