Page 196 of His Pretty Little Duet

I gaze down at the black ash and soot stains covering my jeans, experiencing my body normally. My limbs and heart move at the same time as the outside world. I’m grounded in the present, but it’s bleak.

Frowning, I poke the tip of my finger through a small hole in the fabric. The rocks and twigs must have made it when I was dragged beneath Clay. Sadness is circling relief, and exhaustion is just so overwhelming they both seem muted.

But for the guilt…

The mansion comes into view, lit up by rows of external wall lights. I blink at the figure at the top of the steps. Aurora waits for us with an entourage of soldiers and maids.

When I step from the car, she sighs her relief so hard that even from the foot of the steps I can see her chest fall. "Madonna Mia." She rushes to me.

Her long arms pull me in, and I wrap mine around her. I think she is my family. For reasons I can't explain, tears that are not for Dustin or me, not for anyone, fall softly against her shoulder. Tears of leaking exhaustion, of the word betrayal, of guilt, of thestillthat I am not ready to join.

She strokes my hair down my head. "It is over now."

Clay's presence behind me sends heat through my spine, and I lift my head to gaze at the lovely dark liquor-coloured eyes of his wife. "I met my father," I say to her and to myself, reaching for thatgrief,a moment of mourning him.

Like I should.

Shouldn’t I?

"I know." She nods at something in the distance. "Look at the size of your moon, sweet Fawn. It's so close tonight."

My lip twitches with a smile, but one doesn’t quite form. She told me that she never looks at the moon.

Gazing at the large glowing orb, I inhale the air. Inhale the grass. The scent of flowers. Inhale thestill.

I exhale the fire.

Rushes of light play along the plane of the moon tonight when my back meets Clay's torso.

I press further into the hard, formidable wall of his body; the lingering smell of smoke and charred wood doesn't mask the masculine scent that is all his own. He still smells like him. Even if his armour is blocking out his heart tonight. It’s still him.

Sadness and exhaustion deflate me as I realise it is over, the night is over, the fight, the revenge, and I fall further into him as my legs lose a little strength.

He stoops to scoop me up, and I sigh against him, feeling that fatigue hood my eyes. My arms flop around his neck, my lashes slowly batting in front of the moon.

Aurora touches Clay's cheek. "Is everyone safe? Xander? Bronson?" She pauses. "Max? Cassidy called a few minutes ago. They arrived home safely, but he’s hurt. Your father left to check on him. Was he burnt and shot? Is it serious?"

"He still managed to trek back to his car,” he says, contempt tightly coiled around each word. “I will call Cassidy after Fawn is in bed.”

Is Clay still angry with Max?

He took a bullet for me.

Her hand slides from his cheek. "Clay…Iwill call Cassidy and check in. You need to rest. You're no good to anyone if you don't… And I worry."

“What a waste of your time,” he says to her, his tone cold, closed off. "And that is simply not possible. The men need to be debriefed. A cleaning crew needs to remove evidence and stage an accident."

"I am more than capable of contacting our cleaner and having him troll the campsite. He knows what to do. I need just approve it," she insists.

I add, "Let Aurora do it, Sir.Please. Stay with me.”

He hums, his gaze falls to my face briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Very well," he accepts tightly, and his detached, guarded timbre stirs me.

He strides away, and Aurora heads down the steps to meet the convoy of cars that are now arriving. Distant conversations relay events. And I watch from over Clay's shoulder as Aurora stands in her element, and the men, they nod respectfully for her.

Clay carries me through the house and although I can walk, I'm exhausted enough to appreciate it.

I blink up at Clay. "Are you angry with Max, Sir?" I ask him as we approach our bedroom. “It was my idea.”

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