My grip on her hips turns desperate as I lean my head back to look up at her. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to touch.”
“And I believe you,” she croons, running her fingers down my face.
“You and our child are not my entire goddamn world. I’ll set this city on fire before I let her take either of you from me.”
She shivers in my hold, and I scowl. “Don’t fear me.”
“Oh, baby. That wasn’t from fear. It’s from the bone-deep truth of being loved by a monster who’s made peace with the darkness so he can use it to protect the light. You’re going to be such an incredible father.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
twenty-nine
Konstantin
Thewarslowsjustlong enough for us to take a minute to breathe.
I’m not stupid. I know it’s the lull before the storm, but I’ll take it because my wife deserves a date. Even if it’s just in our own house, dressed in candlelight and quiet. Even if I have to pretend my hands aren’t itching to pick up my blade and continue with my hunt.
Our bond hums quieter tonight. A rare interlude to the chaos from it that normally fills my head. It lets me hear my own thoughts for once, though, I’m not sure I like them.
The mansion is quiet when I walk in, that deceptive stillness wrapping around my shoulders like a shroud. My men are stationed throughout the estate, roaming the ground, watching the skies, and checking the perimeter like fucking machines.
I find her in the conservatory, barefoot, her black painted toes wiggling, wearing one of my old shirts and a pair of sleep shorts so small they leave little to the imagination. There’s dirt on her hands and a smear on her cheek from repotting something green and wild that smells like fresh earth and defiance.
She looks up when I step into the room.
“You’re home early,” she says.
I close the distance between us and hook my finger under her chin, tilting her face toward me. “I wanted to see you.”
I brush our lips together softly, before just holding her in my arms.
We don’t get nights like this. Just us. We haven’t since Giselda came back from the dead.
She lifts to her toes and brushes a kiss to my jaw. “Sunni and Luce left a bit ago. You just missed them.”
“Good. I want you to myself.”
We eat in the library because she says she like the way the firelight paints her skin gold. She steals bites off my plate and smirks when I glare. She drinks from my glass when hers is full. My little fox keeps me busy with her mouth even when it isn’t on mine, and I let her, because she’s the only thing in this city that makes me want to pretend I’m a man before I’m a monster.
When she laughs, low, wicked, and unafraid, I let myself forget about the war outside for a while.
Afterwards, I lead her upstairs, wanting to just be with her. Needing to.
I strip off my jacket and unbutton my shirt. Cressida watches, her eyes dark with want. She steps closer, her hands sliding beneath the fabric to feel my chest.
“Your heart’s racing,” she whispers.
“That’s because you’re standing in front of me wearing nothing but your fuck-me face and one of my old shirts. You’re lucky I haven’t put you on the bed yet.”
She smirks. “What are you waiting for?”
After pulling the rest of my clothes off, I undress her slowly, reverently, like she’s a temple and I’m a blood-soaked sinner looking for salvation.
I lay her down gently on our black satin sheets then lean down so that my mouth can find hers. For a while, that’s all there is. Heat, satin, and the taste of her on my tongue. My mouth moves from hers, down her throat, then the curve of her breasts, and to the line of her belly. My fingers trace the slight curve that wasn’t there before. She’s not showing much yet. Just enough for me to feel possessive and primal . . . and stupidly fucking in awe.
