Page 109 of Only the Hunter

When we break apart, she settles back against my chest.

“Get some sleep,” I say.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Try.”

She does. Eventually, her breathing evens out, and she goes soft and heavy in my arms.

I don’t sleep.

I lie there, holding her, memorizing the weight of her, the rhythm of her breath, the way she curls into me like she belongs there.

Because she does.

And tomorrow—when we step off that plane and walk back into the crosshairs—I need her to remember that.

Keeping me at arm’s length, whether it’s to protect me—or her heart—isn’t an option.

She’s mine.

And I will absolutely keep her safe.

Chapter 22

Evie

Tension radiates through me, my muscles pulled so tight they hum like a cord wound past its limit. It’s my nature to be at the airport early, not counting on factors to fall in my favor, such as a short security line and a close gate. Meanwhile, Gabe’s expression has remained annoyingly neutral all morning—unruffled, unreadable, like time bends for him differently than it does for the rest of us. Ready to go in five minutes while I ran around frantic. You’d think his calm would rub off on me, but instead, I want to shake him. If we miss this flight because neither of us thought to set an alarm, we’ll be rerouted through at least two airports, time bleeding away in terminals and security lines until home feels theoretical.

Gabe lifts my suitcase onto the conveyor belt with absolute ease. It’s not that he does it slowly, it’s that he looks like he has all the time in the world—and that is patently false. It remains conceivable we will miss our flight.

I place my laptop into the tray. My phone lights up with my father’s name right as I set it down.

“I’ll call him back,” I say to Gabe’s one lifted eyebrow.

His hand settles at my lower back—proprietary, and if I’m honest, comforting—and he guides me through security, close enough that I feel his presence even when I step away.

“Do you think we’ll make it?”

“Yes.”

I glance over my shoulder at him and catch a slight grin. “What? Are you laughing at me?”

“I’ve just never seen this side of you.”

The implication—that there are sides of me he hasn’t seen—snags. We grew up parallel to each other. I’d prefer to think he knows all my edges. That grin stays. He’s amused. “What?”

I’m waved forward by security before he can answer.

Gabe follows behind me and we gather our belongings. I watch as he slides his belt back on, the leather zipping through the loops on his slacks, and the brief flash of his trim waist—muscled, familiar now in a way that still feels unreal—heats my already flushed skin.

He leans forward, lips so close to my ear his breath warms my skin. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.” I press a hand against him to shove him away, when he adds, “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Not really. We’re taking an international flight. The customs line could have required an hour. We got lucky.

He doesn’t wait for my argument. No, he’s off in the direction of our flight with both our suitcases.

We stop in the American Express Centurion Lounge for a quick bite and coffee, because, as it turns out, Gabe is right, and we do have time before boarding. But I’m also right—we got lucky.