Page 7 of From the Ashes

“Love,” I murmur against her cheek, trying not to startle her.

She stirs, and when her gray eyes blink up at me, a small smile tips up her lips. “Hi, you.” She looks around sleepily, taking in the space before she searches out Crew. “This is your room.”

He chuckles. “It is.”

“I’ve never been in here before.”

“No one has,” he admits, his eyes flicking to me before falling back to her again. “But I can’t have you sleeping anywhere else tonight.”

She gives him a sleepy smile and nods as she stretches out over the dark sheets.

“Do you want to wash your face, Little Menace?”

With an exaggerated groan, she lifts herself from the bed and pads into the adjoining bathroom before popping her head out with a bottle of something in her hand.

“You have my cleanser in here?” she asks.

“I bought an extra one when you first came to us, just in case you ever stayed in here,” he explains, and I swear I watch the moment Camilla falls in love with him. Something so simple. Something most would consider minor, but for someone like Crew, it’s anything but.

I think about leaving them, letting them have tonight together, but I can’t. I can’t leave her when she’s in danger, even if she’s safe behind the walls of the compound where she belongs.

CHAPTER SIX

CAMILLA

Islip out from between Crew and Bishop despite how good their warmth feels on my bare skin. It’s sometime around dawn if the light coming through the curtains is anything to go by, and I need to check on Kaos and Kovu.

They both had rough nights last night, and I knew I had to give them space. But the time for space has come and gone.

I slip on one of Crew’s button-downs, smiling as his familiar scent washes over me. Where do these men get off smelling so fucking good?

I step into the hallway and pause, looking up and down at the doors I know are their bedrooms, but up until last night, I’d never been in any of them.

We always sleep in my bedroom downstairs, which means without opening the doors, I can’t distinguish which room belongs to each of them.

I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and nibble at it for a moment while I consider where I should look for them, but I decide their bedrooms are as good a place as any to start.

The first door I push open, the one directly across from Crew’s, belongs to Bishop. There’s no doubt in my mind that the perfectly neat room with nothing out of place belongs to him, and I can’t help but smile as I look around at the clean lines. It’s decorated in shades of gray and dark wood, similar to Crew’s.

I tug the door closed and move down the hallway further to the room beside Bishop’s, and when I push the door open, I know without a shadow of a doubt that the room belongs to Kovu. The styling is similar to the other two rooms, but it’s a mess. There’re band shirts thrown haphazardly over the chair in the corner, the black sheets are unmade, and I’m pretty sure I can see a bloodstained towel beside the bed.

With a smile, I close the door, shaking my head as I move across the hall to the room that must belong to Kaos. His room is decorated in lighter grays and rich blues, colors I wouldn’t associate with the tortured man I’ve come to know.

One wall houses an impressive collection of comic books that I definitely want to peruse later, and there’s a punching bag in the corner, because of course there is. But there’s no Kaos in here, so I pull the door closed behind me and eye the door at the end of the hall.

I take a step toward the closed door before hesitating. What if this room belonged to a woman they had here before me? At this point, I feel fairly secure in the relationships I’m building with each of them, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to walk into a room they kept for someone else.

I swallow and force my feet forward. It’s better that I know. Everything is already so fresh and painful, I might as well rip the Band-Aid off now while I’m feeling vulnerable.

The room is lighter than all the others and appears to be largely unlived in. The light wood complements the cream furnishings, and I step further into the room without thinking about it.

And that’s when I see him.

Kaos kneels beside the bed, his head bowed and his chest heaving. There’s a tension in his body that I only recognize from my early days here, except this is worse. More violent.

Part of me is urging me to move forward, to go to him, to comfort him, but the other half is telling me to get out of here. Kaos is unpredictable at the best of times, and I don’t want to give him a chance to hurt me with his words like he has so many times before.

But then his bloodshot eyes flick up, and I can’t help but gravitate toward him, desperate to comfort him in his time of need.

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