Page 22 of Shadow of Misty Mountain

I turn to her. “You stay here. Don’t open the door unless it’s me. I’ll be back when it’s clear.”

She crosses her arms, mouth tightening. “You think I’m just going to sit here doing nothing?”

“I think you’re smart enough to know we’re not debating this.”

She takes a step closer. “And what if they come here?”

“They won’t.”

“Because you’re so sure?”

“Because they don’t know this place exists, and I’ve got Hank keeping watch on the floor.”

Her jaw flexes, and I see it—the part of her that wants to fight me, scream, demand answers and control. But instead, she nods… barely.

“Fine,” she says. “But if someone puts a bullet through this door, I’m going to haunt you.”

I crack half a grin. “Noted.”

I turn to leave, one hand already brushing the doorframe, but I don’t get far. Abby’s hand snaps out and grabs my wrist, her fingers wrapping tight around my skin like she can anchor me to her with touch alone.

“Don’t go yet,” she says, voice low, just for me.

I stop. Not because I should. Not because it’s smart. But because it’s her.

Her fingers stay where they are, and I feel her pulse thudding against mine, a steady rhythm I shouldn’t be paying attention to.But I do. I feel everything. The heat of her grip. The hitch in her breath. The way her eyes lift to mine, challenging and afraid and something else too—something I can’t name without crossing a line I’ve spent years carving in stone.

“You’re walking out there like you don’t care if you come back.”

“I always come back,” I tell her.

“That’s not what I said.”

The look in her eyes—damn, it cuts. It’s not pity. It’s not panic. It’s personal. She moves, just a step closer than she should be, and grabs the front of my shirt with her other hand.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she says. “Shoving me away when you’re scared. You don’t get to protect me without letting me in.”

“I’m not scared.”

She huffs a breath, and I realize I’ve said the one thing she won’t let me lie about.

“You’re not scared of them,” she says, eyes flashing. “You fear this.Us.”

I don’t answer. I don’t have to. She drags me down by the front of my shirt, rising on her toes and crashing her mouth against mine. It’s not gentle. Not sweet. It’s fire. Frustration. A goddamn storm breaking wide open.

Her lips are warm and full, demanding answers I haven’t been willing to give. I taste anger, and longing, and something dangerously close to hope.

My hands clamp down on her hips. I grip her like I don’t know how to let go. I kiss her back, hard, deep, like it’s the only way to stop the avalanche inside me.

One second. Two. Five. Then I tear myself away.

“Don’t,” I rasp, breath burning in my chest. “Not unless you mean it.”

Her eyes blaze. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”

I want her. I’ve never denied it. But right now, it’s not about want. It’s about keeping her alive.

I press my forehead to hers for the briefest second. “I have to go.”

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