Page 34 of In the Shadows

Perhaps it’s because he saved her. He found her beaten and broken, and now he has some kind of fucked-up savior complex.

Who fucking knows. I’m just living for the day I don’t have to see her.

I walk into the living room and pause, blinking twice to make sure I’m not having a nervous break that has me hallucinating.

Bishop is spread out on the three-seat couch, while Kovu is in the corner armchair, his eyes closed and breathing even, with his arms wrapped around a sleeping bundle in his lap.

His arms are tight around her body, and his face is more content than I can remember seeing it in a long time, as if she settles the part of his mind that has always been wild.

I’m stuck in place, unable to move, unable to breathe as I watch them. Something unfamiliar and unwelcome flickers to life in my chest, and no matter how hard I try to push it down, it only seems to burn more. Jealousy. I’m fucking jealous.

I blow out a frustrated breath at my inability to walk away. I should just go back to my room or find some fucker to kill. But I’m rooted in place, watching a scene I have no right to feel anything toward.

“You just gonna stand there?” Kovu murmurs.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.” He hasn’t bothered to open his eyes, but that’s because he has an uncanny ability to always know when someone enters a room. Doesn’t matter how quiet they are or if he’s in a dead sleep, he always knows. A product of his messed-up childhood, but something that has always been useful in our line of work.

It only takes another moment before I slump into the other armchair, as far away from them as I can be while still being in the same room.

I don’t know why I do this to myself. Why do I insist on watching them together when I have no interest in being a part of whatever fucked-up Brady Bunch bullshit they have going on?

“You know, K, if you just let yourself consider that you’re wrong just this once and got to know her, you might actually like her.”

“I doubt it.”

He chuckles and rearranges Camilla’s sleeping body on his lap, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, which is so at odds with his usually brutal persona, I’m left staring with my mouth agape. “You can deny it all you want, but you wouldn’t be sitting there if you didn’t feel the same pull we do. We’re just not fighting it.”

I remain glued to the seat despite my entire body wanting to punch him again. But not because he’s wrong. No. It’s because he’s right that I want to wipe the smug smile off his face.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

KOVU

The fight club is fucking wild tonight.

It’s the first official fight night of the year, and the holidays have the fighters riled up. It’s like this every year. These assholes being forced to spend time with their families only ever makes them more violent, and after another week sticking close to home in case Camilla needs anything, I need the fucking violence.

She settles something in me. Makes it easier for me to be away from the blood and pain, but I doubt the need will ever leave me completely.

I watch as the third pair of fighters climb into the ring and immediately begin grappling. The first punch results in blood, and I barely hold myself back from groaning. Ever since my little lamb came into my life, all interest in my own hand went out the window, and I can’t even think of unloading in another woman. No. She’s the only one that will do. I just need to be patient.

Her bruising has finally faded, apart from around her ribs, and she’s moving so much easier that she barely needs us to take care of her anymore. Which fucking sucks. All my excuses to touch her are fading away, and I don’t know that she’s ready for more just yet.

Although she may not have a choice soon. I need to taste her so badly I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep breathing if I don’t sink my teeth into her flesh soon.

The sound of a bone being crushed fills my body with adrenaline to the point I can barely breathe through it. Fuck. I need more.

I move closer to the ring, a perk of owning the place affords me any fucking vantage point I want. There’s blood dripping down one guy’s face, both eyebrows are split and a black eye is already blooming despite the fight only just beginning. The other guy isn’t bloody, but he’s clutching his wrist with agony written all over his ugly mug.

These two are regulars, but I couldn’t tell you their names if you paid me. I have a shitty fucking memory at the best of times, but names have always been my weak point.

Plus, every single person in this building is disposable. They could kill one another for all I care, and I would simply call the clean-up crew and forget about it by the time I got home.

Outside of the Syndicate, I don’t care about anyone. Except for my little lamb.

“These fuckers are savage tonight,” someone comments from beside me.

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