Page 220 of Scarlet Wars
“Of course, love. Now sleep,” I murmured, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “My unbreakable Nightcrawler.”
She leaned in, and her lips touched mine, soft at first. A whisper. Only the barest brush. But then, her tongue found my own in a slow, searching slide that sent heat pulsing through every inch of me.
She kissed me like we had all the time in the world. Like there was no fear, no world outside the bed, onlythis. Her lips against my lips. Her breath in my lungs.
Her kiss was softer than I expected, but unrelenting. Focused. Like she was still figuring out what it meant to be in control and determined not to waste a second of it.
And I let her. I let her set the pace, let her explore, let her take. I gave her everything. Every inch of stillness, every heartbeat thundering in my chest.
Every instinct screamed at me to say it, to finally speak the words that had been true for almost a year.
Three words. Eight letters.
Simple as breath, dangerous as confession.
They sat heavy on my tongue every time she touched me, every time I looked at her.
And every damn time, I had to choke them back, because saying them too soon might break the very thing I was trying to protect.
When she broke away, her forehead pressed to mine, lips swollen, heavy-lidded, she whispered, “Thank you,” so close I could feel the shape of the words against my mouth.
I stilled, every muscle in my body catching in the silence that followed. “For what?”
She opened her eyes, and what I saw in them made my throat tighten.
“For making me feel in control again,” she said.
My arms tightened around her instinctively. “Nightcrawler…”
But she shook her head, then leaned down one more time and brushed her lips against mine, soft, tender, sealing the moment.
Not demanding, not urgent, buthonest.Like a promise wrapped in silence. Like something that meant more because it wasn’t trying to be more than it was.
Then she curled into my chest like it was the only place in the world she felt safe and fell back asleep.
FORTY-NINE
CADEN
Emma spent every Thursday night getting drunk over the Nexus with Saoirse. Ritualistically, religiously, obnoxiously.
I’d grown to loathe it, since it meant hours of Emma not being here. With me. Or looking at me. Or breathing in my direction, honestly.
Silver lining? It did give me time to untangle some Crown work, a task that had become borderline mythical ever since I’d practically moved in with the woman of my dreams.
Apparently love came with the side effect of obliterating productivity.
Which is exactly what I was trying to remedy this Thursday night.
It was nearly midnight when my Nexus flared, an urgent pulse of deep blue drops cutting through the darkness of my room. The incoming connection request made me frown.
Direct calls from my Leader were rare enough to qualify as celestial events. The fact most of them had happened this year only made my instincts prickle harder.
Though, granted, the Great Exposure: political shitstorm. If there was ever a time for a First Offensive and his Leader to be on speaking terms, it was now.
I exhaled, accepted, and Charles’s face sharpened into view.
Red hair, aggressive freckles, and the unmistakable air of someone who still complained about unit budgets during world-ending events. “Charles,” I greeted, leaning back in my chair. “To what do I owe this honor?”
