Page 25 of Shadows Relived
Her skin was warm beneath his hands, smooth and soft and already familiar in that haunting way memory makes the body ache. She arched into him, lips parted, chest rising and falling in rhythm with the storm building between them. The moonlight painted her in silver as she whispered his name like it was a prayer she’d been holding onto for ten years.
And he kissed her like he had something to prove.
Like he’d been gone too long.
Like he wanted to memorize every sound she made.
His hands moved slowly, reverently, brushing over the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the inside of her thigh as if her body might vanish if he touched too fast. Every movement was careful. Every breath was a quiet fire.
She wrapped around him, legs drawing him in, arms holding tight. He buried his face in her hair, swallowing a groan as she moved with him, matching him in rhythm and want and memory. It wasn’t frantic; it was full. Every stroke of his body into hers felt like rewriting the past.
This wasn’t a reunion.
It was a reclamation.
She trembled beneath him, gasped again, hands fisting in his hair as he whispered her name into the crook of her shoulder. The air was thick with need and memory, withthe warmth of skin on skin, and with the unspoken truth of every year they’d spent apart.
And when she came apart beneath him, whispering his name like it belonged to her, he let go of everything he’d been carrying.
The world didn’t just disappear.
It finally made sense.
CHAPTER 11
THE SUN HAD ALREADY crestedthe treetops when Meaghan stirred. The scent of pine drifted through the slightly open window, mingling with the fading warmth of Callen’s body in the bed beside her. Only… he wasn’t beside her anymore.
She reached for him instinctively, her hand brushing over cool sheets and empty space. Her fingers closed on nothing, however, and her heart clenched at his absence.
For a moment, she lay still, blinking up at the old wood-slatted ceiling. Her body ached in places she hadn’t remembered could ache, but it was a good kind of ache, tender and grounding. Like being reminded she was still alive, still capable of want, of need. Of feeling something real.
She stretched beneath the rumpled blanket, her palm grazing the spot where Callen’s body had been hours before, warmth traded for emptiness, silence replacing breath. Her limbs were heavy, pleasantly sore in places, asif her body still echoed the memory of him. She pulled the sheet up to her chest and stared at the ceiling, heart drumming softly.
Last night had been… more than sex. She could still feel the weight of his body above hers. The reverence in his hands. The way he’d said her name—like it meant something more than history. Something like home. It had been years of silence cracked open. A wound revisited. A tether rediscovered.
But now, in the morning light, none of it made the fear go away. Instead, the ache settled in her chest. Older. Deeper.
Her father’s voice echoed in the back of her mind.This is what’s best, Meaghan. You don’t understand the pressure I’m under. Just trust me.
But the kids—her students—had nearly died. Their families were still out there, unaware, possibly in danger. And none of this—not the gunmen, not the silence in the news, not the fire that still simmered in her gut—made sense until she heard the truth from the man who started it all.
She rolled to her side and sat up, the morning light spilling across the cabin floor in golden streaks. She dragged the blanket with her, wrapping it around her bare shoulders. Her toes curled against the chill of the floor. She sat there for a long moment, elbows on her knees, pressing her palms to her face. Somewhere in the cabin, a kettle clanked as she heard the creak of wood. Quiet movement.
Callen.
She wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not with herthoughts still spiraling around the conversation she’d avoided since they’d first stepped foot in the cabin.
The kids were still asleep, and she needed to start breakfast, but the weight of what had happened the day before, of what could’ve happened, refused to fade.
She had seen the fear on their faces. Had felt the weight of three little lives in her arms.
And it all circled back to her father and his dirty dealings.
Her fingers trembled as she braided her hair back and pulled on a hoodie and leggings. The softness of the fabric contrasted with the raw tightness in her chest. She padded into the kitchen barefoot, planning to keep quiet, mindful of sleeping children and a man who’d risked his life to get them here, but it was pointless because the moment she stepped into the kitchen, the noise hit her like a wave.
Sophie was in the middle of an impromptu musical number using two plastic cups and a pot lid. Lucas argued with Willie over whether wolves or velociraptors would win in a fight, using gestures so exaggerated that Meaghan had to duck to avoid an accidental blow.
Callen stood in the corner, looking like he’d aged ten years since last night. He had flour on his shirt and syrup on one forearm as he met her gaze with something between relief and resignation.
