I hold his gaze, studying and measuring him the way he taught me to measure an enemy, which is odd. If I tell him, he might protect her. The problem is, is it too soon? Maybe we can figure this out on our own and he can be proud of the outcome.
“It’s nothing,” I say, waving him off as I stand. “I want to bring Fae here, officially, to meet you both. Let me know when you are free.”
“Okay, son.” Dad nods and leans forward to start typing on his computer. “I will email Quinn’s father as well to see her availability.”
I bristle, but decide to say nothing, walking toward the door. As I reach for the handle, his voice follows me, calm and measured.
“Do be careful, Roman. Some women have a habit of burning what they touch.”
I turn just enough to meet his eyes and nod, slamming the door harder than I intend as I leave. His words follow me down the length of the house, echoing off the stone and marble.
He thinks Fae will burn me?
He has no idea that I would walk into the fire willingly, if it meant she never had to.
CHAPTER 18
FAE
Groaning, I stretch as I pull myself out of sleep. I cannot remember the last time I slept this peacefully. For a second, I forget where I am, then Roman’s scent hits me and I roll over, burying my face into his pillow.
The most dangerous thing about all of this is that I could get used to it.
I stare at the wall, the thought settling heavy in my chest before it twists into something darker. The next man I get told to fuck… will it be easier now? When I disassociate, will I remember this? Will it make it easier to pretend, or harder because I know what it’s supposed to feel like?
Is it fucked up that I hope it helps?
Last night feels like a dream. The tenderness in Roman was something I never saw coming, something he has never shown me or any of our group. His words replay in my head.You will never face the fire alone, Fae.Does he mean it? The last time we were together I thought he was just lost in the moment, and after the beach I convinced myself that all good things come to an end.
Now I am not so sure.
My whole world has been tipping upside down for weeks, ever since Robyn left. I am torn between exploring whatever thisis with Roman and focusing on bringing my girl home. Robyn would tell me to live, I know that. But how can I, when her disappearance is always there, sitting in the back of my mind?
The worst feeling of all is the wanting. People think it is the hope that kills you, but what if you have no hope left? What if all you have is want? The want for my mum to come back to life, for my friend to come home, for Roman to be real.
Wanting means losing.
And yet… there is something about Roman that doesn’t fit the pattern. He doesn’t drift or hesitate or keep one foot already out of the door. He is deliberate. When he wants something, he doesn’t circle around it or pretend otherwise. He claims it. He keeps saying he has claimed me, and maybe… I need to believe him.
Does it make me weak that this is what terrifies me the most? To stand next to someone who knows exactly what they want and is not afraid to say it out loud. I haven’t known what I have wanted since my first time in the crypt. My life has never been my own to make those kinds of choices. Who would I have become if I had the freedom to choose like Felix or Roman?
Roman is like the eye of the storm. Everywhere else is chaos, but with him, everything stills for a moment. Maybe wanting doesn’t always have to mean losing. Maybe sometimes it means being fully seen and chosen anyway.
Sighing, I roll out of bed and rifle through Roman’s drawers for some clothes. I notice a letter on the bedside table and open it. A small smile pulls at my mouth, as I shake my head at the butterflies that flutter in my stomach. Throwing on an oversized tee and a clean pair of his boxers, I shuffle out of his door.
The hallway is quiet as I walk along the fluffy carpet, the house still half asleep. Morning light spills through the tall windows in thin bands. This place has always felt too big, too polished. It’s built for men who know where they’re going, notfor someone like me who learned early that survival mattered more than choice.
My bare feet barely make a sound as I follow the familiar pull towards the kitchen. The smell hits me before the room does. If there isn’t a cup of coffee or tea on the go somewhere in this house, then something is seriously wrong.
These men live on caffeine.
I pause in the doorway for a second longer than I need to, my chest tightening with that familiar, irrational fear. It’s like the peace that lives here knows I don’t belong.
Atlas is in the kitchen, standing at the counter with his sleeves rolled up, his red hair catching the light like copper wire. He glances over his shoulder when he hears me and his bright blue eyes soften instantly.
Atlas is the kindest of the group. It’s like he refuses to let the darkness of our world touch him. I have always been in awe of the way he carries himself. He suits being a hacker, the type of person who can make or break organisations without ever needing recognition. Without him, our group would have fractured already. He knows exactly what to say and do for each of us. Riggs is the joker, Felix is the protector, but Atlas… Atlas is the peace.
“Morning,” he says gently, offering me a warm smile. I love his smile. His teeth flash white as it lights up his whole face.