Page 98 of Vengeful Melodies

Like I’m gravity itself.

Touching. Whispering. Kissing. Grounding.

Alix slides in behind me, chest to my back, his breath at my neck. Kai curls in front of me, pulling the blanket higher, lips pressing against my forehead. Bash sprawls between my legs, cheek resting on my thigh, hand drawing lazy shapes on my skin. Takoa sits at the edge, steady, his green eyes holding me like he always does.

“Sleep,” Alix whispers.

“You’re safe,” Kai promises.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Bash mumbles.

And Takoa leans down, his breath ghosting over my lips. “We’ll never let you fall asleep alone again.”

A blissful, hazy smile tugs at my mouth as exhaustion drags at me. I fight it, desperate to hold onto this feeling, to them. To us.

Alix’s hand strokes down my spine, his murmurs in my hair soft and incoherent. Kai kisses my temple, whispering prayers only I’ll ever hear. Bash hums a low tune against my thigh, stealing one more kiss when I whimper. Takoa brushes my curls back, his palm cupping my cheek. “You still with us, Muse? Sweet dreams, my love.”

I nod faintly, too content to speak. Their touches quiet the tremor in my limbs, soothe the bruises they left, cover every raw edge with reverence.

Love.

The word burns and heals all at once. Because I know now—I’m in love with them. All of them.

And maybe that should terrify me. Maybe it does. Nothing is ever easy when you hand your heart to four men who could destroy you.

But right now, with their hearts beating steady all around me, with their warmth tangled into mine, I surrender anyway.

If this is a mistake, it’s one I’ll make over and over again.

Because for the first time, I feel whole.

Chapter Forty

Alix

Pasadena.

It’s hotter than hell’s left armpit, and the sun pours through the RV’s windshield like molten glass. Too bright, too sharp. The kind of light that exposes everything—every scar, every secret, every crack we’d rather keep hidden.

We roll into the venue lot at noon, and I feel it before the wheels even stop turning.

The shift.

It slides under my skin like static. A weight pressing down, whispering that the city’s watching us. Like it knows who we are, what we’ve done, what we’re carrying.

“You good?” Grey calls from the driver’s seat, lollipop jammed in his mouth, tattoos inked down his arms like warnings.

I grunt. Not about to admit the air in here tastes too thick to breathe. I shove off the bench and stomp into the heat, boots hitting pavement like gunfire.

The lot’s alive. Crew stringing barricades, staff sprinting with headsets and clipboards. All of it buzzing, tense, about to snap.

The guys spill out one by one. Kaiser, restless, guitar case like an extra limb. Bash, sunglasses, swagger, smirk cocked at the world like he’s already bored. Takoa last, deliberate, green eyes glinting in the sun—cool, lethal, unreadable.

And then her.

Dreya.

She steps off the RV slow, like she doesn’t quite trust the ground to hold her. Hoodie slipping off one shoulder, legs bare in shorts that make my pulse throb. Jack at her side, phone clutched tight, eyes sweeping the lot like she’s bracing for ghosts.