Page 14 of Reptile Dysfunction (Harmony Glen #11)

Chapter Thirteen

T had

The water tower feels emptier than usual tonight.

My footsteps echo off the curved walls as I pace the circumference of my living room for what must be the hundredth time.

Every step hurts, but I’m more focused on the pain in my heart.

Every few minutes, I catch myself glancing at my phone, hoping for a message that hasn’t come.

My snakes droop pathetically, mirroring the hollow feeling in my chest. Even Sterling, usually the most animated of the bunch, hangs limply over my forehead like a wilted flower.

I popped a couple of pills I found in the cabinet, and the fire in my back has cooled—but the burn of watching Sloane walk out to meet Bradley? Still raging.

“She had to go,” I tell my dejected snakes. “What was she supposed to do? Tell Daddy’s golden boy to get lost?”

Several snakes hiss miserably in response. They don’t buy my rationalizations any more than I do.

I drop onto my couch with a wince, careful of my still-tender back. The soup Sloane made sits cold on the stove, untouched since she left. I couldn’t bring myself to eat it, as if consuming the last evidence of her presence would somehow make her absence more permanent.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter to the empty room. “She’s the mayor’s daughter. I’m a former enforcer with a bad back and hair that betrays every emotion. What did I expect?”

My phone buzzes, and my heart leaps before I see it’s just Sebastian checking in. I ignore it. The last thing I need is my brother’s well-intentioned concern or, worse, his knowing looks when I admit how much Sloane’s departure stung.

Outside my windows, the moon casts silver light across Harmony Glen. Somewhere down there, Sloane is sitting across from Bradley at Marcello’s, probably discussing their future together while he pontificates about community development and political connections.

My snakes hiss low with jealousy, like I’m the one being ousted from my own story. At least one of us is having the evening that was planned. Too bad it’s probably the wrong evening for both of us.

The staccato buzz of the intercom startles me from my brooding. I wince as I push myself off the couch, my back protesting every movement as I shuffle to the entry. It’s likely Sebastian checking on me again, or worse, one of the Silver Swimmers with a “feel better” casserole.

“Yeah?” I growl into the intercom, not bothering to check the monitor.

“It’s me.” Sloane’s voice crackles through the speaker, breathless and tired.

Suddenly alert, my snakes rise in unison, and I’m hitting the entry buzzer before my brain fully processes what’s happening. By the time she climbs the stairs to my main floor, I’m standing in the open doorway, my back protesting but almost completely ignored.

When I see her, slightly breathless, as if she’s walked a long way, hair windblown and cheeks flushed.

“Hi,” she says simply.

A dozen questions crowd my mind. Why isn’t she at dinner? What happened with Bradley? Why did she come back? But all I manage is, “You’re here.”

“I am.” Her eyes meet mine, determination and something softer mingling in her gaze. “Turns out I’m exactly where I want to be.”

She kisses me without a second of hesitation, as though she’s been thinking about it since she left my place over an hour ago.

Her hands clutch my back, careful of sore muscles but eager to touch.

Every snake shudders in pleasure when she scratches gently at my scalp, even the ones still trying to maintain some dignity.

“You walked miles in those shoes,” I murmur against her lips. “Just to tell me that?”

“Worth it.” She presses closer, and my snakes practically fight each other to be able to touch her skin as they make sounds of pure satisfaction. “Though my feet might disagree tomorrow.”

Without breaking the kiss, I scoop her up. Her surprised laugh vibrates against my mouth as I carry her to the couch, my back screaming, but not enough to stop me. “Better?”

“Much.” She’s sitting across my lap as her fingers find my scalp again. Every snake goes boneless with pleasure as she strokes them. “They really like that, don’t they?”

“Greedy beggars, all of them.” But Sterling is already wrapping loosely around her throat while others weave through her hair possessively. “Especially that one.”

“I like that one.” She scratches just behind Sterling’s skull, making him writhe with pleasure. “He’s honest about what he wants.”

“Unlike me?”

Her gaze meets mine, challenging. “You tell me. And don’t you dare use those intriguing eyes on me—I want to give you the truth because I choose to, not because some ancient Gorgon magic compels me.”

“Would you know the difference?” I ask, voice dropping to that dangerous register.

“With you? I think I’d welcome it either way.”

The words spill out before I can stop them.

“I want you. All of you. The journalist who wears thousand-dollar shoes to public pools and asks questions nobody else dares to ask. The Pilates teacher with the balls to speak truth to power. The woman who sees past the enforcer to whatever’s left underneath. ”

“You’re not some leftover fragment of who you used to be.” Her hand cups my jaw, thumb tracing my stubble. “You’re still the same protector, still making people feel safe. You’ve just evolved—like a snake shedding old skin to grow stronger.”

To prove her point, several snakes frame her face protectively, while others maintain their watch on the stairs despite my distraction. Always alert, always ready.

“Old habits,” I mutter when she notices, but she just smiles.

“Good habits. Important ones that kept you and others alive.” She shifts on my lap, making every nerve-ending fire. “Though some new ones might be nice, too.”

Our kiss deepens, hunger replacing hesitation. Her hands explore my chest while mine span her waist, pulling her closer as though afraid she’ll disappear again. Above us, my snakes weave patterns of pure desire in the air, their usual coordination forgotten in favor of pure sensation.

When her hip grazes my rock-hard cock, perhaps accidentally, my control slips. A growl rumbles through my chest, and my snakes actually shiver in response.

“Careful,” I warn, but my hands are already sliding under her blouse, finding warm skin. “I’m not very good at holding back lately. Not when I’m around you.”

“Good.” She nips my lower lip. “I didn’t walk all this way for you to be careful.”

“Sloane.” Her name is half warning, half plea. “If we start this…”

“We already started this.” Her hip slides against my hardness again, deliberate now. “The moment I walked into your pool in those ridiculous shoes.”

The memory makes me smile against her mouth. “They were impressive shoes.”

“You were more impressive in your sexy swimsuit.” Her fingers trace the tribal tattoos on my arms. “All brooding enforcer energy and protective instincts. Made me want to know what was underneath.”

“And now?”

“Now I want to know everything .” She kisses along my jaw, making my snakes sway drunkenly. “Every ability, every instinct, every way you react when I do this…”

Her nails scrape my scalp again, and my control snaps. In one fluid motion, I stand with her in my arms, ignoring my protesting back muscles. “Upstairs. Now.”

“Your back—”

“Will survive.” Especially with the way she’s kissing my neck, making coherent thought impossible. “Unless you’d rather stop?”

Her laugh is pure sin. “Not a chance, Gorgon. You’re stuck with me now.”

“Promise?” The word comes so deep and low it’s practically feral.

She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. “Look me in the eye and ask me that again.” Her voice carries challenge and invitation.

I let my eyes shift to that deep amber that makes her breath catch, feeling the ancient power flow between us like liquid fire. The truth compulsion wraps around her, but gently—more like a caress than a demand. “Promise me.”

The magic settles over her like warm silk, but her smile tells me she was going to give me honesty anyway.

“I promise.” She kisses me softly. “I choose you. Snakes and all.”

As if on cue, Sterling tightens possessively around her throat while other snakes create a swaying curtain of scales around us.

“They really do have distinct personalities,” she observes, amused.

“They’re ridiculous.” But my voice holds nothing but fondness. “Especially around you.”

“Like owner, like snakes?”

“You have no idea.”

But as I carry her toward my bedroom, I think maybe she does have an idea. Maybe she sees exactly what I’ve been trying to hide behind enforcer intimidation and deliberate distance.

Because sometimes the scariest thing isn’t letting someone see your powers or your past or your protective instincts.

Sometimes the scariest thing is letting them see your heart.

Even when your hair is absolutely terrible at hiding how it feels about them.