When the conversation grinds to a stop, Rowan rubs his hands together and gives that crooked smile that used to mean trouble. “We start tomorrow,” he says. “Slow. Quiet. Exact.” I feel the old heat lifting, not gone but redirected into something sharp and useful.
Emerson nods in agreement.
We all know the stakes. We’ve already lost too much to consider turning back now.
Silence hangs thick enough to chew, and I can feel the questions building like pressure behind my brothers’ teeth. Finally, Rowan snaps, eyes flaring as if he can’t stand the quiet any longer. “Are you fucking her?” he asks, the words blunt and ugly and impossibly small for the thing they try to hold.
Emerson buries his head in his hands, a slow shake of disbelief. I grin because, fuck it—the truth is mine to give. “Fuck yeah,” I say, loud, proud and a little dangerous. “Gods yes. She was mine once already tonight. We demolished Trent, then I pulled her into his blood, and we didn’t waste a second.” I give them the image like a dare, flicking my head toward the doorway where Berk sleeps. “I rinsed her clean in the shower after, washing away every trace of him so she wouldn’t have to wake up with his filth still on her skin… and when she was finally warm and new beneath my hands, I took her again.” The memory tastes like iron and satisfaction. I’m bold enough to own it, to make it a piece of the night we’ve just survived.
Rowan growls, and I like that noise because it’s still him, angry and clumsy and brutally loyal. “You’re an asshole,” he says, half accusation, half laugh.
“You’re one to talk,” I snap back before I can stop myself. The jab lands sharp. He blinks, that expression folding into something else—something like regret and memory—and the room shifts. “You,” I say, softer now but deliberate in every damn syllable, “you took her first. You didn’t tell us.” The words cut through the air between us, heavy and true.
Emerson looks from me to Rowan, eyes wide. “Is that true?” he asks quietly.
Rowan looks at the floor, then up at me. His face is vulnerable in a way I haven’t seen in years—clean and unguarded. “Yes,” he says, voice small. “We were kids. We were both idiots. It was private.” He swallows. “I had planned to tell you. I wanted you to know.” He pauses, the old stubbornness bleeding into a new, brittle honesty. “Then that weekend happened.” He exhales, and the memory sits like a stone. “By the time I thought to tell you, what was the point?”
Emerson and I nod, the motion slow and tired, and the room hums with the strange, raw thing that is relief braided with shame. Emerson’s mouth tightens, and he blurts what I’m thinking—what I need him to say. “You did right by her,” he says quietly. “You should’ve told us, but even then—you kept her safe when it counted.In a way none of us could’ve seen coming. If they’d gotten to her first…”
Rowan’s eyes find mine then, and whatever small armor he’s been wearing drops for a beat. There’s something wet at the corners of his lids I don’t want to name, and he gives a half-smile that’s almost a confession. “I know,” he murmurs, barely audible, but it lands like an answer to more than one thing. I see it in him—remorse, gratitude, the quiet relief that maybe, finally, the pieces are close enough to fit together.
I clap my hands once, hard enough to slice the hum of plans and promises in the room. That’s my signal. I’m done for the night. Getting to my feet, I let the words drop like a lead weight. “I’m going back to my room to bury myself in my Pixie for a couple of hours. Don’t expect me until late morning.”
Rowan’s middle finger shoots up from the couch without looking, the gesture blunt and useless, but the corner of his mouth quirks in a way that tells me he means it with affection. “Fuck you,” he says, but it sounds like a laugh.
Emerson rubs his temples and says, “I’m going to check on Kimber, then shower and crash.” He looks at me, the steadiness back in his voice.
“I’ll be quiet,” I promise, though everyone knows I won’t.
Rowan snorts and leans forward. “I’ll duck into Berk’s room,” he says, eyes already flicking to the doorway. “I won’t touch a thing without her, but I want to see what she’s been running. She’s earned the right to keep her toys.” There’s hunger in his words, curiosity and that old need to know the edges of things.
“Don’t touch without her,” I warn, flat. The threat is less for him and more for my need to keep her safe from well-meaning hands.
Emerson meets my gaze and nods. “We’ll loop her in before morning. We have a few hours to make sure there’s no heat on us. Get some sleep. Take care of our girl.” He flicks his head toward my bedroom.
I give them both a hard grin. “We only have a brief window before we bring Berk up to speed. She’ll want to add her own flair to the mix. Be ready to listen.” My voice tightens with the promise of what comes next. “Revenge is going to be beautiful.”
Rowan folds his arms. “We’ll make sure Bryce gets what he’s owed.”
Emerson’s jaw works once, twice, then he says, “Control the narrative. Make him flinch. Let him expose himself.” Agreement passes between them like a physical thing; a pact sealed in the small living room of a house that smells like chicken and rice.
I head down the hall before either of them can add another warning. My hand stills on the door. For a moment, the noise of the night narrows to a single point, the echo of what we’ve lost and what we’re about to reclaim. Then I push it open.
She’s curled under the blankets, hair wild, eyes heavy with sleep but focused the second they hear the door open and find me. Up close, she’s smaller than the version of her I carry in my head—and somehow larger at the same time. Seeing her has always been enough to undo me.
“Pix,” I say, voice low. She smiles and reaches for me like she’s been practicing the motion in the dark. I drop to my knees by the bed and pull her into my arms. Her skin is warm, still scented faintly of antiseptic and smoke. Her fingers press into my neck, steadying me more than I steady her.
“You okay?” she asks, blunt and immediate.
“Better now,” I murmur, my voice low and rough. “With you.” I lean in until my lips hover just above her ear, my breath brushing her skin as I whisper, “I’m never letting you slip away again. Never.”
She laughs, a small sound edged with something fierce and tucks her face into my neck. “Good,” she says. “Because I’m done running.”
Her words hit me like a blade to the chest, sharp enough to cut, and deep enough to remind me I’m alive. The vow sits heavy inside me, twisting tight until it feels like my ribs can’t contain it. Love. Obsession. They are the same thing when it comes to her. My breath grows ragged as I lean in closer, and the only answer I have is action.
“You don’t know what you do to me, Berk,” I rasp, the sound rough in my throat, before my mouth crashes onto hers. The kiss isn’t soft—it isn’t careful—it’s a claim. My lips tell her the words I can’t hold back anymore.You’re my world. Mine. Always.
She doesn’t surrender easily. Berk never has. Her tongue meets mine with the same ferocity that has kept her alive this long, and for a second, she seizes control, devouring me, dragging every ounce of my restraint out of reach. A groan rips from my chest, andI clutch her tighter, because she’s fire and I’m not letting the flames consume me without taking her with me.