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"Anything," he repeats. "All you have to do is ask."

He leans in and kisses me, and I reach for him, tracing the bloody 'T' carved into his chest before bringing the fingertips to my mouth and sucking them clean.

"The sun's up," I tell him.

"Yeah. We'll need to leave soon. Come on—we need to shower. You have to help me clean this up."

But what is all ofthis—everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours—going to look like in the light of day?

"I love you, Teagan," Declan says as he makes his way toward the bathroom. And maybe he knows me well enough that he can read my mind by now because before he turns the corner, he adds, "You havenothingto worry about. Everything is okay."

Okay.

Everything is going to be okay.

TWENTY-SEVEN

I'm alone when I awake later that morning. Light leaks through the tiny space where the blackout curtains don't quite touch in the otherwise dark room. Lying on my stomach, I stretch my arms above my head, running my hands over the smooth, white, bloodstained sheets, savoring how it feels in contrast to my sore, aching body.

I'm hungover in every sense of the word. Mind, body, and spirit—they've all been abused in new, unfamiliar ways.

It was too…intimate. Every moment of it was painfully intimate, and that's a pain I haven't felt before. I'm still not quite sure I like it; I'm not used to it. It doesn't quite feel real when the images flash in my mind, but the evidence is laid out in front of me, written in crimson and white.

My cheeks flush red to match when I hear Declan's voice coming from the main room. I think I'll stay here—I need a moment, an hour, as long as he'll allow me to gather myself before I leave this room.

But then I hear Luca's voice, and my heart fucking explodes. I pull myself out of bed, throw on that stupid fucking t-shirt, and head through the door. He doesn't see me yet.

An involuntary smile spreads across my face.

"'Try this cocaine,' he said. 'It'll be fun,' he said," I mock.

He turns to me and smiles. "There's my angel."

Before I can think better of it, I jump into his lap, throwing my arms around him.

"Ah! Fuck. Easy, baby."

"I'm sorry!" I tell him, jumping back. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," he says. "Hug me on my good side."

"I'm so fucking happy to see you," I say, hugging him on his right side—the good side. I bury my face in his neck and one hand in his hair, squeezing my eyes shut as I breathe him in. After all of that, he still smells like him. I could bathe in it—I could drown in it, and I don't think it would kill me. I simply wouldn't need air anymore. I'd exist in this semi-animate state of lovesick bliss, waiting for the effects to wear off, hoping they never would.

And they never fucking will. Not now, anyway. We've marked each other in ways that don't come off, and now, that includes Declan, too. My hands are forever bloodied by the Gods of Tomorrow, and to me, they're just that because my fate will always be theirs to decide.

They own me in every way that matters. I'd be completely and utterly terrified at the prospect if it weren't for my far-too-lonely, long-starved heart insisting they belong to me, too.

Declan sits beside me on the other side of the couch, placing a hand on my back, and my stomach flips.

"Kitten?"

"Hmm?"

"We need to get on the road, okay? You two go get your things."

"Okay," I tell him. I force my eyes open and pull away from Luca, then wrap my body around Declan the same way.

Tighter, even. Partly because he doesn't have a bad side with a bullet hole, but partly because I'm still worried that he'll disappear if I don't.