“I told you what you wanted. Names. Routes. Codes. I gave you the whole damn network.”
Thane stood slowly. “And we’re grateful.”
Then he nodded at Maro.
Chapter 48
Ahouse this old was never quiet. There was the creak of the timbers, the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall, the pitter-patter of raindrops on the windowpane. Occasionally a stray grunt from a wild animal of some sort broke the silence of the night.
Faolan sat curled up on the faded couch, blanket still around her shoulders, ears tuned to every creak and gust outside. Her nerves buzzed like the adrenaline of escaping a fate worse than death hadn’t quite drained from her veins yet. She was still on edge, still halfway between fight and flight. And what she had seen in the warehouse only heightened the sensation of standing on tiptoe at the edge of a cliff. As a police officer, she could not condone what she had seen in that room. But some monsters…
The front door creaked open.
She jerked slightly, only to freeze when Thane stepped in. His clothes were damp, plastered to his skin. His boots left muddy prints on the floor.
Their eyes met. Bright blue to icy azure and greens and browns before sliding away to fix on the wall beyond her head. There was shame? Trepidation?
“I’m going to have a bath,” he said simply, voice like gravel after hours of disuse. “I’ll be back.”
He didn’t wait for a response, just walked past her, his shoulder brushing hers.
Moments later, Zel followed him in, hair dripping, shirt unbuttoned and clinging to his torso. He didn’t speak, either, just gave her a nod and ascended the stairs.
Then came Maro.
He didn’t say anything at all. He just stood near the foot of the stairs, stripping off his soaked jacket, those sharp eyes fixed on her like he was still assessing her for damage.
His gaze trailed her as she moved past him and headed up.
The hallway upstairs was dimly lit, creaky floorboards betraying her steps. She paused at the threshold of Thane’s bedroom. He had led her there to drop the overnight bag and to make sure she was alright before they went to the warehouse. It was rustic with wooden wardrobes, a worn king-sized bed with iron posts, side tables stacked with old books and half-used candles.
The bathroom door was ajar.
Steam curled through the narrow slit, disappearing like ghostly fingers into the bedroom. The scent hit her before she even stepped inside—Thanes’s soap, cedar and spice and warmth, and beneath it, faint, persistent, the coppery tinge of blood.
She pushed the door open and stepped in.
He was already naked under the stream, the frosted glass blurring his outline, his broad shoulders, bowed head, water tracing down his back. The sound of it hitting the tiles echoed softly.
She peeled off her clothes one piece at a time, the cotton damp against her skin.
Then she slid the glass aside.
He was wrapped in his own thoughts, not really paying attention.
She stepped in, wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her cheek against the ridge of his spine. He startled, tensed like a coiled spring, then his hands flew to hers, gripping them tightly, locking her in place.
“I’m fine,” she whispered. “I’m safe.”
She felt the exhale more than heard it.
Lately, they didn’t need many words.
He turned, still holding her hands in one of his. Then he pulled her forward, mouth descending on hers like he was starved. His tongue thrust deep, claiming, desperate, tasting every hidden crevice of her mouth as if trying to erase the memory of what could’ve been.
His hands slid down her slick sides, gripping her arse. In one motion, he lifted her, and she wrapped around him—arms, legs, all of her.
He braced her against the tiled wall, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other guiding himself between her thighs.
