Page 27

27

REYES

I don’t want to get out of this bed, even though I know we have something important to do.

Tilda curls up against my chest, snoring softly. It’s strange to see her like this—disarmed and at ease, all the concern and rage gone from her face. She still has frown lines between her brows, but otherwise there’s no trace of anger.

I want to make her smile. We’ve both been through enough.

Her eyes flutter open, glassy green in the dark. It’s pitch black in the room, the only light a golden glow coming in under the door, but I can see her anyway. I wonder if she’s developing any night vision yet, with the changes in the wake of her bite.

“What time is it?” Tilda mumbles, her voice still thick with sleep as she shifts against my chest.

I glance at the alarm clock on my bedside table, the red numbers glowing faintly in the dim light of early morning. “Just before five,” I murmur, my voice low so I don’t disturb the peaceful quiet around us.

She groans, burying her face against my shoulder. “Is it wrong that I don’t care about Homestead right now and I’d rather just stay here all day?”

I chuckle, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Not wrong at all. In fact, I was thinking the exact same thing.”

She sighs, her warm breath brushing against my skin. “I mean, do we really have to deal with this today? Couldn’t we just…pretend it doesn’t exist for a little longer?”

I smile, running my fingers gently along her back. “We could,” I admit. “But the sooner we do this, the sooner we can stop worrying about it. And then…”

“And then what?” she asks, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me, her eyes still hazy from sleep but sharp enough to pierce straight through me.

“Then I spend the rest of my life getting to know the gorgeous woman in my bed,” I say, my tone teasing but my words entirely sincere.

She raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Big words for a guy who spent half the night mumbling in his sleep.”

I laugh, feeling a blush creep up my neck. “I did not.”

“Oh, you absolutely did,” she says, leaning in closer. “Something about ‘no, not the goats.’ Care to explain?”

“Dreams don’t count,” I say, pulling her closer until her body is flush against mine. “But if you must know, there was this one time I tried to rescue a goat from a rooftop in Austin. Long story.”

Her laughter fills the room, warm and genuine, and I can’t help but smile at the sound. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse,” I say, my hand trailing down her arm to lace our fingers together. “But seriously, Tilda…we can do this.”

Her smile falters just a little, but she doesn’t look away. “You really believe that?”

“I do,” I say softly, squeezing her hand. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of, Tilda. I’ve seen your strength, your determination. And now that you’re with me…well, there’s nothing we can’t face.”

She rolls her eyes, but she can’t suppress the smile that curves her lips. “You know, for a priest, you’re a bit of a hopeless romantic.”

“Always have been,” I murmur. I kiss her gently, my hand skimming over her side to rest on her hip. “I didn’t hurt you last night, did I?”

“No,” she says. “I feel…strong, actually. Refreshed. Ready for this, even if I don’t want to get out of bed.”

“Speaking of which,” I say, my voice warm with amusement, “I think I’m going to look into getting a bigger bed.”

Tilda turns her head to look at me, her eyebrow quirking up. “You don’t like being all cuddled up with me?” she teases, her tone playful but with just enough edge to make me grin.

I snort, shifting to prop myself up on one elbow. “Not sure if you noticed, but I’m a big guy. And you’re what—close to six feet? My warrior queen.”

She smiles, biting her lip as her cheeks flush faintly. “I’m flattered.”

“And you should be,” I say, my voice softening as I meet her gaze. “You scare me a little, you know that?”

Her smile widens, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment, too.”

“It is,” I say, brushing my knuckles gently across her cheek. “You’re fierce, Tilda. Strong. And you make me feel like I can take on anything.”

Her eyes search mine for a moment, and I think I see something flicker there—something unguarded and vulnerable. But she doesn’t linger in it. Instead, she sits up, stretching her arms above her head, her hair falling in soft waves down her back.

“So,” she says, clearing her throat. “We should get going, right?”

“Probably,” I reply, though I don’t make a move to get up just yet. “But you know…I wouldn’t complain if we stayed here a little longer.”

She laughs, low and warm, shaking her head. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly in love,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Her eyes sparkle as she hooks her leg over my hip, already wet between her thighs. “So…one more for the road?”

I groan and nestle my face in the crook of her neck, grinding myself against her. It takes almost nothing to get hard for her—the scent of my mate alone is enough to drive me crazy, and her teasing words just tip me over the edge. I slide inside her with the ease of practiced lovers, and we make love one more time before we go.

And I believe it won’t be the last.

God wouldn’t have put us together only to tear us apart.

* * *

We leave the den as the sun rises, heading straight to the barn to saddle up the horses. Tilda takes her mare, Annie, and I pull out the stallion. None of the horses seem disturbed by my scent, to my relief, and they’re fully outfitted with gear as the man who shot Tilda left it all behind.

“I figured they would be more afraid of me—animals can normally scent lycan blood,” I say. “They’re trained for it?”

“Yeah,” Tilda murmurs, stroking Annie’s neck with clear affection. “All of our horses are desensitized to battle, lycanthropes, gunshots…otherwise, they would be useless to us. Especially when there are Heavenly Host ships flying overhead, the horses have to be calm by necessity. If they spook, it could literally mean life or death in a fight.”

“The horses were better trained than the man who shot you,” I say, a snarl creeping into my voice despite myself.

“David?” Tilda nods. “Yeah…he was only there as backup. I bet he was in a whole lot of trouble when he went back to Homestead sans four soldiers and four horses.”

I go quiet. “I never asked…did you know the men I killed?”

She frowns. “Not really. They were bounty hunters—came into town with an opportunity and they wanted supplies. I joined up for Enid’s sake. David, too. He has a thing for my sister.”

“And the horses belonged to them?”

“Yeah,” she says. “But we have more back at Homestead–cows, chickens, and goats too.”

I snort. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

She chuckles. “Nope.”

Once the horses are ready to go, we lead them out onto the prairie and toward the perimeter wall. There’s only one gate in the nine-foot fence, effective enough at keeping out any intruders, so we ride that way. Grant is standing outside it, a stubborn smirk on his lips.

“Hey, lovebirds!” he shouts, waving his hand. “You sure you don’t want company?”

I shake my head. “It’s only a few hours ride—we should be back by nightfall, hopefully with good news.”

“And if you aren’t back…?”

“Then Will is in charge, like I told you,” I say. “You’ll defer to Will or Suyin for any major decisions. I trust his judgment, but that shouldn’t be necessary.”

Doubt clouds Grant’s face, but I don’t let it scare me—and I hope it doesn’t scare Tilda. She doesn’t say a word as he opens the gate, and then we take the horses out onto the old, crumbling asphalt road trailing through the prairie.

For the first hour, we ride in silence. The rhythmic thud of the horses’ hooves echoes against the cracked road before softening as we transition to the forest floor. The world feels vast and quiet, the kind of quiet that presses against your ears and forces you to listen. Cicadas drone in the distance, their hum rising and falling in waves. Birds call to one another from the canopy above, their melodies weaving through the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

The forest feels alive in a way I hadn’t realized I missed. When the Celestial Curtain blanketed the world, it muted everything—not just the light, but the sounds, the scents, the heartbeat of nature itself. Back then, it was like the earth held its breath, waiting. Now, with the Curtain pushed back in patches, life is creeping back in. Slowly, cautiously, but undeniably.

Tilda glances around, her eyes scanning the trees like she’s cataloging every detail. Her horse snorts, breaking the quiet, and she reaches down to pat its neck. “It’s beautiful out here,” she murmurs, her voice barely louder than the rustling leaves.

“It is,” I agree. “Hard to believe it used to be so barren.”

She nods, her gaze lingering on a patch of wildflowers growing in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. “It’s…hopeful,” she says softly. “Like the world’s trying to fix itself.”

I glance over at her, struck by the vulnerability in her tone. For all her sharp edges, Tilda has moments like this—moments where the weight she carries slips away, just for a second, and I get a glimpse of something softer. Something I want to protect.

The path narrows, and I guide my horse ahead, taking the lead as the forest thickens around us. The air is cooler here, the scent of damp earth and pine sharp in my nose. I hear Tilda’s horse fall into step behind mine, its hooves crunching softly against the forest floor.

“We should be there by nightfall,” I say, glancing back at her.

She nods, her expression calm but determined. “Good,” she says. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

Her words are clipped, but I can sense the layers beneath them—the worry for her sister, the uncertainty about what’s waiting for us in Homestead, the way she’s trying to steel herself for whatever comes next.

“So, what should I prepare for?” I ask, keeping my tone light even though the question feels heavy.

“With Homestead?” Tilda asks, glancing over at me. She hesitates, chewing on her lip like she’s trying to find the right words. “Hm…typical country folk, I guess. Friendly enough if they think you’re the right kind of people, hostile if they decide you’re not.”

“Am I the wrong kind of people?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She winces slightly, her gaze dropping. “Well…you’re a lycanthrope,” she says carefully. “And you’re…I don’t mean this the wrong way, but there’s not exactly a lot of diversity out in the boonies. That hasn’t really changed, even after the Convergence. Homestead’s…kind of stuck in its ways.”

“So they’re racist,” I say flatly.

Tilda flinches. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug, trying not to let the bitterness seep into my voice. “I can’t say I expected anything else. And contrary to popular belief, cities weren’t exactly multicultural utopias before the Convergence. Unfortunately, I know how to handle this kind of thing.”

Her exhale is heavy, her brows furrowed. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“It’s not fun,” I admit, giving her a wry smile. “But I’ve learned to lead with something that throws people off. Usually, I start with the fact that my family has been in Texas since before it was a state.”

Tilda’s eyes widen theatrically, and she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest like I’ve said something scandalous. “There was a time before Texas was a state? Heresy.”

I laugh, the tension in my chest loosening a little. “Right. Texas has always been here, of course—eternal and everlasting.”

She chuckles softly, her shoulders relaxing. “You know, I think you’ll get along with the people of Homestead just fine.”

“I can’t say I agree,” I say, my smile fading slightly. “But I know how to pretend.”

Her expression sobers, and she looks at me like she’s trying to say something without words. “It’s not fair,” she murmurs. “That you have to pretend.”

“It’s not about fair,” I say quietly. “It’s about survival. And survival…that’s something I’ve got plenty of experience with.”

Tilda doesn’t respond right away, her lips pressing into a thin line. Finally, she sighs. “For what it’s worth, I’ll do what I can to make it easier.”

“Thanks,” I say, my voice soft. “But you’ve done plenty already, Tilda. Just having you here makes it easier.”

She looks away, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

I chuckle, letting the lighter mood settle back in. “I’ll save it for Homestead. Maybe it’ll win them over.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” she mutters, shaking her head. “They’re about as easy to win over as a pack of feral dogs.”

“Feral dogs, huh? Guess I’m in good company, then.”

Her laughter echoes through the forest, warm and genuine, and for a moment, the looming challenge of Homestead doesn’t feel quite so daunting.