Page 155 of Shattered Jewel

I give her my best smirk while Wilder counters with an easy grin. We know this dance all too well; the subtle battle for her approval, a silent contest of flirtations where Elara always emerges as the victor.

Elara raises a brow at us before her attention drops to the bandages covering Wilder, then my dirtied, bloodied clothes I’d refused to remove so Rossi could take a look at me.

“You two should be resting.”

She says it as if she’s requested it multiple times before.

I suppose she has. She would’ve passed both Axe and Kaspian on the way downstairs to us.

I laugh humorlessly. “Resting? Wounds are a part of the life that we live, butterfly. We’ll be all right.”

Wilder joins in with a wry chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a semblance of a smile. “Yeah, we’re as tough as they come.”

An odd quiet descends. Wilder’s mock laughter fades away as quickly as it started.

Elara seems to sense the shift in mood and reaches out tentatively to touch Wilder’s bandaged arm.

“John,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

His hazel eyes snap to hers, and for a moment, all I see is a man laid bare. Not the wild child of Titan Falls, not the rakish enforcer of the Cimmerian Court, but John Wilder, the boy who lost his first love too soon.

“Sweetwitch.”

His tone matches hers.

I mean to say something casual, maybe downplay the heavy moment with another witticism. But Elara’s stern glare in my direction stops me mid-thought.

She can see through our deflections, our worn defenses crumbling under her scrutiny like brittle autumn leaves.

“Cav,” she says.

Elara’s eyes are golden pools of worry and challenge, an unspoken demand for sincerity that somehow tugs at the hardened armor around my heart.

“God help any man who tries to hurt you,” I say. The sentence comes out in a quiet exhale, our gazes unbroken.

She looks startled, taken aback by the unfiltered confession in my voice. No deflective jest or charm-laden pretense. All minefields cleared and walls crumbled. A man ready to die for her.

“I don’t want you to be okay because you’re tough.” Elara’s focus drifts to Wilder, then back to me. “I want you to be okay because you’re loved.”

Her words hit me square in the chest, a punch worth more than any physical blow.

I blink at her. It’s all I can do.

Wilder stares at Elara with the same expression, his hand buried in his hair, looking younger than I’ve seen him in years.

He reaches for her hand resting between them and lifts it to his lips. Wilder’s kiss upon her knuckles is tender, achingly intimate. It’s a side of Wilder few truly get to see.

I stand, then extend a hand out to her. She eyes me, her gaze alternating between Wilder and me before slowly reaching out and slipping her other hand into mine. The softness of her fingers sparks a surge of emotion in my chest.

I pull her up and towards me, our bodies flush. Wilder rises as well, wrapping an arm around Elara’s waist and pulling her back against him while I hold her from the front.

“Both of you,” she breathes out, looking at each of us in turn, her voice shaking with emotion. “I want you both.”

Her declaration is bold as the bloodstained altar room Wilder and I strolled out of, but tender as a kiss.

We’re filthy, but Elara makes us clean.

Wilder brushes his lips against her neck. I lean down to capture her lips with mine. She tangles her fingers into my hair, pulling at the strands as Wilder nuzzles into the crook of her neck.

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