Page 39 of Faith Among Monsters

For a second, we don’t move.

Just panting, wrecked, still tangled together in the dark.

The tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch against my skin, he’s still there, still hard, still ready to keep going if I wanted it.

But we can’t.

We don’t have time to fall apart.

The urgency slams back into us.

He lowers me to the ground, slow, hands lingering on my waist like he’s reluctant to let go. I wobble on shaky legs, my hands fumbling with my pants, and he steadies me.

His grip is firm. Grounding.

Dax’s eyes burn into me, wild and possessive, his chest still heaving. “You are so fucking perfect,” he growls, voice wrecked, rough, hungry.

I tug my shirt back into place, heart still slamming against my ribs. “You come back to me.” My voice trembles, not from fear, but from something deeper.

Something unbreakable.

His lips twitch, but his eyes are serious as sin as he zips his jeans. “Always.”

The vow isn’t soft. It’s not whispered.

It’s steel. It’s unyielding. It’s Dax.

The knock comes almost immediately. “Dax!” Wilkes’ voice is sharp and impatient.

Dax doesn’t move. He looks at me. Sees me. Gives me one last, slow once-over, like he’s memorizing me, locking me in before stepping away.

Then he turns to unlock the door.

Wilkes pushes inside, closing the door behind him with a sharp shove. His chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths, and his face is pale under the blood streaks on his skin. “They’re in every fucking shadow,” he says, shaking his head like he’s trying to dislodge the memory. “Found a group of about twenty huddled in the game room. Got ‘em all safe with Zachs. Figure we’re all of thirty-ish strong now. Ten guards.”

He pauses, his lips pulling into a grim line. “Grip was with the game group.”

I glance at Dax, watching as he processes the information. His jaw tightens, his shoulders tensing like they’re bracing for the weight of a hundred decisions.

Wilkes glances at me briefly, and I suddenly become hyperaware of myself, the heat in my cheeks, the way my shirt clings to my skin. I should blush. I should be embarrassed. Theroom must smell like a damn sex shop, and Wilkes has been out dodging zombies while I’ve been in here fucking Dax.

I swallow hard and straighten my shoulders. There’s no time for that now.

“Seen Sinclair?” Dax asks, his tone cold and sharp.

Wilkes snorts. “Didn’t go by the brass’s wing. Figure they started this shit, they can fuck right off.”

The words hit me like a punch. A guard,a guard, choosing inmates over his own leadership?

Dax doesn’t look surprised. If anything, there’s the faintest flicker of approval in his eyes. “Much as we need hands, I agree. Fuck ‘em.” His voice is low and rough, but then he pauses, glancing toward the door like he’s already planning the next move. “But we need to get to the armory.”

“Right under the vipers’ nest,” Wilkes says. He pulls out his key ring and jingles it faintly. “I got keys if you got balls. The ten guards we got have your back.”

The casual way he says it makes my stomach drop.

I grab Dax’s arm, turning him toward me. “Wait,” I say firmly. “It’s one thing to pick off mindless zombies from a catwalk, but you’re talking about taking on armed guards. Not only is that murder, but it’s also a coup. It’s suicide. And you promised me you’d be back here with me.”

Dax looks at me, his face a mask of stone, but his silence cuts deeper than any words.

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