Page 72

EVE

Waking wasn’t simple.

Consciousness came in waves—some pulling me under, some dragging me closer to the surface. I remembered being lifted. Voices I knew. I tried to speak, but my body wouldn’t listen. The darkness pulled me back down.

The next time I surfaced, I was unbearably hot. My hair stuck to the back of my neck, a heavy blanket pinning me down.

A slow rise and fall of breath ghosted across my shoulder. I shifted slightly, and the warmth followed, tightening around me.

Not a blanket. Orion.

One arm was wrapped around my waist, the other stretched beneath my head. I could feel his chest against my spine, his legs tangled with mine, skin against skin.

I exhaled slowly, letting the tension melt from my limbs. The golden light from the window filtered across the floor, sharp against my eyes when I finally opened them. Wooden walls. The scent of pine.

I was in the cabin.

I was safe.

And for a moment, that was all that mattered.

But God—it was hot. My whole body felt sluggish, like I’d been slow-cooking in this cocoon for hours.

Orion stirred before I could move, and suddenly I was on my back. He hovered above me, half-awake but already focused, eyes locked on mine as he pressed me into the mattress.

“Eve.”

His voice was barely a breath, but it hit like a blow.

He looked at me like I was a miracle. Like he couldn’t believe I was still here. Grief and relief collided in his eyes, raw and unguarded.

My eyes traced his face—his tousled dark hair, the faint stubble across his jaw, the faint scar that ran down his cheek.

“Hi.”

His expression broke open. A breathtaking smile. “You’re alive.”

And before I could respond—

He kissed me.

His mouth met mine with the weight of everything we hadn’t said. His hands anchored me to the moment, and I melted into him, the chaos slipping away. I tangled my fingers in his hair. Just trying to pull him closer, to feel every inch of him. Then he pulled back—breathless, grinning.

“Whoa, tiger.”

The smirk stayed, but his eyes were all concern.

“What happened?” I rasped, voice scratchy. “How long was I out?”

Orion’s expression shifted, the playfulness fading.

“Three days.”

My jaw dropped. “Three—? How?”

Then it hit me.

I looked down. My hands flew to the collar of the oversized shirt I was wearing—definitely Orion’s—yanking it aside in search of the stab wound I knew I would find.

But my skin was perfectly smooth.

I died. I was so sure I died…

Except I didn’t feel dead. I didn’t feel broken or bruised. And my body… It looked fine. Better than fine. Even the scar on my arm after I’d cut myself a month ago had faded entirely. It had needed 13 stitches, but now the jagged pink line was gone. Like it had never been there in the first place.

This wasn’t normal. No one said Phoenixes could pull this kind of stunt—so why me? Why now?

“I feel like I ask this a lot these days, but how is this possible?”

Orion half-laughed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Hell if I know. We always figured the Phoenix thing was symbolic. I’ve never seen one come back from the dead. Not even…” He trailed off, jaw locking. “Not even Columba. She was the Phoenix before you.”

I couldn’t process it. Like the ability to think rationally had vanished when I’d passed over, because that’s what happened… right?

But if she hadn’t come back… Then what the hell did that make me?

“Tell me everything.”

Orion’s shoulders dropped. “It was the most terrifyingly beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice cracking into something between awe and disbelief.

“I was ready to slice Atlas’s throat, and then—” He mimed a small explosion.

“Your body just went up in flames. And when the fire cleared… There you were… reborn.”

“That’s insane.”

But deep down, I knew it was true.

I remembered the crypt. My body below me. The void. The flames. And Xander’s voice…

His voice was the last thing I heard. His arms were the last place I existed. And the way he broke… it shattered something in me, too.

I wasn’t sure I could look him in the eye without remembering the way he said my name or how it felt to be loved like that—even if just for a moment.

“What about the others?”

Orion leaned back against the headboard, one hand lazily playing with a strand of my hair. “Alive. Ragnar’s sulking. Atlas is… dealing with the consequences of being Atlas. Xander, he’s…”

My stomach dropped. “Xander’s what?”

Orion didn’t answer right away. He let out a breath, head tipping back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He turned his head, emerald eyes locking with mine. There was something sharp in them now, quiet and restrained.

“I’ve known Xander my whole life, Eve. I’ve never seen him cry. Not once. I felt his grief. It was… so real.”

The air rushed from my lungs. I twisted toward him, voice suddenly too loud. “He’s okay, right?”

He had to be okay, he had to be—

The thought—

I couldn’t breathe—

“Shit, Eve, he’s fine.”

My whole body sagged. A shaky breath tore from my chest as I dropped my head into my hands. I hadn’t even realized how tightly I’d been gripping the sheets.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to panic you. He’s fine—physically, at least. He’s just… not talking. Won’t let anyone in. Not even me.”

He leaned in again, resting his forehead against mine, his hand still cradling my cheek. “You scared the hell out of him, Sunshine. He doesn’t know what to do with that.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Honestly… neither do I.”

His thumb stroked my jaw, slow and thoughtful. I wanted to lean into it, but everything in my mind was just so messed up.

I could still hear Xander’s voice—raw, wrecked—in the crypt.

“I wasn’t supposed to care this much.”

Was it just grief? Guilt? Was I clinging to shadows and half-formed memories because they made me feel wanted?

But Orion was here. Holding me. Letting me fall apart in his arms and offering no judgment. Just reassurance. A touch that asked for nothing and still gave everything. I was falling for him—fiercely, undeniably.

But wasn’t this some kind of betrayal?

Talking about Xander like this? Letting one brother comfort me while I tried to make sense of the other?

A sharp stab of guilt twisted in my gut.

I closed my eyes for a second, breathing through it.

“I can see the gears turning in that brain of yours,” he murmured, his voice warm and steady against my ear. “So let me be clear. I have no intention of ever letting you go again. And if sharing you is the price? So be it.”

My heart stumbled.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. His expression softened, serious now.

“And if you want him too… that’s okay.”

I blinked. “You… you’d really be okay with that? With me… wanting you both?”

Orion smiled—tired, sure, but honest. “Sunshine, I already know you want us both. I’m not here to compete. I’m here to keep you. However that looks.”

I opened my mouth, but the words tangled before they could form.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it. He was giving me permission? To go after his brother? He sounded so sure that that was what I wanted—but was it?

Was it what Xander wanted?

I mean, I’d thought about it—on those quiet, impossible nights when he’d held me after a nightmare, his touch soft and steady like it meant something more—but that didn’t make it true.

I ran a hand over my face, as if that might hide the thoughts careening through my skull from Orion. This whole thing was a mess, and I didn’t know if dragging Xander into it would fix it or just make everything worse.

“I don’t even know if that’s really what I want, Orion,” I murmured. “And even if it was… I don’t think he wants me like that.”

My voice cracked. Shame twisted low in my belly. I hated how small that admission felt. But it was true.

But Orion wasn’t looking at me anymore. His gaze had shifted—locked on the door, his brows furrowed deep.

“Orion?”

He blinked once, then muttered, “Fucking idiot.”

He sat up, swung his legs off the bed.

“Wait—”

He stood quickly and pulled on his sweatpants like it was war prep. “You think he doesn’t want you. That he’d rather keep pretending. I think he’s scared shitless.”

He was already at the door by the time I processed what he meant.

“Orion, stop!”

He glanced back, and the storm in his eyes wasn’t anger—it was purpose.

“He thought he lost you, Eve.” His voice was calm, resolute. “I’m not going to let him bury that now that you’re still breathing.”

“Orion, whatever you’re thinking, don’t—”

He crossed the room in a single stride and kissed me—fierce, unapologetic, like it was the last time he’d get to.

Then he pulled back, his grin laced with pure mischief.

“Don’t wait up, Sunshine.”

He winked. “I’ve got a brother to torment.”