Page 35 of Wraith’s Promise

"For now." She pulls her shirt over her head, then her sweatpants. "But if you keep staring at me like you want to bend me over your dresser, that might change."

"Don't tempt me."

She throws my shirt at my face, tells me she’s going to the bathroom and slips out the door, grinning.

I lie in her bed for another minute, processing the fact that I just woke up with Quinn in my arms, that Mariah found us and was happy about it, that my life has somehow transformed completely over the span of forty-eight hours.

My phone buzzes in my nightstand. I get up and rush to my bedroom.

Phoenix: Church at 12. Important. Found out how Vipers knew about Mariah.

I text back immediately: How?

Phoenix: Some random guy who used to come to our clubhouse for drinks. Overheard someone mention you had a daughter and decided it was the right time to sell the intel to the Vipers. We've got him now. Judge is handling it.

Relief and rage war in my chest. Relief that it wasn't someone in the club, that we don't have a traitor. Rage that some opportunistic asshole sold information about my daughter for what was probably beer money.

Me: What about the Vipers we brought in yesterday?

Phoenix: Sang like canaries once Judge got started. They were supposed to grab Mariah, use her as leverage to force our hand. Demon's orders. He's getting desperate.

Me: Good. Let him be desperate. Makes him sloppy.

Phoenix: Exactly. We'll go over the full plan at church. Brick's got something he wants to propose. I think you'll like it.

Me: I'll be there.

I set the phone down and get out of bed, pulling on clean clothes. The anger is still there. It will probably always be there when I think about men coming to my house to take my daughter, but it's manageable now.

We know how they found out. We're handling it. And we're about to go on the offensive.

Downstairs, I find Quinn and Mariah in the kitchen. Quinn's at the stove with a mixing bowl, Mariah on a stool beside her explaining in great detail the proper chocolate chip to pancake ratio.

"Daddy!" Mariah spots me immediately. "Quinn says we can have chocolate chips if we also have fruit. That's fair, right?"

"That's very fair," I agree, moving to the coffee pot. Quinn's already made a fresh pot, bless her, and I pour myself a cup.

"Phoenix texted," I tell Quinn while Mariah's distracted by the mixing bowl. "Church at noon. They found the leak."

"Everyone okay?"

"Yeah. Just some guy who overheard club talk and sold it to the Vipers. Judge has him."

"Good."

We make pancakes together, the three of us moving around the kitchen in a dance that's starting to feel natural. Mariah chatters constantly about everything and nothing. Quinn flips pancakes with one hand while keeping my daughter from eating all the chocolate chips with the other.

I set the table and pour orange juice and try not to think about the church meeting in a few hours, the war we're still fighting, the violence that's probably coming.

For now, there's just this. Pancakes and coffee and my daughter's laughter. Quinn's smile across the table. The weight of her foot brushing against mine under the table.

After breakfast, Mariah wants to show Quinn her entire book collection, which means I have a few minutes alone to shower and get ready for church. When I come back downstairs, I find them in Mariah's room, Quinn sitting cross-legged on the floor while my daughter reads to her from a book about dragons.

I lean against the doorframe and just watch for a minute. Quinn's completely focused on Mariah, asking questions about the story, making the appropriate gasps and exclamations at dramatic moments. Mariah's glowing under the attention, animated and happy in a way that makes my chest tight.

This is what I wanted for her. What I've always wanted: someone who sees how special she is, who doesn't think she's too much or too loud or too demanding. Someone who shows up and stays.

Quinn looks up and catches me watching.