Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I don’t deserve that kind of claim.
I want it anyway.
“Yeah,” I hear myself say. “You are.”
Her answering smile is so bright it feels like a dare to the universe.
She gives my shirt one last little tug, then slips out from between me and the wall, bare feet padding back toward the table.
“Come on,” she says over her shoulder. “Helios isn’t going to catch themself.”
I watch her for a second.
The way she moves.
The way she glances back to make sure I’m following.
The way my chest feels—too full and not nearly enough space for all of this.
I’m worried.
God, I’m worried.
About Cathedral.
About the bounty.
About what happens when Dean finds Helios and what kind of nest we’re poking.
But underneath the worry, there’s something else now.
A slow and steady pulse.
FOURTEEN
CLAIM THIS
LARK
I barely make it to the table before Knight’s hand closes around my wrist.
Not hard.
Not rough.
But sure.
“Hey,” I start, half turning, ready with some smart remark about Helios and feelings and productivity hacks.
He doesn’t give me the chance.
He tugs—not enough to jerk, just enough to spin me back toward him, momentum sending me straight into his chest.
My hands splay against the front of his shirt.
His eyes are darker than they were thirty seconds ago.
“Knight?” I breathe.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “We’re not… we’re not pretending we’re focused on packet logs right now, Birdie.”
My heart stutters.
He’s close enough that I can see the tiny golden ring around his pupils, the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his mouth is already a little parted like he’s halfway between words and kiss.
“I mean, we could multitask,” I manage. “Solve crime, make out, very efficient—”
He kisses me before I can finish the sentence.
It’s not tentative this time.
It’s not even careful.
It’s like he’s been bracing against a tide and finally lets go.
His mouth crashes into mine, and the whole world narrows to heat and pressure and the way my knees threaten to give out. One hand slides up my spine, fingers spanning the back of my neck, keeping me there. The other finds my hip, anchoring me against him.
I make a sound in the back of my throat that is not dignified and also completely out of my control.
He swallows it like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard.
My fingers bunch in his shirt, pulling him closer when there’s nowhere left to go. His chest is solid under my palms, warm and absolutely, infuriatingly real. The kiss deepens, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, and I open for him without thinking, greedier than I should be, hungrier than I want to admit.
All the tension of the last few days—fear and adrenaline and unsaid want—funnels into this.
Into us.
Into the way he kisses me like he’s memorizing me cell by cell.
He breaks away only when breathing becomes non-optional, resting his forehead against mine, both of us panting.
His hand is still locked on my hip.
“I keep telling myself we should wait,” he says quietly.
“For what?” I whisper, lips tingling.
He gives a short, broken laugh. “For… a lot of things. For the bounty to be gone. For Helios to be a non-issue. For us not to be hiding in a forest with a murder spreadsheet on the table.”
I search his face in the dim light. “And?” I ask.
“And I keep looking at you,” he says, thumb rubbing slow circles at my waist, “and there’s a voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like yours saying you don’t know how much time you get, so maybe stop pretending you do.”
My throat tightens. “That voice sounds annoyingly wise,” I manage.
“It’s insufferable,” he agrees. He draws back just enough to really look at me. His gaze roams my face, like he’s scanning for hesitation, for regret, for any sign that he should step back and go back to being the responsible one.
I don’t give him any.
I can feel the want written all over me.
The trust, too.
“Lark,” he says, voice serious now, one notch deeper, “if we do this… there’s no pretending it didn’t happen later. No ‘oops, bunker brain.’ No ‘it was just stress.’ This is not casual for me. Not something I can toss back in a drawer when we get home.”
My heart hits the back of my ribs. “Good,” I say, surprising both of us with how steady it sounds. “Because I don’t want it to be casual. I don’t…” I swallow, forcing the words out. “I don’t sleep with people who feel temporary. I’ve spent enough of my life feeling like that.”
His jaw flexes. Something fierce flashes behind his eyes. “I’m not temporary,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I say. “That’s why I’m… here.”
His fingers tighten just a fraction. “Are you sure?” he asks. “About this. About me. About right now.”
There’s no teasing in it.
No ego.
Just a man who’s spent his life fixing other people’s broken code and doesn’t want to accidentally break me.