Page 74 of The Heir
She makes a strangled noise, looking at me with those big, brown eyes. "Mybitemark?"
"Well, yes. You're mine, obviously, but you get to claim me, too." I reach over, cupping her cheek. "You'd just have to bite me hard enough to leave an outline."
"Can I fuck you yet?" she blurts out. "Sorry, I just… that's one of the hottest things you've ever said to me."
Laughter pours from me, and I have to hold myself back from pouncing on her like a lion. "Oh, love. You're so fucking perfect for me."
"You really think so? Even after all this?"
"Melody. Listen to me very carefully. You are perfect for me in every reality. You are the most beautiful and vicious woman I've ever met. Don't you ever doubt my love for you, do you hear me?"
She nods silently. God, I love when her eyes get so wide andhungry. If this is what the first trimester of her pregnancy is like… may all the old gods and the new have mercy on my soul. I've heard that pregnant women experience a spike in their libido during the second trimester. I may have to get electrolytes delivered in bulk.
I'd rather die than leave her unsatisfied. Happy wife, happy life.
Melody
After hours of ocean, I watch the landscape come into view through the airplane window. City lights sparkle in the distance. Home. We're almost home. The Eligos reluctantly allowed us to leave the compound and go back to Philadelphia. Well, I say "allowed"—she doesn't have rank over Dante. But she really wanted us to stay for a bit longer.
ButDante was adamant, and so was I. The war is over. We won. It's time to go back to our normal lives. As normal as we can, honestly. I have to admit, it feels a bit weird. I spent so long under my stepdad's thumb, then on the run from… well, anyone. Anyone who would know me or recognize me. Jail. Prison. A safehouse. Another prison. Another safehouse.
It just doesn't quite feel real yet. We're going home. We're going back to the place where we fell in love.
Where I killed men.
Where I befriended Helena.
Where I learned to shoot.
Where I learned how to dispose of a body properly—kind of.
Where I ran from Dante until he caught me. And god, am I happy he caught me.
It's strange. I sit in silence and watch the city lights go by as Dante drives us back home. I always felt so… out of place everywhere else I've lived. Growing up, my home was busy and stressed—Mom always worked, so I had to raise myself. And then she met Charlie, and I moved out to be a grimy, little bum working in restaurants, but my crappy apartments never felt like home. Nothing ever felt like home.
Until I let myself open up and really, truly see Dante for who he is. And he sees me for who I am. He loves me, murderous streak and all. I genuinely did not think I was capable of this kind of all-consuming, heart-warming love. I figured the best I could do was one-night stands and booty calls. But those days are long behind me. Especially with how my body tingles and heats when Dante looks at me with those piercing green eyes.
He reaches over and puts a protective hand on my thigh. I let out a contented sigh, smiling at his touch.
"Almost home, love," he murmurs as he turns down our street. His row home stands proudly, nestled among the other historic brick homes jutting up from the concrete sidewalks. The windows are dark, and only the porchlight gently glows orange in the nighttime.
I'm a little bit surprised that it's still standing. After everything we've been through, the fact that the house is completely untouched seems… strange. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as Dante parks the car in the shared garage down the block. I think he feels it, too, because he lifts a tattooed finger to his lips. I nod and take in our surroundings.
There's no such thing as true silence in a city like this. Trucks blare their horns and cars rev their engines on the interstate nearby, a helicopter whirrs throughthe air somewhere to the south, and a city bus rattles to a halt in the distance. But there's nothing making a sound in the garage itself except for my footsteps. I try to walk as quietly as possible, but it just sounds like I'm shuffling along.
Which makes sense. Iamshuffling. Dante places his hand on the small of my back—possessive, but also a protective gesture. We won't be separated by whatever has us on high alert.
As we reach the stairwell, he slowly creaks open the steel door and peeks around. It's well lit inside, and there's no one in sight. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. Maybe we're both just paranoid from months—almost a year?—of horrendous shit following us at every turn.
But there's nothing. There's no one. We take the stairs together, hands tightly clasped. I still feel weird. Dante does, too, based on the way he keeps flicking his eyes back and forth. As soon as we reach the darkened street, I suck in a breath and shove open the door.
There's no one. The street is as empty as it ever is. Trash blows in the gentle wind, and a delivery bike rolls by playing music. It's unsettlingly peaceful.
"Wasn't the porchlight on?" Dante asks in a whisper.
I look down at our house—a pang of longing writhes in my chest—and cock my head to the side. The porchlightwason, but it's gone dark. "Is that on a timer?"
"No."
