Page 47 of Hunted By the Tracker

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Helooks down at me, his eyes softening in a way that makes my stomach flip. "Smartasshacker with an attitude problem and a soldering iron."

Ilaugh. "You’reromantic, you know that?"

"I’mpractical."Hekisses my forehead. "AndI’mhome."

Acrossthe yard, the gate buzzes.Thebrothers tense up instantly, hands going to waistbands.Oldhabits die hard.Butit’s just a delivery truck from the bakery—Tiffanysent over more pies.

Thetension bleeds out of the group, replaced by cheers for sugar.

Iwatch them—these giant, dangerous men who love as fiercely as they fight.Mytribe.Myfamily.Foreight months,Iwas a ghost in the machine.Invisible.Untouchable.Alone.Now,I’msolid.I’mreal.

Hisheavy arm is a permanent anchor.Aboveus, sparks from the fire drift into the night, lost among the cold, bright stars.Ilean into his strength, letting the silence finally settle.

The End

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