Page 22 of Declan

His gaze softens when he glances at the oven. “Damn. You cooked?”

“Yeah,” I breathe. “It’s just spaghetti.”

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around me.

I don’t hesitate. I melt into him, my arms circling his waist, my head against his chest.

And for the first time all night, the tension between us shifts, heavy, charged, something neither of us can name but both of us feel.

Chapter 8

Declan

I had to pull away from Lena before I did something I know I shouldn’t.

Something my body is begging for.

But she’s untouchable, and that’s what made me step back.

She made me dinner.

And yeah, to most people, that might seem like nothing.

But to me?

It’s everything.

No one’s ever done that for me. Not really.

Sure, I was fed as a baby, at least I think I was, but even as a kid, I was rummaging through cabinets, stealing scraps, surviving off whatever I could find.

The kind of childhood I had? It would break even the strongest of men if they let themselves think about it too long. That’s why I don’t. I keep it buried. Locked down.

But it’s also what built me.

It’s what made me into the man I am today.

The man who found family in Wesley.

Who found a purpose in Shattered Souls.

So yeah, Lena standing in my kitchen, wearing my shirt, and putting a hot plate of food in front of me?

That hit a place in me I didn’t even realize was empty.

Which is exactly why I made her sit with me while I ate it.

A little domestic, a little dangerous.

“This is really good,” I tell her, mouth half full and soul rattling in my chest.

She smiles, shy, like she doesn’t realize she just redefined what home feels like for me.

“It’s just spaghetti, but thanks,” she says, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt that’s far too big for her.

God, she’s beautiful.

Soft where I’m hard.

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