Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I pat the seat beside me in invitation. She doesn’t hesitate, settling in, curling up so her legs are tucked under her. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, feeling the tension slowly dissolve. Outside, the distant hum of leaves rustling through trees and the chirp of cicadas remind me that life goes on, even after bullets and bloodshed.
We lapse into a comfortable quiet, leaning against each other. The television sits dark, the house still, but it’s a cocoon of safety compared to everything we’ve endured. My mind wanders: Where do we go from here? What happens once Jason’s caught and we can put the ghosts of this nightmare to rest?
“I can’t wait to go home,” Briar says softly, voicing my thoughts. “I want my normal life back. The birds at the zoo, my routines, and…” She glances up at me, cheeks reddening. “I know everything changed between us, but I… I want something normal with you, too.”
My heart swells. Me, too, sweetheart. I shift, wincing as I adjust against the cushion, then turn to face her fully. “I, uh… about that. I don’t want you going back to your old place alone.” The alpha in me bristles at the thought of her living anywhere else, especially with Jason still on the loose. “I can’t stand the idea of you being out of my sight, especially right now.”
Her eyes widen, and I hurry to clarify, “I’m not trying to be overbearing, I just—well, I love you, Briar. And I don’t want to lose you again.”
She blinks, emotions flashing across her face—surprise, relief, maybe a flicker of amusement. I cup her cheek gently, thumb brushing against her skin. “I was thinking…” I swallow, suddenly nervous. “Once we can leave the safe house, I want you to move in with me. You and Jeb. My place is secure; it’s big enough for all of us. I mean, it’s no zoo aviary, but we’ll manage.”
Tears gather in her eyes, glistening in the dim lamplight. She laughs, a watery, joy-filled sound. “You’re serious?”
I nod, heart hammering. “Dead serious. I want you there. Always.”
Her arms loop around my neck, careful to avoid my wound. She leans in, resting her forehead against mine. “Yes,” she whispers, choking back a sob. “Yes, Orion. Of course.”
Relief crashes over me like a tidal wave. I tighten my hold, inhaling the faint floral scent of her hair, the presence that’s become essential to me. Jeb squawks a disgruntled sound, like he’s either jealous or demanding to be included.
Briar laughs, pulling back just enough to glance at the bird. “You’re invited too, Jeb,” she says.
I press a soft kiss to her temple, a surge of gratitude coursing through me. She said yes. Even with a bullet wound still healing, Russians at large, and Jason haunting the shadows, this moment feels like the first real step into a future I never thought I’d allow myself: one built on love, trust, and a fierce determination to keep each other safe.
“Welcome home,” I whisper, tucking her beneath my chin. And for the first time in a long time, I dare to believe that life—our life—can be more than just missions and danger. It can be us, together, carving out something real.
Chapter 32
Briar
It’s late, and the safe house is wrapped in darkness. The steady rhythm of Orion’s breathing beside me has lulled me into a light sleep, one I’m desperately grateful for after the last few weeks of chaos. But something stirs me—a flicker of unease skittering down my spine. I blink away the haze of dreams, taking a moment to register my surroundings. Orion’s arms are draped around me, protective even in slumber.
I carefully ease out from under his arm, not wanting to wake him. He needs his rest—his side still bandaged from that damn bullet. The idea that he nearly died keeps me awake some nights. Not tonight, I think, slipping my feet onto the floor. I’m just thirsty, that’s all.
The wooden boards creak under my step as I pad into the hallway, arms folded against the slight chill. The safe house is quiet, shadows stretching across walls and floors under the faint glow of the streetlamp outside. Jeb’s soft rustle sounds from the living room, but he doesn’t stir.
In the kitchen, I flick on the small overhead light above the stove, bathing the counters in a soft, yellowish glow. I reach for a glass, trying not to dwell on the feeling that something is… off. Maybe the safe house’s hush is messing with me, or the memory of all we’ve been through has me on edge.
I open the fridge and grab a water bottle, unscrewing the cap for a sip. That’s when I sense movement behind me—a subtle shift of air, a presence lurking just on the edge of my vision. My heart hammers as I spin around.