Page 56 of Kill for a Kiss

14

Elle

The next morning

I don’t know how I got here from the warehouse. It felt like only a moment ago, but now it’s a new morning in a new place. It’s bright and golden here. The sun spills across the bed, filtered through the blinds of the cabin windows, warming my skin.

That’s where we are, I suppose, based on the wooden walls. A cabin, and Sterling must’ve brought us here. I can’t help the small smile forming on my face at the mere thought of him. My body’s simply reacting to his name.

I feel the crisp, white sheets beneath me. The air smells like pine and woodsmoke, a world far away from everything I’ve known. It’s so quiet that it makes the rest of the world feel like it never existed. I blink, trying to piece together the in-between. Between the gunfire, the panic, and now.

My body feels like I’ve been asleep for days. But it couldn’t be that long, could it? Perhaps only enough time has passed for the ache behind my eyes to settle. For the fog in my head to feel thinner, as if I’m finally surfacing.

But without the fog, I’m more aware of the aches across my body. I flex my fingers under the blanket, dragging them along the fabric. My skin remembers a sting from the cut in the panic room. The way his fingers roamed over my leg, careful yet quick, and trying to fix what had to be done.

Sterling. I turn my head, and there he is, sitting in a chair beside the bed, elbows braced on his knees, his head in his hands. He hasn’t slept. I can tell just by looking at him. His frame is so still and so taut. When he finally lifts his head, our eyes meet. He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. Still, something passes between us. A raw and undeniable feeling.

He starts to say something at the same time I do.

“Are you—?”

“How did we—?”

We both stop. His face flushes instantly, his gaze dropping as he shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. I didn’t know someone like him could blush. He’s such a firm, caring presence. He’s someone who always seems so prepared, even when handling danger.

It makes me smile a bit wider, even with the dull pulse slowly building behind my eyes. But I can’t help but keep them open, staring at him, and taking him in. He looks so different without the mask. Less like a mysterious stranger in the dark. More like…a man who’s still figuring out how to exist outside of shadows. Yet he makes time and space to help me heal from whatever I’m going through.

My memory’s still too spotty to remember all the details, but more remnants in my mind crawl to the forefront. Yet no matter what, I know deep in my heart that I can trust Sterling.

And maybe, he blushes for the same reason I do, because I haven’t looked away from his stunning beauty. The mix of sharp and soft lines that makes up his handsome face—his striking jawline, the curve of his cheekbones, the perfect shape of his eyes. The broadness ofhis shoulders, the firmness of his body. From time to time, I thought I’d been dreaming when I looked at him. When I blink now, I realize he’s been talking. But I’ve missed it entirely.

I sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “Sorry,” I murmur, my embarrassment clear as I face him. “What were you saying?”

Sterling rubs a hand over his jaw, shaking his head. “Nothing. It’s not important.”

But it feels important. It all does when it comes to him. He rises and moves toward the quaint kitchen space, sleeves rolled, posture tight like he’s trying not to think too hard about anything. But I see the hesitation, the faint fumbling, and the little glances back at me when he thinks I’m not watching. But I watch him the entire time, following him around with only a few feet between us.

It’s interesting, seeing him like this, in the morning light, quiet and disarmed. He cracks a few small eggs into the pan. They’re small, speckled, and look to be cute quail eggs. Is he cooking those for me…?

I step closer, wrapping a throw blanket around my shoulders. I’m shivering madly, but I persist, not wanting to worry him. My voice comes out unsteady with my teeth lightly chattering. “You… You stole those, didn’t you?”

He glances over his shoulder, faint color dusting his cheeks. “Only took what was left behind,” he says, a little too fast. “The nest was abandoned.”

I lift a brow, smiling despite myself. “Mm, and what else did you…take?”

He hesitates, long enough to give himself away. “A bit of this, a bit of that,” he says, flipping the eggs with exaggerated focus. “Went hunting too. So we have some meat, if you prefer that instead.”

Something about the way he offers the simple gesture stirssomething in me. Truthfully, all of the little details about him fascinate me. Every small gesture pulls at me. The way he moves around the cabin’s little kitchen like he’s afraid of breaking the quiet. The way he won’t quite look directly at me for too long. His jaw tightens when he fumbles a plate. There’s tension in his shoulders. And yet, there’s a faint pinkness across his face. That part makes me want to smile.

My eyes never leave him as he works. His sleeves are pushed further up to his elbows. His muscles move with silent strength when he reaches across the counter. His movements are confident, but not for show. Nothing about him seems to be for show. He simply moves with purpose, steady and magnetic.

I find myself leaning into his silence, letting my thoughts drift and trying to make sense of things. Sterling is a Song-Smith, that much I’m sure of now. He looks too much like them not to be. Damon’s the oldest. Stan’s the youngest. And Sterling’s the one no one talked about.

Clo used to talk about her sons as if she were showing off her favorite jewels, cut and polished. Damon with his cold command. Stan with that reckless charm. But never Sterling. It’s like he was cut out of the picture entirely. Erased, even.But why?

I don’t have time to think of the answer, because the pulse in my head returns, faint but building. The throb behind my eyes wrings my neck. I press a hand to my temple and try to breathe through the blinding pain. I don’t show the way I feel. I don’t want to worry Sterling.

Then he slowly sets two plates in front of me. One with a runny egg. The other with more meat. “Which one do you want?”