Page 180 of I Will Mend You

My eyes snap open. For a heartbeat, I hesitate, my gaze locking with his amidst the chaos. Silence stretches across the burning church, broken only by the crackle of flames and the snap of burning wood. His eyes burn with a need so raw and carnal, it makes me shiver despite the surrounding heat.

“Xero… I’ve always been yours,” I grind out, my voice hoarse with desperation and desire. “Maybe even before I saw yourmugshot. I knew a man like you was out there, waiting to rescue me from my tower.”

“Then tell me you’ll never leave.”

My throat tightens at this glimpse of vulnerability. Half-assed declarations flicker through my mind, but I can’t dredge up the right words. The fire rages and wood splinters and cracks from above, reminding me that time is running out. At this rate, the church’s roof will collapse on our heads.

“Never.”

In the past, I might have loved him for the way he looked, or the way he made me feel, or even for protection, but that was when I was incomplete. A dangerous mix of gaslighting, suppressed memories, and prescription drugs kept me from uncovering the depth of my emotions.

Now, as I’m stripped bare and on the brink of death, everything is clear. Every time Xero said he loved me was the truth. I belong to him, and he belongs to me. It’s simple.

“I won’t ever leave you again. You’re the only man I trust.”

“Good girl. Now, prove it.”

He wants me to ride his cock again, to claim him in the heat of this burning church. Our relationship went sideways when I jilted him at the altar. It’s only fitting that we commit to each other in the flames of our desire.

I move against him, each roll of my hips a promise, each gasp escaping my lips a vow. Xero Greaves is mine and I am his—forever, until the end of time. When time no longer exists and we’re just fragments floating in chaos, our love will be the primordial anchor keeping us intertwined.

His lips descend on mine, sealing our union with a kiss that tastes like redemption and sin. My eyes flutter shut, and I revel in the depth of our connection.

“Xero, I’m yours,” I pant against his mouth, each word punctuated with a desperate thrust. My nails dig into hisshoulders as my movements become more frenzied, the friction driving me closer to the edge. The heat, the danger, the sheer force of his possession—it’s all too much.

“Oh, fuck… Xero, I’m going to…” I gasp, my body trembling.

“Come for me, little ghost. Make these walls collapse with your screams.”

His words send me over the edge, and I shriek through an orgasm, every muscle in my body tightening as if bound by an unbreakable force. My legs wrap tighter around his waist, clinging to him, my senses alight with flames of pleasure. I revel in the heat, the scent of burning wood, the feel of our bodies pressed so tightly we become one.

Xero’s groans are low and guttural and primal as he comes with powerful thrusts, filling me with spurts upon spurts of warm fluid. The intensity of it leaves me trembling, my legs quivering around his waist with the aftershocks of our shared ecstasy.

I’m spent, utterly consumed. As I catch my breath and open my eyes, the world comes back into focus. We’re no longer in the church but in the moonlit courtyard where he parked the car. Acrid smoke billows through the night like escaping phantoms, and I glance over my shoulder, finding the stone building engulfed in flames.

Before I can ask when he took us out of the fire, he flinches and curses under his breath.

My brow pinches. “Xero, what’s wrong?”

A sharp sting pierces into my neck. I hiss.

Xero plucks out a small dart, his features twisting with rage, and snarls, “We’re under attack.”

EIGHTY-FOUR

XERO

My head throbs. I slow my breath, trying to feign unconsciousness as I take stock of my surroundings. I’m strapped to a wooden chair with leather bindings at every joint. A cold draft blows across my bare skin, carrying the faint scent of brandy and cigar smoke.

It triggers memories of sitting in Father’s study, surrounded by tall shelves stuffed with leather-bound books. Throat spasming, I fight against residual terror from being ten years old, thinking he would inject me with the same poison he used to kill Mom.

Compartmentalizing my fear, I focus on survival. Amethyst is in the hands of our enemies. The question is, which one?

Thanks to Dolly’s counterfeit confessions, we’re both wanted by the police. Law enforcement officers don’t use tranquilizer darts unless they’re dirty, but then, the death of Deputy Police Chief Hunter would have opened up a vacancy for another corrupt official.

It could be the Moirai. My organization’s primary source of revenue comes from work we steal from our former employer.Not to mention the number of operatives we’ve killed or poached.

The third option is too ridiculous to contemplate.

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