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WES

T he sound of her voice ached inside me. She didn’t have to ask. I would have given her anything she wanted.

Blood from veins, the pulse of my heart, the light from my soul, and most definitely…

A kiss from my lips.

I tipped my head, aligned our mouths, and brushed hers as gingerly as I could.

One sweet kiss.

One gentle caress.

One simple offering to the goddess of my heart.

“More,” she whimpered, and I felt the shudder of her body. Witnessed as her eyes closed and tears slipped from their corners.

I kissed her again, tasting freshwater and salt, savoring her unique flavor of caramel and sugar and chocolate. Her fingers curled against the flesh of my chest as she rose on her toes, and I walked her back slowly, pinning her against the tiled wall of the shower.

She needed…

She wanted…

She begged to be found .

And I would do whatever she asked of me.

I kissed her harder. Parted my lips and with her shuddering breath, I took her. My tongue teased her, tasted her, slid over hers in a dance that knew no time. And as the water cascaded over us, my hands rediscovered the landscape of her body.

Gentle curves and smooth lines.

Swells and folds and valleys.

And then I was kissing her cheek, tasting her neck, trailing my lips and teeth and tongue over her skin. All the while, I held her. All the while, I controlled the hurricane inside…

Until the movement of her body told me she wanted , and the look in her eyes cried out more . And she opened herself to be taken, offered herself like an evening primrose to the moon.

It was a shift, an arch, a lean…

I pushed against her, pressing her against the tiled wall. And I scattered kisses down the column of her neck, and all along her jaw.

And then I was deep inside.

I was patient and slow and loving, worshiping everything she gave. Loving every shudder. Honoring every sigh.

Every rock of her hips…

Every curl of her fingers against my skin…

Every push and pull, thrust and plunge…

Every single little cry.

It was like the heavens opening up and casting away the clouds, and together we fell into eternity. Dived into perpetuity, forever found in each other.

And when it was all over, and the water poured down our bodies, and we shared ragged breaths, exchanging kisses and declarations of adoration…

She whispered, “Don’t stop loving me.”

The mere sound of those words tore at my fragile heart. “I will always love you, Mara. I always have, and I always will. Always.”

** *

MARA

Was it possible that love could push away shadow? That love was powerful enough to ignite a flame snuffed out by sorrow?

I think it was.

Because that’s what Wes did for me over and over again.

I still hurt—oh hell did I hurt—but my spark glimmered and glowed in my chest once more. Nothing would remove the sorrow of Matias’s loss or completely soothe the sting of my brother’s death. Grief was an onion—peeling back each layer only revealed another just as poignant, just as tear-inducing.

But love was a salve that quieted the raw pain and helped you stand when all you wanted to do was fall.

I thought about it after—after Wes reignited the flame of my soul. Thought about how three men, all important to me, were now all dead.

Chase.

Jacob.

Matias.

And I had my hands in their demise in some fashion. I watched each one of them die right before my eyes and was powerless to save them.

But the worst part was this heavy feeling that it was my fault.

That, because of me, they lost their lives.

And those shadows crept in, trying to convince me that I was nothing more than the worthless girl cowering in the basement.

It was dark in that part of my mind. It was ominous and heavy and suffocating.

And then there was light.

Love .

Love burned like a torch that refused to bow down to the shadows. Love ventured into the corners of my soul, coaxed me from my anguished form, and pulled me back out into the light.

It was love.

Maybe it was my fault that they died, but there was no time for grieving…not really. Not the way Matias deserved to be mourned. Because the clock was ticking, and we had to prepare for war.

I dressed myself in a loose black t-shirt and soft gray leggings. Apparently, some of my furniture had found its way into Wes’s room. Well…one specific dresser found its way into Wes’s room.

Damn Edith and her skank drawer. I was just so thankful that two of the drawers contained normal clothing.

How she had managed to convince the staff to move my dresser was beyond me, but then I realized that she probably did it herself.

In fact, she and Liddy were most likely responsible for making sure the lingerie ended up in his room.

I shook my head, feeling the familiar tug of a smile before it fell away.

They all knew by now, I was sure. Giza most likely told them about Matias.

I didn’t know that for sure, but it was obvious that the Sergeant Major had a soft spot for the Le sisters.

And I suspected that, giving Chelsea’s condition with NIT-V1, he would have wanted to be present when she found out as well.

I wanted to be the one to tell them…to tell Chelsea. But no one allowed it. My request was shot down at Fort Warren faster than the words could leave my mouth.

Protocol , they said.

God, fuck protocol. I said as much. But before I could do something stupid, Javi was pulling me away, and I let loose all my anger and frustration on him.

It was unkind of me. He didn’t deserve the things I called him or the punches I threw.

But he contained me, unfazed and unharmed by my reckless anger and grief.

His obsidian eyes just looked down on me with pity, and when I was done—nothing but a lump of flesh and bone and sorrow—he took me into his arms and held me tight.

That’s when my little flame snuffed out.

My hand trailed down my neck, landing on my sternum, and I stood there, staring at the dresser but not really seeing anything at all. My little light glimmered, restored by the love of my life, but it flickered and faltered with the heaviness of loss, as if a breeze was threatening to blow it out.

But it couldn’t.

I wouldn’t let it…not again. Because it wasn’t over yet.

Raúl was still alive. He was still in control and winning a war that would only end with each one of us as slaves for his cause. Guilty or not for their deaths, if I crumbled now…

If I failed to respond, to finish it once and for all…

It would be a waste. A waste of the lives of three men that didn’t deserve to die.

Chase.

Jacob.

Matias.

They would not die in vain. Their deaths would not be meaningless. I wouldn’t allow it. It was time to end it, once and for all.