Page 67 of The Ecstasy of Sin

I nod, then look down at Wren. She’s still quiet, breathing steadily, warming up now that we’re in Ghost’s heated car. “She had a panic attack, so I made the decision to give her the propofol.”

Ghost nods. “The stabilizer I added to her dosage means you have about thirty more minutes before she starts to wake up.”

I look out the heavily tinted window, scanning for street signs. We’re probably around fifteen minutes from my house. “Should be enough time.”

I look back at Wren, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. If she had a bad reaction to the drug, I’m not sure what I would have done. “I trusted you when you said propofol was the best option, Ghost.”

“Don’t worry. It’s fast-acting, and the body clears it quickly. She’ll be groggy for ten minutes, max. It’s not the kind of drug that leaves you feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

I nod again, then lift my eyes to meet his in the mirror. I hesitate, just for a moment, but he’s already watching me. “Thank you.”

“You know I’d die for you.”

Yeah. I do.

***

When we arrive, I instruct Ghost to pull into the garage so the housewives out for their morning stroll don’t see me carrying an unconscious woman into my home.

I exit the car with Wren still in my arms and walk toward the door.

Ghost is already out, tapping the button to close the garage behind us, sealing us away from any curious eyes. He steps up next to me and reaches into my pocket to pull out my keys.

Hunter starts barking on the other side of the door; his deep, territorial alert. After issuing a stern warning to us, I hear him press his nose to the wood and inhale sharply.

Recognizing my scent, he lets out a soft whine of excitement just as Ghost slides the key into the lock and opens the door.

Hunter trails after me instantly, sniffing the woman cradled in my arms, his tail swishing low. Ghost steps inside and checks the whiteboard mounted beside the door.

I kick off my boots and head straight to the bedroom, laying Wren down in the sea of thick, silky black sheets covering my bed.

Ghost is speaking softly to Hunter, who responds with gentle, excited vocalizations as my brother crouches to give him affection.

I listen with a smile on my face as I remove Wren’s shoes, then slide her pants off. I place both on the floor at the foot of the bed, then pull the duvet over her, resting the edge along her collarbones.

When I step out of the bedroom, Ghost is standing at the sliding glass door in my kitchen. Hunter is outside in the fenced yard, his nose to the earth, sniffing along the edge where some forest critter must’ve passed recently.

Ghost is staring up at the thick line of trees marking the boundary of the large trail system behind me, watching the birds dip in and out of the old growth as they greet each other in the chilly morning breeze.

“Torin was here about three hours ago. Hunter should be good for the next couple hours.”

I nod, leaning over to press my shoulder into his. He immediately presses back against me. It’s a steady, grounding pressure—enough for me to take a long, deep breath.

None of us shy away from physical intimacy. It’s platonic, and it feels like home.

We spent every single night for years huddled on the same mattress to keep warm and protect each other while we were in foster care. We learned that touch meant comfort and safety, and that feeling never went away, even with age.

“You still fighting tonight?” he asks, watching Hunter.

I dip my chin. “Yeah. You’ll watch her?”

“She’s one of us now. I’d die for her, too.”

Fuck.

I turn, pulling Ghost into my arms in a crushing hug. He chuckles under his breath, and embraces me with a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t let Ryker know we hugged without him. He’ll probably kill me in a jealous rage.”