Page 180 of Buried in Blood
I sit on the back porch of the lake house, the same one Dante and I used to sneak beers at when we were too young and too stupid to care. It’s quiet now. Just the gentle lap of water against the dock and the occasional chirp of a bird that’s braver than most.
The sun’s dipping lower, casting long gold streaks across the water, and I’m sipping a glass of whiskey that’s probably older than some of the scars on my body.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m holding my breath.
Dante and Evelyn are inside. I can hear her laughter through the screen door, low and bright, and it does something to me every damn time. They made it. Through the blood, the betrayal, the years of pretending we were just fucked-up men trying to protect what little we hadleft.
Dante is still rough around the edges. Still a fighter. But I see it now—the softness Evelyn carved into him. Not weakness. Just space. Space to breathe. To love. To forgive.
And Harmony.
Fuck.
I never thought I’d see the day when she walked into a room without flinching. Where she let someone touch her and didn’t brace for pain.
Reese is still a puzzle to me. He always has been. Dangerous in the way wolves are—calm until they’re not. But he loves her. That much is obvious. He looks at Harmony like she’s the last star in his sky. And she leans into him, like she believes he’ll never let her fall.
They’ve both been through Hell.
They didn’t come out clean.
But they came outtogether.
I respect the Hell out of that.
I take another sip, let the burn settle in my chest, and think about the one thing that still doesn’t feel real.
Damien is dead.
My brother.
My fucking blood.
And I don’t feel what I thought I would.
No grief. No guilt.
Just… relief.
It’s a terrible thing, isn’t it? To be glad someone’s gone.
But Damien stopped being my brother a long time ago. Maybe, it was the moment he smiled while Astra cried. Or maybe, it was the moment I deciphered the look in his eyes; it wasn’t anger—it was pleasure.
He hurt people. He destroyed them. And he did it with the kind of precision only monsters master.
Ishould’ve ended it sooner.
But I didn’t.
And now he’s gone, and the air feelslighter.
A shadow passes in the hallway, and then I see her—myshadow. My light. Astra.
She steps out onto the porch, barefoot, her long sweater sliding off one shoulder. Her hair’s tied back, messy, perfect. She carries a mug of tea she’ll soon forget to drink and sits beside me, thigh brushing mine like a heartbeat.
“You thinking again?” she asks.
I smirk. “A little.”
