Page 60 of Bound

I hunted her down, landing in England with one thing in my veins: rage. I found her hiding in a cabin on the moors wearing my coat and pretending she did not need me. She was determined to take her ghosts on by herself.

I remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe until I found her and brought her back to safety.

And I swore, when I did, I’d never let her out of my arms.

And I’d lock her away from the world.

But then my ghosts came haunting and she’s been beside me every step of the way.

Now, she’ll stand beside me at the gates of my rebuilt home, her hand in mine.

And it guts me.

Because this time, I agreed to let her be seen.

The jet cuts through a low ceiling of winter cloud, descending toward the city.

Beside me, Erin sleeps. Or pretends to.

Her head rests against the cream leather seat. Her dark hair spills over one shoulder, the ends brushing my black coat I pulled over her like a blanket before takeoff. She fought me on the coat for exactly eight seconds, “I’m not tired,” then fell silent with my arm around her shoulders.

She is learning to choose her battles. I am learning not to make everything a battle.

Both of us are terrible at it. But we’re getting better.

Across the cabin, Rafe works in silence, tablet balanced on one knee, an encrypted laptop open on the small table in front of him. Gregory sits beside him, pale and focused, his glasses slipping every time the plane dips through turbulence. He has not stopped reviewing gate schematics since we left Iceland.

Blaze is near the rear of the cabin, one boot planted on the edge of the seat across from him, one hand turning a knife over and over.

He wants Cleo. Desperately.

His wife is a plane ride away, teaching Ryan and helping Cass. He let her go but he’s clearly regretting the decision.

Blaze has not made a joke in over three hours.

Concerning.

Isobel sits alone near the opposite window with Mack across the aisle. Guarded. Watched. Alive.

She stares down through the oval glass as if she expects the clouds to open and Carlos to be waiting beneath us with fire in his hands.

Maybe he is.

I turn back to Erin, watching the breath enter and leave her body, her chest rising lightly under the blanket.

The plane drops again. Her gaze finds mine immediately.

“You’re staring,” she murmurs.

“Yes.”

“Obsessive, much?”

“Yes. Always.”

Her mouth curves.

I want to put my mouth on hers until she forgets the city below us, the gates waiting, Carlos watching, the old routes waking beneath new stone.