Page 107 of Serpent King's Prisoner

“I’m a fucking asshole,” he said, his words muffled against my skin. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yeah, well,” I replied, my arms wrapped around his waist. “Don’t worry. You have the rest of your life to make it up to me.”

He didn’t respond, but his grip around me tightened ever so slightly. I took that as a good sign and started to hum softly, an old tune my father used to sing when I was a child. His voice would always seem to shake the darkness away and bring in the light.

As we stood there, the water beating down on our bodies, I realized this was probably the most genuine interaction Nathan had ever allowed himself to have with…well, fuck, anyone. And looking at him then, underneath the artificial sunlight of the bathroom light, it was easy to see how desperately he needed it.

The water eventually turned cold, but by then Nathan’s tears had dried up, replaced by an expression of profound exhaustion. His dark eyes were half-closed, but he was staring at me with such intensity it was like he was seeing me for the first time.

He smiled at me, looking exhausted. “For the rest of my life, huh?”

“Sure,” I winked at him. “You have a lot to make up for.”

What I didn’t say was that I thought he’d probably be making it up to me from prison.

Chapter Forty-Eight: Nathan

Iwoke with a start, the ghost of troubled dreams slipping away as I registered the warm weight of Abby curled against me. Her breathing was even, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that spoke of a restfulness I envied. The clamor of last night’s revelations had drained from my mind, replaced by the quiet comfort of her presence.

We’d talked…I’d broken down…and she’d picked up the pieces as if I deserved her love.

I was such an asshole.

Such a monster.

And she was perfect, more perfect than anything I deserved.

“Morning already?” My voice was rough with sleep, my hand instinctively pulling her closer.

“Morning,” she answered, a worried smile playing on her lips as her green eyes met mine. They held a depth of concern that made something in me tighten. She’d been watching me sleep, probably for a while now, and I wondered what thoughts were tumbling through her head.

“Abby...” I began, but she cut me off with a soft touch to my cheek.

“Will you tell me now? What happened yesterday?” Her question hung in the air between us, the urgency behind it clear.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” I hesitated, the words clawing at my throat. “It’s family business.”

“Family business?” A frown creased her brow as she shifted closer, her voice firm yet gentle. “Nathan, I’m not just someone you can keep in the dark anymore. Remember? I belong to you, fully and completely.” She held my gaze, her eyes resolute. “And I want to be there for you.”

I felt the walls around my heart creak and groan under the weight of her sincerity. This wasn’t just about protection or loyalty; this was about something deeper.

Trust.

Love.

“Abby,” I said, the name a soft surrender on my lips.

“Tell me what’s eating you up inside,” she urged, her fingers tracing patterns over my chest, near the coiled dragon inked into my skin—a constant reminder of the life I was bound to.

“Later,” I managed, sitting up abruptly. The cool morning air hit my bare torso, and I suppressed a shiver. “I’m hungry.”

“Breakfast, then.” She smiled, a hint of mischief lighting up her face as she slipped out of bed. “You sit tight. I’ll whip something up for you.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I replied, watching her move with an ease that belied the tension from moments ago. There was an artistry to her simplicity, a grace in her care.

As she walked away, I couldn’t help but think how this woman—a woman who’d lived through hell—was also the same person who could bring calm to my storm just by being near. Abby Harper was no ordinary woman, and I’d be damned if I didn’t feel like the luckiest son of a bitch for having her in my life—even if it was going to get a hell of a lot more complicated from here on out.

I followed her to the kitchen, the scent of brewing coffee already filling the space. Abby moved around, grabbing eggs and veggies from the fridge, a fluidity in her motions.

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