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Even if it came in the form of a socially awkward angel being terrorized by a housecat.

12

OMEN’S CALL

CADE

Iwoke to the soft warmth of Sean beside me, the weight of his arm sprawled over my stomach like he owned the space, like he always had. The morning light broke through the blinds in sharp slants, tracing over his back and the wrinkled sheets tangled around our legs. My body ached from the hunt last night, bruised ribs and scraped knuckles reminding me of the fight, but all of that faded beneath the quiet.

This was rare. Peace like this. A bubble between storms. My thoughts moved slow, almost drowsy, as I lay there watching dust float in the sunbeams. For a second, I could almost pretend this was normal, that I wasn’t dragging half of hell inside my chest like a goddamn curse. I could lie to myself for a little while longer.

Sean murmured in his sleep, face half-buried in the pillow. His dark hair was a fucking disaster, sticking up in every direction. I smiled without meaning to. There was a new scar along his collarbone. Thin and pink, not fully settled yet. Six months. That’s how long he’d hunted alone while I was gone. While I was rotting somewhere I couldn’t remember.

My fingers moved on their own, tracing the line of the scar, gentle, careful. There were more now. Scattered across his chest and stomach like a map of everything I missed. Every story I wasn’t there for. Guilt stirred, sharp in my throat. And underneath it, a quiet, dangerous question.

Would I have done the same if it were him? Would I have kept fighting? Or would I have let him go?

I didn’t know. That scared me more than anything.

I leaned in and kissed him, soft, just brushing our lips together. He stirred, groaned low in his throat, then kissed me back. Slower. Like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. His hand slid up, fingers curling around my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek.

“Morning,” he rasped, voice rough and sleep-heavy.

I saw the flicker in his eyes, that split-second of disbelief like he expected me to vanish. It wasn’t happening as often, but it still hit sometimes, like reality had to catch up.

“Still here,” I said. “Not going anywhere.”

His mouth quirked into a half-smile, worn thin at the edges. “Good.”

We stayed like that for a minute, just breathing each other in. The kind of silence that held weight. I kissed him again, deeper this time, and he opened up to it like he’d been waiting days instead of hours. I could taste sleep and heat on his tongue. His fingers slid into my hair, tugging a little, and I made a sound in the back of my throat, low and involuntary.

The kiss turned slow and consuming, not rushed. This wasn’t about urgency. It was about memory, about grounding. About telling him I was still real with every fucking touch.

I shifted, rolling on top of him, straddling his hips. He looked up at me, eyes dark and hooded, a little surprised but not resisting. I kissed his neck, his jaw, then lower, trailing down his chest. I took my time, relearning him inch by inch. His skin waswarm under my mouth, familiar in a way that wrecked me. His breath hitched when I licked a slow path over a scar just under his ribs.

“You always do this,” he said, voice low, teasing but breathless.

“What?”

“Act like I’m gonna disappear if you don’t memorize me.”

I looked up, met his gaze. “Can you blame me?”

Sean went quiet. His hand moved to my hair again, softer now. “No,” he said. “I can’t.”

I kept going. Lower. Until I was between his thighs, and he was already half-hard, cock twitching against his stomach. I wrapped a hand around the base and licked a slow stripe up the length of him. Sean hissed in a breath, head tipping back against the pillow.

“Fuck, Cade.”

I didn’t answer. Just wrapped my mouth around the head and sucked, slow and deep. His hips jerked, but I held him down with one hand, easing him in deeper, feeling him hit the back of my throat. It wasn’t about control. Not really. It was about giving him something he didn’t have to fight for.

Sean’s breathing got ragged. His hand clenched in my hair. “You—shit—you don’t have to…”

I pulled off just enough to mutter, “Shut up, Cullen.”

Then took him back in, letting spit pool in my mouth, using it to stroke the base as I worked him deeper. I liked the way he swore under his breath. The way he tried to stay quiet and failed. His thighs trembled under my hands. He wasn’t used to this. Not like this. Not with me in control.

When I pulled off again, he looked wrecked. Hair sticking to his forehead, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile.