Page 46 of Devil’s Night (The Shadows of Darkness Universe #3)

Chapter thirty-four

I love You

Katya

T he room is quiet when we return. Too quiet.

The door clicks softly behind us, locking the outside world away, the war, the deception, the venom coiled beneath my father’s smile. Gone are the lies we fed him, the promises Echo made with a voice soaked in betrayal. All of it is behind that door. For now.

I don’t move. I stand in the middle of the room, still wearing the light dress that made my father say I looked like my mother, still wearing the necklace that carries the weight of our name. The silence stretches like a thin wire, threatening to snap.

But Echo doesn’t speak.

Not yet.

Instead, he walks to me slowly, as if approaching something fragile. As if touching me too quickly might break whatever this moment is becoming.

He stops just in front of me. No rush. No command.

His hand lifts, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, then resting on my jaw like I’m something delicate he’s not sure he’s worthy of holding.

“You were perfect,” he murmurs, voice hoarse with restraint.

I open my mouth to say something, to deflect, to deny, to shift the weight of his praise elsewhere, but his thumb traces my bottom lip and the words die there.

His touch isn’t demanding.

It’s gentle.

And it wrecks me.

“You looked him in the eye,” he whispers. “And promised him a kingdom we’re going to destroy.”

I exhale, shaky. “It didn’t feel brave.”

“That’s what made it brave.”

His eyes are molten when they meet mine, not with fire, but with depth. With knowing. Not the man who claimed me in the shadows, who pressed me into sheets and whispered filth into my skin, but the man who’s been quietly learning me all along.

“I need to say something,” he breathes. “And I need you to believe it.”

I nod, barely.

His fingers trail down my cheek, brushing the side of my throat, skimming over the faint mark he left nights ago with teeth and hunger.

“I love you.”

The words land like a knife, not in pain, but in precision.

He could’ve said it while he was inside me. Could’ve groaned it against my throat or choked it out between thrusts. But he says it now.

Quiet. Steady. Undeniable.

My breath catches.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he continues. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t think I could. But somewhere between you spitting blood and defying every fucking person who’s ever tried to own you... I fell in love with you, Katya.”

His hands find my waist and still don’t pull. They settle. They stay.

“I don’t want your pain. I don’t want your allegiance. I want you.”

I’m trembling before I realize it. Not from fear. From something deeper. Something older than both of us.

Echo leans in, forehead resting against mine. His breath mixes with mine, warm and soft. When his lips brush mine, it’s not a kiss. It’s a question.

And I answer it by stepping into him, arms around his neck, mouth pressing back into his with something unspoken and heavy. My fingers tangle in his hair as his hands finally pull me closer, gently, reverently, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.

When he walks me backward, it’s slow. Methodical. He doesn’t throw me onto the bed like he has before. He lays me down like something precious.

The dress falls from my shoulders inch by inch, his fingers dragging the silk with care, not haste. His mouth follows, pressing kisses across every inch of newly revealed skin. My collarbone. My sternum. The top of each rib like he’s charting a map only he gets to read.

When he pulls the dress fully off, he pauses.

Just stares.

Like I’m the most dangerous and beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

His hands skim down my sides, his thumbs pressing lightly into the curve of my hips. He kisses my stomach, then lower, soft and warm, nothing like the sharp, hungry man I’ve known. His mouth moves as if worshiping, not claiming.

I reach for his shirt, and he lets me undress him slowly, each button undone revealing skin I already know but need to touch again. This time differently. This time real.

When we’re both bare, he doesn’t rush.

He crawls over me, nose brushing mine, eyes locked to mine. His hand cups the side of my face as he lines himself up, and when he finally presses inside, I gasp, not from the stretch, but the way it feels.

Like coming home to something I never believed could be mine.

There’s no feral pace. No bruising need.

He moves with devastating slowness, hips rolling into mine like he’s savoring every second inside me. His breath hitches when I moan, and he swallows the sound with a kiss so soft, it makes my chest ache.

“Say it again,” I whisper against his lips.

“I love you,” he breathes. “So fucking much.”

I wrap my legs around him tighter, arms clinging to his back, nails pressing into muscle as he thrusts deeper, each movement drawing sounds from me I didn’t know I could make. Moans. Whimpers. His name.

His hands find mine and lace our fingers together, pinning them above my head as he sinks in deeper. Slower. Deeper again.

I break apart beneath him. Quiet, trembling. Overwhelmed by the slow, rhythmic drag of him inside me. It’s not just physical. It’s everything.

He doesn’t stop when I cum. He keeps going, hips rocking into me with the kind of control that makes my entire body shake. My second release creeps up slower, building heat in my belly, spiraling until I can’t think, can’t breathe.

“I need you,” I gasp. “Don’t stop. Please, Echo, don’t-”

“I won’t,” he groans, thrusting harder now. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And when he finally cums, it’s with a low, guttural moan into my neck. His body shakes above mine, spilling deep, his arms tight around me like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go.

But I don’t.

Because I’m here.

And for once… so is he.

He collapses onto his forearms above me, chest heaving, his breath still tangled with mine. His face is buried in my neck, lips pressing into the sweat-damp skin beneath my ear, and I think, for a moment, it’s over.

But it isn’t.

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move away. He just stays there, deep inside me, like he belongs.

And then he kisses me.

Not my lips this time.

My throat.

The slope of my shoulder.

The curve of my breast.

Each kiss is soft. Lingering. Not driven by lust, but by something softer. Warmer. He doesn’t move his hips. Just touches. Just sees me.

“You don’t know,” he whispers, voice shaking, “how long I’ve wanted to love someone like this.”

His hand trails down my side, not with hunger, but reverence. Fingers glide over the dip of my waist, the bruises he left nights ago, the curve of my hip. He kisses the inside of my wrist, right over my pulse.

“I love you,” he murmurs, again and again, like saying it once wasn’t enough. Like saying it is a vow.

“I love you when you lie.”

A kiss to my collarbone.

“When you fight.”

His lips press just above my breast.

“When you cry.”

Another kiss, lower. Slower.

“When you scream my name like I’m the only thing holding you together.”

His mouth traces the skin beneath my ribs, and my breath hitches.

“I love you when you pretend not to need anyone.”

He moves farther down, spreading my legs again, not to take, but to taste.

“I love you when you let me in.”

His mouth meets my dripping cunt with the kind of patience that makes my head tilt back, my spine arch. He’s not rushing. He’s not proving anything. He’s worshipping.

He licks me slowly, tongue moving in slow, perfect circles as his arms wrap beneath my thighs and hold me like I might float away. I sob his name, already too raw, too wrecked, but he doesn’t stop. He moans into me, lips devouring me like I’m the first god he’s ever believed in.

Every time I try to come down, he pulls me back to the edge. Every tremor, every breathless gasp, he wants it. Not for dominance. Not for control.

For me.

Because this is his way of saying it.

Over and over again.

I come apart on his mouth, shaking, legs locking around his shoulders, tears slipping down my cheeks from the sheer intensity of it. But still , he doesn’t stop.

He only lifts his head when I can’t take anymore, when I’m shaking so hard I’m afraid I’ll fall through the mattress. His lips are slick with me, and his eyes, god, his eyes , are dark and reverent and full of something I never thought I’d see on his face.

Devotion.

He crawls back up my body, one kiss at a time, until he’s above me again, brushing hair away from my face, his palm cradling my cheek.

“I will burn every man that tries to take you from me,” he whispers. “I will ruin every man who looks at you like you’re his to have.”

I reach for him, pulling him into another kiss, softer now. Slower.

He shifts his hips, still hard, still aching, and when he slides back into me, slow, deep, perfect, I gasp, overwhelmed all over again.

“I love you,” he says again, right against my lips. “I love you when you fall apart. I love you when you fight me. I love you every way there is.”

He moves in me like a promise, like he’s not trying to fuck me, but keep me.

And I let him.

Because I love him too.

Because for the first time in a life full of chains and control, I feel free.

And it’s with him.

Always him.

He’s still inside me when he lowers us gently onto the bed, his body pressed to mine like he can’t bear even an inch of space between us. His lips graze my cheek, then my jaw, then the corner of my mouth, and for a moment, neither of us says a word.

There’s only breath.

Heartbeats.

Sweat-slick skin and the sound of the sheets shifting as I move beneath him.

But something stirs in my chest, warm and unbearable. I want more. Not of him on me.

Of him beneath me.

Not to reclaim control, not to prove anything. I just want to see him. Every inch of him. I want to take my time. To feel what it’s like to love him back—not with words, but with every part of me.

“Lie back,” I whisper, voice hoarse but steady.

His brows lift, just a little. He studies my face like he’s searching for hesitation. There isn’t any.

Wordlessly, he shifts onto his back, hands falling away, giving himself over to me without resistance. His chest rises and falls with the kind of anticipation that makes my thighs ache all over again.

I straddle him slowly, palms splayed against his chest, my legs trembling with the sensitivity of what came before, but needing him again, deeper this time. Different.

His cock slides against me, still hard, slick with the remnants of us. I sink down slowly, inch by inch, gasping at the stretch, the way it fills me again like I’ve been empty without him.

His hands grip my hips, not to guide, just to feel.

But I don’t move. Not yet.

Instead, I rest my hands on either side of his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. He looks up at me like I’m gravity itself.

“I love you,” I say.

His eyes widen, not with shock, but something softer. Something like awe.

“I love you, Echo.” My voice breaks on his name. “I shouldn’t. God, I shouldn’t. But I do. And I don’t care what it means. I don’t care how it ends. I just want this. You. Us. Even if it’s only for a little while.”

His hands slide up my waist, slow and reverent. “Say it again,” he whispers.

I lean down, lips brushing his. “I love you.”

And then I start to move.

Slow at first, grinding down, hips rolling in a steady rhythm that makes us both gasp. My palms brace against his chest, and his hands stay at my waist, gripping hard enough to anchor me, but gentle enough to let me lead.

He moans beneath me, eyes locked on mine like he doesn’t want to miss a second. I ride him with everything I am, every scar, every scream, every piece of broken glass I’ve ever carried. It’s all here, laid bare between us.

Each movement is a confession.

Each grind is a promise.

He rises to meet my pace, thrusts getting deeper, slower, perfect. My hands find his, fingers lacing together above his head. I lower myself until our foreheads touch, our mouths sharing every shaky breath.

“I love you,” he says again, and again, and again, like it’s the only truth left in a world full of rot and fire.

When I cum, it’s not loud. It’s not desperate.

It’s complete.

And when he follows, spilling into me with a broken moan and his hands gripping me like he’ll never let go, I know, this is real.

No lies.

No power plays.

Just love.

Raw and terrifying.

And ours.

The world is still.

The air hums with our breath, slow and uneven. My body rests atop his, every inch of skin flushed and damp, my head tucked beneath his chin like it belongs there. His hands move slowly over my back, just fingers trailing across spine and shoulder blades, like he can’t stop touching me even now.

It’s quiet. Not the kind of silence that weighs like guilt or fear, but something softer. A kind of silence that settles into the bones. A peace I’ve never known.

Neither of us says a word for a long time.

His heartbeat is steady beneath my cheek, echoing into my chest like a metronome that finally found its rhythm.

I could fall asleep like this.

But then his voice breaks the stillness, low, raw, and quiet, like he’s saying something meant only for the shadows between us.

“I kept you in my cage,” he murmurs, fingers still tracing my spine. “And somehow… you kept me in yours.”

I lift my head slowly, meeting his eyes in the dark. There’s no smirk. No arrogance. Just a kind of broken honesty that makes my heart twist.

His fingers tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, lingering there like he’s memorizing the shape of me. “You were supposed to be leverage. A way in. I told myself that from the start.”

He swallows, eyes scanning mine. “But it stopped being about tactics the second you looked me in the eye and didn’t flinch. The second you saw the monster… and didn’t run.”

“You were never a monster to me,” I whisper.

A faint smile tugs at his mouth, but it doesn’t last. “I was. I am. But with you, I feel like I could be more than that. Or at least... less.”

I press a kiss to the center of his chest, right over his heart. “You’re already more.”

He pulls me in tighter, arms wrapping around me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go. “I don’t know how to love gently, Katya. I don’t know how to do this the right way.”

“There is no right way,” I murmur. “There’s only this. Us.”

His lips brush my temple. “Then I’m yours. Whatever happens next… I’m yours.”

The words fall into the space between us like a vow.

And I believe him.

For the first time in my life, I believe someone who’s sworn to stay.

We lie there in the dark, tangled in sweat and love and whatever strange fate has pulled us together. Outside these walls, the world is still a battlefield.

But right now, wrapped in his arms, it feels a little less cruel.

Because he’s not Echo, the commander.

Not Echo, the weapon.

He’s just him.

And somehow… he’s mine.