Page 30 of The Chief (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #3)

“Say it,” he murmured suddenly, his voice fierce. “Say you’re mine. Say I’m yours. I need to hear it. Taste the words on your tongue. Savor the truth of them burning their way straight to my soul.”

Elise’s heart stuttered. Her breath caught. He wasn’t just asking. He was claiming. Demanding.

She turned her head to meet his gaze, heat flaring between them. “I’m yours. You’re mine. Don’t you ever doubt it. It’s not up for debate. It’s written into us. Branded on our palms and in our bones.”

Cade’s hand flexed on her belly. “Good,” he said, voice gruff with satisfaction. “Now it’s real. Now it’s in the bones. And nothing, Elise—nothing—is taking that from us.”

He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t need to.

The promise hung heavy in the air between them, a brand etched deeper than skin.

He watched her for a long moment, his hand still spread across her stomach, thumb brushing slow and possessive.

Eventually, his breathing smoothed out against her shoulder, though the energy in him never fully dimmed.

Elise stared up at the ceiling, unwilling to close her eyes.

The world was too still. Too quiet. And yet, something inside her whispered that the storm wasn’t over.

The storm would come back in the form of another warning, another threat, another message hidden in plain sight, she knew. In some form. Some strike. But for now, wrapped in Cade’s arms, she tried to ignore it and let herself sleep.

She woke late, sunlight already warming the floor where it spilled in through the bedroom’s tall windows.

Cade had left early—again—but not without brushing his lips over her bare shoulder and whispering a promise into her skin.

The kind of kiss that whispered eternity.

The kind of murmur that sounded like armor.

He’d left her warm, seen, claimed. And yet, the silence that followed still made her uneasy.

Her side ached. Not badly. Not in a way that stopped her. The scar itched faintly beneath the soft cotton of her tank. The doctor said it was healing fast. Cade didn’t seem to trust that. He watched her move like she was made of glass that might crack from a whisper.

She was tired of living like glass.

So she pulled on a cardigan, went downstairs to the kitchen barefoot to fetch a cup of coffee, then immediately headed for her favorite place in the house, especially in the morning, the sunroom.

The room was warm, filled with that filtered golden light that always reminded her of late summer.

The herbs one of the housekeepers must have planted weeks ago were thriving, trailing from their pots like green fountains.

Someone had opened one of the vents along the wall, and the scent of basil and citrus drifted in soft currents through the air.

Setting her coffee on the side table by her usual chair, Elise breathed in. Closed her eyes. Felt, for just a second, like she could believe this place was safe. Like maybe the worst had passed.

Nearby, something rustled.

It was an odd sound. Out of place. And she froze.

The sound came again, too heavy for a bug, too smooth for wind. A whispering slide and a sharp, warning rattle.

She turned her head.

And there it was.

A snake, diamond-marked and sinuous, coiled into a tight S-shape, its body rigid along the far edge of an adjacent planter box.

Its body gleamed in the sun, beautiful in a scary, deadly way.

It didn’t strike. It didn’t flinch. It just watched her, tongue flickering out as it tasted the air between them.

Her heart hammered once, sharp and clean. Her legs refused to move, locked in place by something primal. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the glint of scales, the way it tensed, watching her like prey. “Cade!” she managed to call, her voice high, tight, threaded with panic.

Then—

Footsteps. Fast. Heavy. Familiar.

Cade.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t hesitate. Just crossed the room in three brutal strides, his body a weapon long before his blade left its sheath.

One glance was all it took. Then steel flashed, precise and final, slicing through the air before she could blink.

He struck with the force of a man born to end threats, and the blade came down like judgment.

The thud was final.

Blood spattered across the white tile.

Cade crushed the serpent’s head with the heel of his boot, ground it until nothing but a wet smear remained. Then he straightened, turned, and his eyes locked on hers.

“Elise.” His voice cracked like the whip of a storm, harsh with fury held barely in check.

He crouched in front of her, hands skimming up her arms like he needed to find every part of her whole.

His gaze raked over her body, checking for wounds, for blood, for anything that might confirm the concern still carved into his face.

He cupped her chin, eyes burning. “Are you hurt? Did it touch you?”

When she shook her head, his breath left in a sharp exhale. He pulled her into his arms without another word, pressing her tight against his chest. One hand came up to cradle the back of her head, the other rubbed a firm circle along her spine, slow and steady.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.”

He held her for a long moment, then leaned back to check her again, his gaze sweeping over her body with meticulous focus, his hands careful but thorough. Only when he was sure she was whole did he breathe again.

“I’m okay,” she insisted, horrified to discover she’d begun to shake.

He managed a smile. “Maybe not okay?” he asked gently.

“Maybe not,” she conceded. She cast a sharp, revolted glance at the crushed remains, bile rising in her throat as the smear of blood glistened on the tile like a signature left just for her. “How did that thing get in here? Through the door? Through a window?”

Cade’s voice was quiet, deadly certain. “No. It didn’t slither in on its own. There was no door ajar. All of the windows are screened. We’ve never had a snake in the house since it was built. That thing was placed here. Deliberately.”

“Unless someone left the door open,” she said, clinging to the thought even as it crumbled. She knew better. They both did. The room had been sealed. Cade had checked it. She had, too. Still, she clung to the possibility for one more second. “Or a vent. Maybe it slipped through the—”

Her voice caught.

No door. No vent. No mistake.

Her stomach turned. “So it wasn’t an accident,” she said softly.

“No. People know this is where you tend to have your morning coffee.” His gaze cut to the floor, then back to her. “It was a message. And he made sure it got to you.”

Her breath caught. “You think Marcello’s not gone.”

Cade shifted closer still, holding her in the cage of his arms, one hand tracing a gradual path up her spine before settling just under her jaw.

“He left it for you,” he said, his voice threaded with heat and something darker.

The tension still simmered in him, the way his muscular chest pressed into her, the whisper of his breath skimming along the curve of her ear, hot and unyielding.

Protective. Possessive. And right now, utterly focused on her.

“Why me? Why can’t he leave me alone?”

“Because you remember,” he said. “And he knows that makes you dangerous.”

They both stared down at the smear on the floor.

“You’re not glass,” Cade said roughly. “But I still want to wrap you in every possible protection.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I think I need to stand here for just a second. To prove I can.”

Cade’s expression didn’t soften, but his hand stayed on her. “One second. Then I’m taking you upstairs. And sealing this room.”

She nodded. Let herself lean into him. And let the silence return—this time, thick with meaning.

THE LATE afternoon sun bled golden light across the bedspread, slanting in through the screened balcony doors.

The wind had lost its bite, summer creeping in sluggishly, lazily, like everything else on the ranch in the three weeks since the threat had disappeared back into the shadows.

Three long weeks. Elise hadn’t left the house in days.

Not because she couldn’t, but because a strange stillness had settled over her.

A need to remain close, tied to the place where the danger had ended, and where everything else had started.

She stood still while the doctor examined her.

His hands moved confidently, but compassionately, examining the remains of her wound.

He smelled faintly of antiseptic and soap.

Cade hadn’t said a word since the man arrived.

He stood there in the doorway like a damn sentinel, arms folded, every line of his body wound with a quiet, smoldering intensity.

The doctor’s frown began to fade as he worked. “Frankly,” he said, straightening, “this is impressive. Most wouldn’t have healed this quickly. You’re lucky.”

“She’s more than that,” Cade said with unmistakable certainty.

Elise looked up, her eyes meeting his. There was a fire in his gaze now, masculine fury held in check.

His voice hadn’t risen, hadn’t deepened, but it carried something more, an unspoken promise threaded with heat.

The doctor smiled, gave her a few aftercare instructions, and packed up, oblivious to the current simmering just beneath the surface. Or maybe just ignoring it.

She nodded along, already forgetting the man’s words as she watched Cade watching her.

His attention didn’t waver. It held, focused and unrelenting, like heat pressed against her skin, demanding her notice without ever touching her.

When she glanced down and tightened her robe, the air shifted between them, as though the fabric had done nothing to disguise her from him.

Her pulse fluttered, her breath catching with the awareness of his gaze.

He didn’t just look at her. He saw her, stripped down to her pulse, her need, her willpower, and wanted every part anyway.

When the door finally clicked shut behind the doctor, she sagged on the edge of the bed.

Her fingers moved to the scar without thinking, brushing it lightly through the thin cotton.

It was more than a mark—it was a reminder.

Of what she’d survived, yes, but also what had changed.

A line carved into her body that split her life into before and after.

It scared her, sometimes. But more often, it grounded her.

She was still here. Still breathing. And stronger than the memory that tried to take her down.

She studied it, curious. It was smaller than she remembered. Clean. Pale. A little raised at the edges. The middle slightly indented.

Proof that she’d survived.

Cade still didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He stood there, back against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, the faint shadows of dusk brushing over the lower half of his face.

His eyes didn’t just watch her. They tracked her every breath, like he was memorizing the way her chest rose and fell, the way her fingers curled into the blanket beside her thigh.

There was something intense in the set of his shoulders, something possessive and barely leashed.

He looked like a man who’d already lost her once and wouldn’t let it happen again.

“I’m okay,” she said softly.

His shook his head. “You were shot.”

“And I’m okay,” she said again, firmer this time. “You made sure of that.”

That finally got him to move. He crossed the room in two commanding strides, his presence closing the space like a tide.

As he reached her, his hand rose, callused fingertips brushing her face with a tenderness that made her breath hitch.

He tucked her hair behind her ear, letting his knuckles trail lightly down her cheek before pausing at her chin.

His voice, when it came, was husky, intimate. “Does it still hurt?”

She shook her head. “Only when I stretch too far. Or laugh too hard.”

That earned her a ghost of a smile, slow, but real.

He dropped to his haunches in front of her, both hands lifting to cup her face, thumbs grazing her cheekbones with a care that bordered on possessive.

His gaze stayed locked to hers, heavy with something elemental.

Less a look, more a touch without contact, steeped in heat and intent.

When he spoke, it was low and full of things he didn’t say aloud.

A shiver chased up her spine, not from fear, but from the electric pressure building in the space between them.

“Seeing you bleeding, my heart stopped. I thought I’d lost you,” he said.

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

Silence fell again. Heavy. Full of unspoken words and too many things clawing just beneath the surface.

Her fingers moved before she could stop them, slipping into his thick, dark hair, combing through the strands.

The contact lingered, more than comfort, less than invitation, but steeped in awareness.

His eyes darkened, the breath between them thickening.

The heat in his gaze said he felt it too, the pull, the ache, the restraint about to snap.

“Are we okay?” she asked.

He rose. “We will be.”

That night, he held her, strong and silent. He didn’t kiss her, didn’t undress her. Just gathered her close, his hands firm and steady as he pulled her against his chest, breathing her in like her scent could quiet the storm inside him.

The windows were cracked open, the quiet movements of the guards posted around the perimeter of the house muted by the deafening song of crickets. Somewhere in the distance, a horse nickered. She whispered, “You’re allowed to want me.”

His arms tightened. “I always want you.”

“Then why haven’t you—”

His voice dropped like gravel. “Because the next time I take you, it won’t be survival or fury driving me. It’ll be hunger. Craving. The need to touch every inch of you and know that nothing—not fear, not pain, not even death—can stop what’s between us.”

Her breath caught. The words sank into her skin, into the wound still mending beneath it, and into the corners of her soul that had stopped believing long before she’d met him.

She turned her face into his throat, nuzzling closer, her lips brushing the warm skin there before she let out a careful breath and closed her eyes.

The beat of his heart was strong and steady beneath her cheek, and she finally let herself rest against him without fear.

He didn’t say anything else. Just held her tighter.

And for the first time in weeks, she slept without dreaming.