Page 44 of Thunder's Reckoning
Heat climbed my neck. Not from fear. Not from shame. From something new. Something I didn’t have a name for, but my body did.
It was terrifying. And it was… good.
My fingers itched where they rested on my knees, wanting to reach for him. To trace the line of muscle under his sleeve. To learn what it felt like to touch because I wanted it, instead of duty.
I stayed still, though. Just let the wanting hum through me, quiet, secret, mine.
He didn’t say a word, and neither did I. The silence didn’t feel like a trap this time. It felt like a blanket, wrapping us both in something I didn’t know how to name.
I let my eyes close, head pressed to his shoulder, and for the first time in years I didn’t fall asleep waiting for footsteps. Didn’t brace for fire.
I just let myself be held.
***
THE MORNING LIGHTcame soft, filtering through thin curtains, brushing pale gold across the floorboards.
I stirred slow, caught between sleep and waking, until the steady weight under my cheek pulled me back into myself.
Zeke.
I was still curled against him, his arm heavy across my shoulders, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt unshakable. He hadn’t moved all night—or if he had, he’d shifted with me, keeping me close, never breaking the hold.
For a long time I just lay there, listening to the steady thud of his heart. It was nothing like the nights I’d known before.
This was different.
I wanted to keep hold. Wanted to stay.
That terrified me so much.
I’d never woken in a man’s arms without dread coiled in my gut. I’d never let myself notice the cut of a jawline in the light, or the way muscle stretched beneath a shirt when a man shifted.Those things had never mattered. My only thoughts were always how soon I’d be allowed to leave.
But now…
Now my chest ached with something I couldn’t name. Longing, maybe. Want.
I lifted my head, careful not to wake him. His face was turned toward the window, silver hair catching the light, lashes shadowing eyes I’d learned could burn and soothe in the same breath.
He looked younger in sleep. Not softer—Zeke would never be soft—but freer, like some of the weight he carried had loosened in the night.
I wanted to touch him. My hand hovered, inches from his stomach, from the muscle I knew was underneath. Just one brush, one proof he was real. But I stopped myself, fingers curling into my palm instead.
Because want was dangerous.
And yet… I stayed there, letting myself feel it anyway. The danger. The temptation. The pull that explained why women risked sin and fire for men not chosen for them.
His lashes flickered.
Zeke stirred, arm tightening instinctively around me like his body wasn’t ready to let go. His eyes opened slow, pale blue catching the morning light. For a moment, he just looked at me, gaze steady, unreadable. Then one corner of his mouth curved—small, tired, but real.
“Mornin’, darlin’,” he rasped, voice rough with sleep, thick with that southern drawl.
Heat rushed to my face. I ducked my head, suddenly too aware of how close I was. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” His voice was soft, the kind that made the air feel heavier. “Ain’t a bad thing to open my eyes to.”
I froze, breath caught between disbelief and something warmer, something dangerously close to hope.
