Page 137

Well. I’m only human.

Sort of.

She shifts first. Subtle. Just enough to make her point. Her hand presses lightly against my chest, and her hips twist like she’s ready to step out of the hug and get back to whatever nightmare path we’re supposed to be trudging through today.

“Move your leg,” she mutters, barely looking up. Her voice is all edge and threat—but underneath, I catch it. That soft little flush of heat in her tone.

I grin, slow and unrepentant. “Can’t. I’ve suffered a tragic thigh injury. You’d have to carry me.”

She snorts. “I’ll leave you here.”

“I’d haunt you.”

She pulls back a fraction, just enough to glare up at me, and gods, I love when she does that—when she’s not afraid to challenge me, to push back, to give me the sharpness I crave right before she softens.

“I’m serious, Elias.”

“Unfortunately,” I say, tilting my head, “so is my erection.”

That earns me a sharp slap to the shoulder. Not hard. More like punctuation.

I lean in a little closer, not letting her go, arms still firm around her waist like I’m anchoring both of us in this. The truth is, I don’t want the moment to end. Not because it’s perfect—it's not. It's messy. Cringey. Probably going to lead to at least one emotionally complicated conversation we’ll both pretend didn’t happen. But it'sreal. And real is rare around here.

She presses her hand harder against my chest, trying again.

I don’t budge.

Instead, I lean down, mouth close to her ear, and say it without flinching.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I felt something this good and didn’t immediately fuck it up?”

That stops her. Her fingers curl against my shirt. Not pulling. Just... staying. I pull back enough to see her eyes—stormy and guarded, but not leaving me. Never leaving me.

“So,” I murmur, voice quieter now, a little rougher, “no. I'm not moving. Not yet.”

She exhales like she’s annoyed, but she doesn’t try again. She just stands there, wrapped in my arms like maybe—just maybe—this is the only place she doesn’t have to be anything butherself.

And me?

I’m fine being the idiot who holds her like that’s enough. Because sometimes love isn’t a grand declaration. Sometimes it’s just not letting go.

Luna

I can feel Elias grinning against the side of my neck like he hasn’t just whispered something wildly inappropriate in my ear for the fourth time in three minutes. His arms wrapped around me, loose but stubborn, like he’s pretending this is about emotional comfort and not the slow, strategic migration of his left hand up under my shirt.

Subtle. Almost.

If I weren’t me, I might’ve thought it was accidental. Just a casual graze along my waist, fingers slipping over skin like they’re lost. Innocent. Warm. Familiar.

But I know Elias.

He doesn’tdoaccidental. He does intention wrapped in mischief. He does flirting like a weapon and affection like a dare. And right now, that hand is inching north, slow and deliberate, fingertips brushing over the space just beneath my ribs with a kind of reverence that dares me to say nothing.

We arenot alone.

The others are ahead of us on the trail. Not close enough to hear, but close enough to notice if I suddenly start moaning in the middle of a conversation about which cursed direction to take next. I should stop him. I should push him away.

But I let him go just a little further. Just until the heel of his palm brushes the swell of my breast, so lightly it could almost be excused. Almost.