Page 46 of King's Reckoning
"Historically significant sites, carefully preserved and hidden." Barbara's expression was gentle. "Elena discovered these archaeological treasures, studied them. She understood their historical importance, even if she couldn't fully grasp all their implications for modern property rights."
Rowan sank into a chair, feeling reality shift around her. "So when my mom wrote about founding families..."
"She meant groups with historical connections to the original land claims," Barbara confirmed. "Specific communities whose ancestors had documented these territories before official colonial records. The Devils, the Kings—they're all descendants of people who had reason to protect these historical truths."
"But why?" King demanded. "Why keep these records hidden for so long? Why not expose the truth?"
"Because the implications are staggering," Barbara said quietly. "These records could invalidate billions in property values, overturn resource rights, reshape the entire power structure of the region."
Before she could elaborate, a doctor emerged from the surgical wing. Rowan was on her feet instantly, heart in her throat.
"He's stable," the doctor said before she could ask. "The bullets missed his vital organs. He'll need time to recover, but he should make a full recovery."
Relief made Rowan's knees weak. King's hand on her shoulder steadied her as the doctor continued explaining Reed's condition and recovery process.
"You can see him briefly," the doctor finished. "He's still groggy from anesthesia, but he's asking for you."
Moments later, Rowan found Reed pale but alert in the recovery room. The sight of him lyingthere, alive despite Darkness's betrayal, made her throat tight with emotion. His dark eyes found hers immediately, seeming to drink in the sight of her as though needing reassurance she was safe.
"Hey," he managed, voice rough. His hand reached for hers, fingers entwining with practiced familiarity. "You look terrible."
She laughed despite herself, careful as she perched on the edge of his bed. "You should see the other guys."
"The tunnels?"
"Collapsed." Rowan squeezed his fingers gently. "But Barbara saved most of her research data. She's been studying it. She thinks..." She hesitated, then pushed forward. "She thinks these artifacts are strictly historical records, not mystical objects. That everything that's happened can be explained through conventional history and politics."
Reed was quiet for a moment, processing. "Makes sense," he said finally. "Explains why Blackwood wants them so badly. Why corporations are involved."
"But my mom's research, all her work studying the founding families..."
"Was probably about tracking historical connections," Reed finished. "Following land claim documentation through generations." His thumb stroked her palm, the intimate gesture conveying affection beyond words. "Doesn't make it less significant. Just more grounded in reality."
"I almost lost you," she said quietly, the words escaping before she could consider them. "When Darkness fired, when you fell..."
Reed's fingers tightened around hers. "But you didn't. I'm right here."
"Because you shielded me," she replied, her voice catching. "You took bullets meant for me."
"And I'd do it again." His eyes held hers, intense despite the pain medication. "That's what happens when you find something worth protecting."
The simple declaration hung between them, weighted with meaning beyond the immediate situation. Rowan felt something shift inside her—understanding that what they'd built together wasn't just partnership or physical attraction. It was deeper, stronger.
"When I thought you might—" She couldn't finish the sentence.
"I know," he said softly, raising her hand to press his lips against her knuckles. "I know."
Before she could respond, King appeared in the doorway. His expression sent a ripple of concern through her.
"Devils leadership is here," he said quietly. "Along with representatives from other chapters. They want to talk."
Rowan squeezed Reed's hand once more, promise in the gesture. "I'll be back soon."
"Go be spectacular," he murmured, a hint of his usual confidence returning. "Then come back to me."
The Devils had converted a conference room into neutral ground, representatives from multiple MCs gathered around a long table. She recognized some faces from the tunnel confrontation—men who had been enemies just hours ago, now assembled in tense alliance.
Mason Cole, the Devils' president, stood as they entered. His cold eyes assessed her with new respect.
