Page 53 of Dark Rebel’s Reckoning (The Children Of The Gods #93)

Max reviewed Turner's intelligence briefings, studied the maps of Tehran showing the locations of Kyra's sisters' homes, and committed the extraction protocols to memory.

He should go to sleep, but he was reluctant to leave the penthouse and go down to the Guardians' shared apartment.

He wondered whether Kyra was done talking to Jasmine in the living room. He had ventured out of the home office earlier, wanting to get some of the leftovers from dinner, but when he heard them talking and realized that they were sharing a moment, he quietly retreated to the office and went over the maps again.

As a soft knock at his door pulled him from his thoughts, he knew right away it was Kyra, and a moment later the door opened and she walked in, wearing a loose T-shirt and leggings. Her hair was down, framing her face in soft waves, making her look younger, and somehow less formidable.

"Are you still working?" she asked.

"I'm done. I should be heading to bed." He closed the laptop and rose to his feet.

"Yeah, me too, except I don't think sleep is going to happen. I'm too hyped up."

He smiled. "Want me to sing you a lullaby?"

He'd meant it as a joke and was surprised when she nodded.

"I would love that. Jasmine told me that you are a great singer and that I should ask you to sing to me sometime. How about you sing to me now?"

"Sure. Here?"

She chuckled and reached for his hand. "Not here. Have you ever seen the penthouse master bedroom?"

She was inviting him to her bedroom?

They'd shared kisses, touches, but he knew this wasn't about sex. She just needed someone to be with her tonight because her emotions were all over the place.

"Can't say that I have. Do you want to give me a tour?"

She nodded and turned around, tugging him by the hand to follow her.

The master bedroom was right next to the office, and as she opened the door, his eyes immediately were drawn to the massive four-poster bed that was situated on top of an elevated area in the back of the room. There was also a sitting area with a couch and an armchair and a couple of bookcases flanking the fireplace.

He thought she would lead him to the couch, but she surprised him, heading for the platform and the massive bed on top of it.

The covers were already turned down, as if she'd tried and failed to sleep before coming to find him. The room smelled of her—that indefinable scent that had begun to feel like home to him, mixed with the faint traces of the soap and shampoo she'd used earlier.

"I don't want to be alone with my thoughts tonight," Kyra said. "Usually, before a mission, I'd go over plans, check weapons, review contingencies. But now I have an entire team doing that for me. Everything feels different." She turned to look at him. "Would you mind lying next to me in bed? You can sleep here if you want, but if you want to go back to your own bed, can you do that after I fall asleep?"

"Of course." He toed off his boots and followed her to the bed. "I'll lie over the covers."

He had showered and changed clothes earlier, so it wasn't because he was afraid of dirtying her bed. He was afraid of being too close to her and wanting something he couldn't have tonight.

"As you wish." She climbed under the covers and pulled them up to just under her breasts.

He wished she had pulled the blanket higher up to her neck so he wouldn't have to stare at the enticing swell of her breasts, but he wasn't going to say anything. Instead, he tucked the blanket around her and lay down beside her on top of it.

"For twenty years, all I had was the resistance," she said quietly. "The mission was everything. Success or failure affected people I cared deeply about, but it has never been so personal." She looked up at him, her golden-brown eyes reflecting the soft light from the bedside lamp. "Now I have Jasmine. The girls. And..." She hesitated, then finished softly, "And you."

His heart lurched in his chest. It was a confirmation of the deepening connection that had been growing between them, and he was grateful to her for putting it into words.

He wished he could reciprocate, but telling her he loved her was premature, and he didn't know how else to verbalize what he was feeling.

For a long moment, they lay side by side in silence, their faces turned toward each other.

"Are you afraid?" she asked softly.

"No. We're well prepared, the team is strong, and the plan is solid. Still, shit happens, you know?"

She chuckled. "Tell me about it. I'm an expert on that."

"I doubt you are as good as me at failing."

She reached across the space between them, her fingers brushing his cheek in a touch so gentle it made his heart inflate. "You found me when I was lost, and you helped bring me back to my daughter. I'd say that you are pretty good at winning."

"So are you."

She sighed. "I'm learning how to live. How to be with Jasmine. With the girls." Her voice softened further. "With you."

Max took a deep breath, knowing that if he was ever going to speak his truth, it should be now, before they faced whatever awaited them in Tehran.

"I know that it's too early to talk about love, but I care about you, Kyra," he said, the words inadequate for the depth of feeling behind them. "Deeply. More than I thought I was capable of." He paused, searching for the right words. "I've lived a long time, known many people, many women, but I've never felt toward anyone what I feel for you. It's like we are connected by some cosmic thread. Like we were meant to be together."

She smiled. "Destined mates?"

"Yeah, and don't make fun of this. It's real."

"I would never make fun of something like that, especially since I feel the same way. It's almost scary, this lightning-fast connection between us. Unlike you, I haven't been close to anyone I can remember, and you are the first man who makes me feel truly alive, who proves to me that I'm not broken beyond repair and that I still have hope of having it all. But those thoughts terrify me almost as much as they excite me."

He was floored by how completely honest and open she was. "Why does it terrify you?"

Kyra was quiet for a long moment, her fingers absently playing with the pendant at her throat. "Because I've lost so much already," she said, her voice catching slightly. "The more I care, the more I have to lose."

Her raw honesty touched something deep in his soul. He understood her fear all too well. Immortality meant accumulating losses, watching humans age and die, seeing history repeat its bloody cycles. Opening yourself to connections meant opening yourself to pain.

"I can't promise nothing bad will happen," he said honestly. "We're immortals, but we're not invulnerable. The mission has risks. Life has risks." He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips linger against her skin. "All we can do is make each moment count."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "How do you do that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do what?"

"Say exactly what I need to hear."

He snorted. "No one has ever accused me of saying the right thing. I usually say all the wrong things and step on people's toes."

She smiled. "Maybe we are so much alike that we think the same way, and that's why we resonate with each other."

"That's a very good way to think about it. Another is to trust that the Fates brought us together for a reason. I, for one, don't plan to argue with them."

That drew a soft laugh from her. "The Fates," she repeated. "I've never been one for destiny or fate. I've always believed we make our own paths."

"Maybe the Fates open doors, but we decide whether to walk through them or not."

She considered this, her expression thoughtful. "So, this is a door?" She waved at the small space between them.

"It is, and I'm walking right through it if you let me in."

Instead of answering, Kyra moved closer, bridging the distance between them. Her lips found his in a kiss that was both gentle and certain, but he still wasn't sure whether it was an invitation for more or just an affirmation of her feelings toward him.

He cupped her face, returning her kiss with equal tenderness, letting her set the pace.

When they parted, Kyra's eyes remained closed for a moment, and when she opened them, the quiet certainty in them made his heart race.

"Whatever happens tomorrow," she said softly, "I'm glad we have tonight, even if it is only to hold each other tight."

"Me too," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Would you sing to me now?"

He started humming a tune, an old Scottish love ballad that he had forgotten the lyrics to. But as he hummed, the memory of them returned, and he started singing softly.

Kyra let out a breath and closed her eyes, and after a few moments her breathing slowed and deepened.

He kept singing, marveling at the sound of the steady beat of her heart against his side, and the warmth of her body seeping through the blanket between them.

It struck him that in all his centuries of existence, all his adventures and battles and conquests, few moments had felt as perfect as this one. Not because it was dramatic or passionate, but because it was real. Because it was Kyra, with all her strength and fragility, choosing to share this moment of vulnerability with him.