Page 51 of Dolls & Daggers

As if she can read my mind, she rolls onto her side and props her head on her hand. “What made you change your mind, Songbird? You hated me so much before. Now you want to be with me?”

I mirror her position, uncaring that my thoroughly spent dick flops onto her bed—growerandshower, folks. “Honestly?”

At her nod, I trace her lips with my thumb, memorizing each and every perfect feature of her beautiful face—from her long, thick lashes to her button nose.I’ve never been more at peace with anyone than I am at this moment.

When I look at her, I’m not immediately reminded of the horrible childhood I had. Slowly, the past ebbs away, and the future I thought I fucked up begins to look a whole lot brighter—pinker.

“You feel like home.”

Tryingto keep the tears at bay burns my sinuses.

Wren sleeps curled against my side, peacefully unaware of my turmoil. Gently, I press a kiss to his head before resuming my slow, soothing strokes through his silken strands.

You feel like home.

Does he mean like his mother?

Or does he mean it for real?

“No one will ever hurt you again, Songbird. Not while I’m around,” I whisper to his resting form.

His mother is alive. Alive and still in contact with him.

Do they speak?

Does he forgive her?

Is this why he’s so obsessed with the Doll?

Everything makes so much more sense now.

Astrange calm settled over me when I caught him trying to open the door to the room where I keep everything for my alter ego.

He knows.

He must have seen the bruises the night I returned to his place. My clever songbird pieced it all together and still sought me out. Still let me devour him while at my mercy. Still begged me to make him mine.

Do you know what it means to be mine, Wren?

Do you understand that once you’re mine, I’ll never let you go?

White flashes at the edge of my vision. Fang lifts his head from the edge of his bed, eyes locked on my nightstand as the glow pulses in the darkness. Once again, my mother is calling, though I haven’t picked up in months.

Seems like we both have mommy issues.

I do not forgive my mother.

I have no desire or reason to speak to the woman who sided with the boogeyman.

But now, I do harbor an intense need to rid Wren of the monster lurking under his bed.

He stirs, as if my errant thoughts have bled into his dreams. Dark blond brows pinch together as he clutches me tighter. “No…” he murmurs.

“No what, baby?” I tilt my head to see his face better.

A deep shudder racks his body. His fingers dig painfully into my hip where he grasps me. “No, don’t!”

“Wren,” I whisper, shaking him gently. “Baby, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”