Page 22 of Love the Way You Lion
“I haven’t killed with the fangs—hell, I haven’t even used them in over a year.” I pull out my arm blades and twirl them. “These are my weapons now.”
He smiles and kisses my forehead. “Whatever makes you comfortable, pet.”
I sigh. He is a good man, and he sure as hell doesn’t get enough credit. “You realize that if he and I find out they’ve done this to mess with you—and I mean you and Deli—no one will stop me from using these, right?”
His eyes close, and he nods. “Hell will come knocking if his death is part of some grand scheme. That, my love, I did not need to be told.”
Hell will come knocking. He’s right about that.
The Coyote Strikes Again
DELILAH
“Love,” I whisper to myself, tracing the letters with a fingertip that trembles ever so slightly.
The word hangs in the air, a lifeline thrown across the chasm of my solitude. I clutch Taurus’s note like a talisman, the paper crinkling under the pressure of my grip. The inked words blur for a moment as I steady my breathing. I grip the edge of the note, feeling the rough texture of paper against my fingertips. It’s a tangible reminder that despite everything, life keeps moving, keeps demanding.
“I got a summons from the Company today.” My eyes dart across the lines, and I can almost hear his voice echoing each word in my head. His tone is always so matter-of-fact with business, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement now that wasn’t there before.
I love the way he switches back and forth.
“Both I and the golden goddess are being ‘requested’ to appear.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The ‘golden goddess’—his primary mate who is now permanently bonded tomyprimary. A chuckle escapes me at the thought, a brief respite from the tension coiling within.
“My guess is the sods got her brief about what’s been going on with us and are ready to grant my request about you helping with the shit I do.” I blink, processing. I’m in this now, truly in it. No longer just a spectator to his world, but a participant. It’s daunting, yet it ignites something fierce and eager in my core.
“I don’t know what’s going to go down, but I’ll be back.” There’s a promise in those words, one that goes beyond the physical. He’ll return to me, no matter what the Company throws at him—or us.
“I have to jet, pet.” Just like that, I can picture him: leather duster, the slight crease between his brows as he steps through our door, determination etched into every line of his body.
“I love you always.”
Though he isn’t here to witness it, I whisper into the silence of the room, “I love you, too.”
My voice doesn’t tremble. It’s strong, sure—a reflection of the new purpose blossoming inside me. I fold the note carefully, securing it with all the others, a paper testament to our strange, chaotic dance.
I trace the final signature with my thumb, the looping letters familiar and dear.
Taurus. His name is like a talisman, etched at the bottom of the hastily scribbled note. I trace the letters, finding a measure of comfort in their familiarity. With a deep inhale, I steel myself for what’s ahead. For the Company, for him, and for me. The unknown may be vast, but together, we’re a force to be reckoned with.
I’m ready.
The room is quiet around me; the stillness punctuated only by the occasional distant hum of traffic outside. It’s a stark contrast to the chaos that usually swirls within these walls, the echoes of arguments and laughter now just ghosts in the silence. I’m alone—with his words, with the promise they hold.
I sit on the edge of our bed, the sheets cold and smooth beneath me. The scent of Taurus lingers—musky and warm—and I close my eyes for a moment, letting it envelop me. The spark he mentioned, it’s there, flickering in the pit of my stomach, threatening to ignite something I thought was long extinguished.
A purpose, he says. A chance to be useful again, to not just exist, but to live.
A tiny spark of light flickers within me, an ember of hope that refuses to be snuffed out despite the accident’s lingering shadow. The thought of working again, of having a purpose beyond the confines of these four walls, sends a thrill up my spine. Even if it means enduring arduous training or mind-numbing protocols, it’s a chance to rebuild something lost—a chance to feel whole once more.
“Working would give me a purpose,” I mumble, giving voice to the idea, testing how it tastes on my tongue. It’s been too long since I’ve had anything meaningful to fill my days. The accident, that cruel thief, stole more than just my mobility—it took my sense of self. But this, this could be a way back to who I was, even if the path is littered with boring training sessions and company protocols.
The idea of accomplishment, of contributing to something larger than myself, chases away the cobwebs of inactivity that have shrouded my days. My fingers itch for action, for the tactile sensation of doing, moving, being part of the intricate dance Taurusnavigates daily. The note in my hand is more than an invitation; it’s a call to arms.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth—a rare visitor these days. To be with Taurus, to weave my life back into his beyond the confines of these walls and the whispers of pity from those who no longer know how to talk to me—that’s a prize worth any obstacle.
My gaze drifts to the empty space beside me where he should be. Months have passed in a blur of avoidance and excuses, keeping everyone at bay. Shea’s absence is a relief. Rhea and Alistair are mere memories, and Mercury—a comet passing through my orbit all too infrequently. Wilde and Sari, once fixtures, now repelled by an invisible force field of my own making. And Constantine... I can’t deal with his drama, not when it’s probably as fabricated as Amanda’s near-death theatrics.
“Even if they make me go through a bunch of boring training,” I murmur to the empty room, “I’d be able to have something to accomplish and feel good about.” The words hang in the air, a mantra for the journey ahead. With each repetition, they grow stronger, carving a path through doubt and pain.
