Page 301 of Immune

I hold still through the first violent pull of it and through the snap of the bond.

It doesn’t form like Ewan’s. I can feel that even without knowing his from the inside.

This bond does not flare bright, instead it drops heavily and deep. Like a locked door opening underground. Or a blade set down carefully. Or a dangerous thing lowering itself to one knee because it chooses not to stand over her.

Dakota sobs once against my shoulder, but not in fear. It’s release.

I feel her through the bond.

Not thoughts, just fragments.

Blood on her hands. The cold thing inside her. Her rage at Davis. Her fear that her body liked being useful. Her disgust, stubbornness, and want, scalding and furious because even now, especially now, she refuses to let fear have all of her.

I give her what I have in return.

Control.

Stillness.

Restraint.

Not a cage.

A hand on the door.

A voice saying, not without you.

She breaks apart around me and I follow right after her, groaning my own release with my knot attached to her pulsingbody all because she lets me. Because she holds my face against her throat and says my name like she is demanding I fall over the edge with her. Because the knot locks us together in a way I don’t ever want to forget and the bond settles beneath my ribs with a weight I know I’ll carry for the rest of my life.

When it’s over, we’re both shaking. Dakota is in my lap on the mat, arms banded tightly around my shoulders, face buried against my neck. I am still inside her and still blissfully knotted. One of my hands rests on her back while the other remains open on the mat where she can see it if she pulls away.

She doesn’t pull away. For a while, she only breathes. Then, muffled against my skin, she says, “You’re heavy in my chest.”

I close my eyes. “Hmm.”

“Different from Ewan.”

My jaw tightens, but not from jealousy. It’s more reality. “That’s good.”

She lifts her head enough to look at me. “Good?”

“Yeah. I mean, you shouldn’t feel the same thing twice, right?”

Her eyes search mine. “I don’t.”

“What does it feel like?”

Her face screws up like she hates that I asked. Then she says, “Like you’re standing guard with all the lights off.”

Something inside my chest gives. “That… doesn’t sound very nice.”

“It is.” She frowns harder. “I mean, it’s annoying, but it’s not uncomfortable.”

“Wow. High praise.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

I almost smile. Almost. Then it fades.