Page 68 of Meet Me In The Dark

“In the beginning,” he agreed, shifting around, probably to release some tension from his shoulders. She went around his back and started rubbing them. It was hard to give someone a massage when their hands were zip tied behind their back, but she could provide comfort, at the very least.

“And then?” she prompted.

“And then you learn how to do it on your own.” He cleared his throat before continuing.

“I want Conor to realize he doesn’t have to control everything, all the time. That it’s okay to let someone else lead, every so often. And Luke—well, I think you’re already getting there, baby. Realizing that the man you are is enough. Realizing that we aren’t going anywhere.”

Kara nodded. Luke was always so afraid of being left behind, but he hadn’t seemed that way in a while. Probably in part because they were all locked up together, but mostly because they’d given him proof he could trust in their staying power. Even hers. “You’re stuck with us to the bitter end, baby,” she teased.

The joke fell flat, and they all grew quiet again.

Because it might be bitter.

Shaking her head as if to dislodge water, Kara continued. “And Micah, what do you need to realize?”

He smiled, a sad flash of teeth. “That I don’t need to manipulate the people I love to make sure I get what I need,” he said.

She kissed him in reward. He took over the kiss quickly. Even with his hands tied behind his back, even bruised, he commanded her lips with his teeth and tongue, taking and giving, giving and taking, until she was dizzy and out of breath and her thighs were clenching. She wanted him, but more than that?—

“I love you,” she said.

“I know, baby,” he said, warmth in his tone. “And, ditto.”

Laughter rang out in the cell, and a short-lived relief with it.

They all lapsed back into silence.

“I want that life,” she finally said, meaning it. “Murder and mayhem, fire and blood, and all three of you by my side. Help me figure out how we get back there.”

“Invincible girl,” Conor began.

She cut him off. “And if we can’t figure out how, then at least we died together, trying. At least we have these moments together, okay?”

Conor didn’t speak, and the silence felt heavy. She didn’t know what was going on in his head, but it worried her.

“Why don’t I tell you what our life will look like soon?” Micah said, his deep voice casting a spell around them, protecting them from what lay outside. “Let me give you a day of it.”

He cleared his throat, and then on a soft croon, began.

21

“We’re back at the cabin. It’s winter, and the snow is thick on the ground, weighing down the evergreens and topping the mountain peaks, so everything is white and shimmering with promise. Kara, you’ve made the not entirely wise, entirely impulsive decision to make sufganiyot for Hanukkah, and I’m supervising to make sure you don’t burn yourself—or the house down.”

Kara giggled, despite her sadness. “You’d never let me near hot oil.”

Micah hummed. “Oh, you made it worth my while. Wandered into the kitchen barefoot, in my hoodie and nothing else, got up on your tiptoes and leaned into my back and whispered the request in my ear. And when I said absolutely not…”

He trailed off, and Kara filled in for him, picturing it—the warmth of the concrete and copper kitchen, the stillness of the snow outside. “…I dropped to my knees, pulled down your sweatpants, and sucked you and teased you until you would’ve promised me anything for the privilege of coming down my throat.”

“Yeah,” Micah said, voice husky. “That. So I teach you how to make the jelly donuts, patiently working you through the steps: how to combine the warm water and yeast so it rises, adding the eggs, oil, and sugar, the flour. Wrapping my hands around yours and showing you how to whisk properly. Forming the dough, cutting it into squares. My body behind yours, holding you close, because any excuse to have you in my arms is a good one, even if I know these are going to taste like shit.”

This time, Luke chuckled. “Even with you supervising?”

She could hear the smile in Micah’s voice when he said, “Even with me supervising. Because I help her make the first batch, teach her, but trust her to make the second on her own.”

“Just not to burn the house down,” Conor interjected, his voice a mix of pain and longing.

“Or burn that soft skin,” Micah added. “I’d rather touch it, stroke it, than risk it getting harmed.”

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