Page 85 of Vital Signs

"There you go, mon loup," he purred. His hands moved to my hips, guiding my final thrusts. "Give me all of it. Fuck, you're sexy when you come."

When it finally subsided, I collapsed beside him, both of us breathing hard. The diamond chains pressed between our chests, cold metal against overheated skin.

"You okay?" he whispered, hands gentle on my face.

I nodded, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat.

"I should have pulled out—"

"It's fine. My body, my call."

His certainty calmed the anxiety in my chest. No regret in his eyes, just that unwavering confidence I'd come to rely on.

I rolled onto my back to lie beside him. We lay in silence, both of us catching our breath.

His breathing had slowed, body relaxed against mine in a way that made my chest ache.

"You make me want things I'd given up on," I said quietly, staring at the van ceiling. "Like tomorrow. Like getting sober."

Like love, I added silently. Not that I was in love with Misha. That would be insane. But for the first time in years, I was starting to believe it might exist. That connection might be real. That someone could see all of me and still choose to stay.

He tilted his head up to look at me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I paused. "Tyler would've liked you, I think. Would've appreciated someone who gives a shit about homeless junkies. Someone willing to fight."

Misha was quiet for a moment. "Tell me about him. Not how he died. Who he was."

So I did. About Tyler's dreams of top surgery, of a real apartment, of a life where he didn't have to choose between eating and medicine. About his laugh, his stubbornness, his refusal to be invisible even when the world tried to erase him.

"He deserved better," Misha said when I finished.

"Yeah. He did." I tightened my arm around him. "That's why we can't let Wright win."

"We won't," Misha promised. "Whatever it takes."

I kept him close, arm around his waist. His head found the hollow of my shoulder, fitting there perfectly.

"So," he said after a moment. "Still mad at me?"

I huffed out a laugh. "Yes, but I'm starting to think I might like you anyway." I kissed the top of his head.

"That's a start," he murmured.

Outside, snow began to fall, covering the world in silent white.

"What happens now?" I asked.

His hand found mine, fingers interlacing. "Now we heal," he said. "Now we prepare. Wright's not going away. The legal threats are just the beginning. Eventually he'll come after us directly."

"Let him," I said. "I want to see his face when we destroy him."

Misha's smile was sharp, dangerous, beautiful. "For Tyler."

"For Tyler," I agreed. "And for everyone else he killed."

It’d been two dayssince the van. We'd transformed the recovery room into our war room, every surface covered in printouts.

We hadn't discussed what happened. Just threw ourselves into the investigation.