Page 60 of Reckless: Corruption

“Mona, worried?” I attempt a laugh that turns into a cough. “Statistically improbable. Much emotional inconsistency.”

His chest shakes with silent laughter. “She explained, in extensive detail, exactly how my failure to ensure proper hydration and caloric intake might compromise your recovery metrics.”

“Sounds about right. Did she make a PowerPoint presentation?”

“Threatened to. With animations.”

I should move. Should put distance between us. Should maintain the carefully constructed firewall I’ve built around myself for years. But his warmth seeps into my virus-chilled bones, and I find myself leaning closer instead of pulling away, like a moth who’s finally made peace with the flame.

“The samples?” I ask, refocusing on what matters.

“Safe. Mona’s working on them now.” His hand slides up to cup my cheek, turning my face toward his. Those amber eyes search mine, looking for something I’m not sure how to name. “She says they’re exactly what she needed. Finn’s already showing improvement. Been awake for a few hours.”

Relief floods through me, so powerful it makes my eyes sting. “Thank god.”

“Don’t thank god,” Jinx says, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “Thank you. And your terrifying sister.”

“I’ll remind her you called her terrifying. She’ll take it as a compliment.”

“It was meant as one.”

We fall silent, the weight of everything that’s happened—everything that’s still happening—settling between us like encrypted files waiting for the right key. The raid, Alexander, the virus burning through Finn, Theo’s approaching heat, the looming countdown to relocate to the safe house—less than a week now, according to the muffled conversation I can hearfrom Ryker’s office. So many moving pieces, so many potential disasters.

And yet, here in this quiet morning light, with Jinx’s warmth surrounding me, none of it seems quite as overwhelming as it did before.

“You feel cooler,” he observes, his palm pressing briefly against my forehead. “Fever’s breaking.”

“Mona’s last injection must be working.” I shift slightly, testing my body’s responses. The aches remain, but they’re duller now, more like the aftermath of a particularly intense parkour session than the bone-deep agony of before. The virus still lingers in my system—I can feel it, a subtle buzz beneath my skin, heightening my senses rather than dulling them as before. “I’m feeling more human.”

“Good.” His eyes darken slightly, something predatory waking in his gaze. “I prefer you conscious.”

The simple statement carries weight beyond its words, packed with unspoken meaning. I remember him carrying me through the forest, his arms strong and certain even as my body failed me. Remember the fierce protection in his voice as he promised to get me home, like an oath written in blood.

“Sorry about the whole passing out thing,” I offer, because deflection through humor is my default programming. “Not my most graceful moment.”

“I don’t know.” A hint of that feral smile appears. “I thought the dismount had artistic merit. Maybe a seven out of ten for execution.”

“Only a seven? That was at least an eight-point-five. The judges from the Russian Federation are clearly biased.”

“Points deducted for the face-plant at the end.”

We’re both smiling now, the tension easing like a system reboot. His hand has resumed its lazy patterns on my arm, eachtouch raising goosebumps in its wake, my body responding to his proximity like it’s been coded for exactly this input.

“Thank you,” I whisper, the words carrying more vulnerability than I usually allow. “For coming back for me.”

His expression shifts, something fierce and protective flashing through his eyes, transforming him from man to predator in the space between heartbeats. “Always will.”

“Why?” The question slips out before I can think better of it.

Jinx studies me for a long moment, his gaze so intense it makes my breath catch. Then he shifts, rolling until I’m pinned beneath him, his weight balanced on his forearms. The position should feel threatening—his body caging mine, his strength so obviously superior to my virus-weakened state. Instead, it feels like shelter. Like protection. Like something I didn’t know I was missing until it was right here.

“Because you’re pack,” he says, the words vibrating with conviction. “Because you’re ours.” His eyes hold mine, unflinching in their certainty. “Because you’re mine.”

The declaration hangs between us, offering without demanding. Claiming without imprisoning. He’s giving me a choice—to accept or reject this connection that’s been building since that first encounter in a bathroom stall, when we were nothing but strangers seeking momentary oblivion.

My mind flashes to the others—to Finn, still recovering but already benefiting from the samples we secured; to Theo, fighting his approaching heat with suppressants that are rapidly failing; to Ryker, balancing pack protection with his omega’s needs while orchestrating our imminent relocation. Each of them has come to mean something to me, something I’ve been too afraid to name. Something I’ve been running from since that first night.

“We’re a mess,” I whisper, because it’s true. “Both of us. Broken in ways most people would run screaming from.”

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