Page 51 of Protector of Talon Mountain

And when he follows me, his body seizing, his mouth on mine, I feel it everywhere. In the way he groans my name against my lips. In the way his arms tighten around me like he’ll never let go.

He doesn’t pull away when it’s over. He just shifts, just enough to keep me close, pressing kisses to my temple, my hair, the corner of my mouth. I nestle into his chest, our legs tangled beneath the sheet, his heartbeat loud and steady under my cheek.

I say nothing. I don’t need to.

He holds me long after the room has gone still, his arm strong around my waist, his other hand reaching for the phone on the nightstand. The soft glow from the screen lights the side of his face—sharp jaw, furrowed brow, eyes scanning.

He’s watching the monitors. Protecting.

Even now. Even after everything.

I close my eyes, lulled by the warmth of his body and the strength in his silence.

Whatever’s coming, I know this now for certain—I won’t be facing it alone.

* * *

When I wake, the first thing I feel is heat. Not the too-warm, too-much kind that makes me kick off the covers—but the kind that settles deep in my chest. Slow. Steady. Safe.

Zeke wraps his arm around my waist, heavy and possessive, his hand resting just beneath the curve of my breast. I press my cheek against his chest, the steady beat of his heart like a metronome anchoring me to the moment. His skin is warm under my palm, bare and solid and unmistakably his.

I shift slightly, and his grip tightens. Not harsh. Just firm. Certain.

“Morning,” he rumbles, voice rough with sleep.

I tilt my chin, my eyes blinking open slowly. He’s already watching me.

That same unreadable expression is there—quiet intensity, focus, like he’s scanning every inch of my face and cataloging it for later. The corners of his mouth tip just enough to call it a smile.

“You’ve been staring,” I say, voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Yeah,” he answers simply, like he doesn’t see a reason to deny it. “I could watch you sleep for hours.”

The blush that rises in my cheeks is instant. I try to duck my face into his chest, but he catches my chin gently between his fingers, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“You’re beautiful when you’re quiet like this,” he says, dragging his thumb slowly along my lower lip. “Peaceful. Like you know you’re safe.”

“I do,” I whisper. “With you, I do.”

The silence stretches again, but it’s not heavy. It’s full. Lush. Like the air has weight and heat and something important simmering just beneath the surface.

My hand rests over his heart. I feel every thud, every slow rise and fall of his chest. And I know—if I’m going to tell him, it has to be now. While the world is still soft and quiet and he’s looking at me, like nothing I could say would make him let go.

“I never told you the complete story,” I say, and my voice sounds too loud suddenly, even though it’s barely above a whisper. “About when I left Brent.”

Zeke’s expression shifts—subtle, but instant. That protective edge in his jaw, the way his eyes narrow slightly. Alert. But he doesn’t speak. He just waits.

I inhale slowly, steadying myself.

“It wasn’t the worst day. Not by a mile. But it was the one where I stopped pretending I could fix him… or survive him.”

I sit up slightly, letting the sheet fall to my waist. Zeke follows me, propping himself up on an elbow, his hand still anchored to my side like he knows I’ll float away if he lets go.

“We’d been at his sister’s house. There was some fundraiser thing. He didn’t like the way I was talking to one of the board members—too confident, too friendly, too something. I don’t even remember what I said. But he stewed the entire drive home.”

I look down, tracing a pattern on the sheets with one finger.

“He waited until we were inside. Until I’d taken my heels off. Then he pushed me up against the wall and…” I stop. Swallow. The air feels colder suddenly.

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