Page 103 of Sacrifice
I spin to find Elfe in the doorway, Ivar supporting her.
She's still bruised, moving carefully, but her eyes are bright.
"What are you doing here? You should be resting!"
"Like I'd miss this." She pulls me into a gentle hug. "My best friend finally admitting she's crazy about the man she's been eye-fucking for months? Historical moment."
"Elfe!"
"What? It's true." She pulls back, examining my cut. "Looks good on you. The whole 'property of' thing would normally make my feminist rage, but... it works."
"He asked us to move in with him," I tell her quietly. "You and I both. His place has three bedrooms, security, a yard for dogs..."
Her eyes go wide. "He wants me to move in too?"
"Said you deserve to feel safe. Your own space, but protected."
"I..." She blinks hard. "That's... fuck. Now I'm going to cry."
"Don't cry. You'll mess up your bruises."
She laugh-sobs, carefully hugging me again. "Dogs?"
"Big, scary ones."
"I call dibs on naming privileges."
"We'll negotiate."
"When do we move?"
"Soon as you're healed and Emil's not held together by thread and spite."
"So next week?"
"Probably."
The celebration continues around us.
Food appears—nothing fancy but plentiful.
Emil eats like he hasn't been fed in days, color returning to his face.
I stay close, my hand finding his between bites.
"How you holding up?" I ask quietly.
"Good. Tired, but good." He squeezes my fingers. "You?"
"Processing. This morning you were dying of infection, now I'm your ol’ lady planning our future dog pack."
"Life moves fast in the MC."
"No kidding."
Fenrir approaches, Emil's father looking uncharacteristically emotional. "About time, son."
"Dad."
