Page 91 of Veil of Secrets

"Always," I reply instantly, surprising myself with the honesty, the openness of it.

He kisses me fiercely, deeply, a reassurance sealed in heat and shared breath. His fingers never stop their slow, deliberate rhythm. The heat between us intensifies, driving both of us higher, tighter.

"Stay with me," he whispers softly, lips moving against mine. "Right here."

I nod wordlessly, pleasure overtaking coherent thought, building steadily toward something bright and inevitable.

We’re not pretending anymore. The game we chose has melted into something real, something raw.

Something safe.

As pleasure overtakes me, pulsing through my veins and pulling me closer to him, I whisper his name against his lips—surrender and strength combined.

"Nico."

He holds me tighter, grounding me against the wave of sensation, eyes locked on mine, quiet satisfaction and fierce care clear in his gaze.

"I'm right here," he says softly, a promise stronger than any game.

And for the first time in a long while, I believe it.

We hold each other quietly, breathing slowly returning to normal. My heart still pounds, a warm rhythm against Nico’s chest, our bodies still tangled. This kind of quiet doesn't come easy to people like us, and it's not something I take lightly.

He strokes my back lightly, fingers drifting softly along my spine, soothing the last of the tension from my muscles. It feels like being wrapped in safety—a feeling I’ve forgotten until this exact moment.

"Nico," I whisper softly, lips brushing against his shoulder, savoring the way his name feels without fear or urgency. Just us, safe for this moment.

"Hmm?" His voice is soft, low, a rumble that vibrates gently against my cheek.

"How long do you think we get?" My voice carries none of the usual cynicism, just genuine curiosity.

He’s quiet a moment, considering carefully. "Long enough."

I close my eyes, breathing him in again. I let the rain above lull me deeper into this peace. I’m just beginning to trust it when a board creaks sharply outside the attic door.

We both go still instantly, muscles tensing, bodies alert. Nico’s hand tightens gently on my shoulder, holding me steady, wordlessly signaling caution. Another creak, unmistakably heavier footsteps—someone’s close.

I move slowly, silently, pulling away just enough for him to shift upright. Our eyes meet, understanding exchanged in a heartbeat. He nods once, eyes flicking quickly toward the door. My pulse quickens again, but not from fear. We both know what happens next.

The door bursts open, hinges screaming as splinters scatter. A large man stumbles inside, gun already raised, his eyes wild. He’s young, cocky, and immediately recognizable as one of Marco’s men—another reminder that nowhere is completely safe.

"You traitors think you're safe here?" he shouts, waving the gun wildly in our direction.

Adrenaline spikes through me. Instinct kicks in. I dive off the mattress, silk scarf fluttering to the floor. I roll quickly, the worn mattress creaking beneath me as I hit the ground, catching myself in a crouch. Nico moves simultaneously, fluidly, faster than the thug anticipates. His blade flashes once in the dim lantern light—a swift, precise arc.

Nico's blade cuts deeply across his belly, a clean, ruthless strike. Blood sprays instantly, splattering the wood in hot arcs. The attacker makes a strangled noise, eyes wide with shock, knees buckling as his gun clatters uselessly to the floor. Entrails spill heavily, the smell sharp and coppery, blending with the mustiness of the attic.

Steam rises faintly from the pooling blood. The man drops heavily, collapsing awkwardly onto the floorboards, his breathing ending with a wet gurgle. Silence returns to the attic, broken only by our ragged breathing, the gentle patter of rain overhead a stark contrast to the violence that's just ended.

I slowly rise to my feet, breathing deep, eyes never leaving the sprawled body. Nico calmly wipes his blade clean on the man's shirt, his movements meticulous, deliberate. I can’t tear my eyes away from the body—not out of fear, but recognition. Another reminder that moments like the one we shared minutes ago are precious and fleeting.

"You okay?" Nico asks, his voice calm, steady, as if we hadn’t just been interrupted by death.

I nod slowly, meeting his gaze. My voice steadier than I expect. "Yeah. You?"

He shrugs slightly, a faint hint of his usual dry humor in his tone. "Still breathing."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, stepping carefully over the pooling blood, retrieving the red silk scarf from where it had fallen. I turn it gently between my fingers, feeling the cool silk brush my skin. My pulse steadies, clarity returning swiftly. This isn’t new—not anymore. This is our world now, shared and accepted.

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