Page 57 of Unholy Nights

"Love you," I mumble, already more asleep than awake.

"Love you more," he whispers into my hair. "More than you could possibly understand."

There's something in his voice—something deep and intense that I'd probably analyze if I wasn't drifting off. Instead, I just let the sound of his heartbeat and the feeling of being completely, totally safe pull me under.

The last thing I'm aware of is him murmuring something else into my hair, but I'm too far gone to make out the words. Something about…

Forever.

A week ago,Emerald gave herself to me completely in that chapel. Now I watch her sleeping beside me, her dark hair spilled across my chest, and know that I've stolen far more than just her body. I've claimed every part of her—mind, heart, soul. She belongs to me so completely that trying to separate us now would be like trying to unravel DNA. We're coded into each other's cells, written into each other's blood.

And tomorrow, at her mother's precious Christmas party, everyone will know it.

Snow falls outside her bedroom window, coating Emerald Hills in white while the rest of the house sleeps. My fingers trace idle patterns on her bare shoulder as she breathes softly against my skin. She can't sleep without me anymore—hasn't spent a single night alone since the chapel. Neither have I. The rare moments we're forced apart feel like drowning, like someone's stolen all the oxygen from the room.

Some might call it unhealthy. Toxic. Co-dependent.

But they don't understand what we are to each other. What we've always been, since that first moment I saw her. Two halves of the same soul—her light to my darkness, finally whole.

"Cohen?" Her voice is soft and sleepy as she stirs against me, pressing closer so her skin’s touching mine everywhere it possibly can. Always seeking closer contact, like she can't bear even an inch of space between us. I know the feeling.

"Go back to sleep, little one." I press a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin mixed with mine. The scent ofus."It's early."

But she's already pushing herself up on one elbow, those endless green eyes finding mine in the gloomy gray light filtering through her windows. The love I see there still knocks the breath from my lungs. After two years of planning, manipulating, orchestrating every detail to get her exactly where I wanted her, I never expected this—to have her look at me like I'm her entire world. Like I'm something sacred instead of the monster I know I am.

"You're thinking too loud," she murmurs, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. Just that simple touch sends electricity racing through my veins. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." I catch her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Everything's exactly as it should be."

She studies me for a moment, her brow furrowing. I want to kiss that worried look off her face, but then again, I always want to kiss her. "You're worried about tomorrow."

"Not worried." I slide my hand into her hair, gripping gently. "Just... ready. Ready for everyone to know you're mine. Ready to stop hiding." Ready to know with certainty whether she’s pregnant with my child.

Her lips brush against my chest, right over my heart, and my grip in her hair tightens. "Me too," she whispers. "I'm tired of pretending I don't need you every second of every day."

My cock hardens at her words, at the naked want in her voice. She's been insatiable this past week, her body constantly craving mine in a way that makes me wonder... hope...

But I need to be sure before I let myself believe.

"How are you feeling?" I keep my voice casual as I stroke her back, cataloging every small change in her body that I've noticed this week. The tenderness in her breasts that makes her gasp when I touch them. The way she falls asleep at odd hours, pure exhaustion written across her features. Her sudden cravings for foods she's never been allowed to eat.

"Mmm." She snuggles closer, practically burrowing into my skin. "Tired. But good tired. Safe." She presses another kiss to my chest. "Everything feels... different. Bigger. More intense." Her fingers trail down my stomach, following the lines of my tattoos. "Is that weird?"

"No, little phoenix." I catch her wandering hand before it can go lower and destroy what's left of my self-control. "That's exactly how it should feel between us."

She makes a soft sound of protest when I stop her exploration. "But I want to touch you."

"And I want to let you." I bring her hand to my mouth, kissing each fingertip. "But your mother has you scheduled for final dress fittings all morning, and if I let you start something, we won't leave this bed until New Year's."

The pout she gives me should be illegal. Actually, most things about her should be illegal, including how fucking perfect she looks wearing nothing but one of my shirts. But especially that lip...

"Don't." I growl the warning, but she just bites that bottom lip harder, her eyes daring me. "You know what that does to me, little one."

"Maybe that's exactly why I'm doing it." She shifts against me, all soft curves and warm skin, and my restraint splinters. "Maybe I need—"

A knock at the door freezes us both.

"Miss Delacroix?" Kendra's voice filters through the wood. "Your mother wants you dressed and ready in twenty minutes for the fitting."

---