Page 107 of His Claim
“Then maybe,” I said, my fingers sliding up to the collar of his shirt, tugging him down just slightly, “you should stop standing there and do something about it.”
For a moment, neither of us moved. The air hummed between us, warm and charged. Then he did exactly that, his hands gripping my hips, his mouth finding mine.
The kiss started soft, then deepened into something that sank deep into the center of my soul. When we finally broke apart, I rested my head against his chest. He threaded his fingers through my hair.
I tilted my head up, smiling faintly. “What’s this? My commander taking orders from me? I like this version of you.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he said, though his grin betrayed him.
“Too late,” I teased, pulling him back down for another kiss.
We stayed there, breathing the same quiet air, listening to the faint sounds of life drifting up from the street below, children laughing, someone hammering wood, a dog barking somewhere off in the distance. The city was still scarred, still fragile, but it was alive. And somehow, so were we.
I thought of everyone we’d lost, of everyone who’d bled to give us this moment, and silently promised them I wouldn’t waste it.
Tomorrow would bring new problems, it always did, but tonight, in this quiet ruin reborn into something like home, we finally had the one thing neither of us had dared to hope for.
Peace.
EPILOGUE
Mariah
A few weeks later, we gathered just after sunset outside what had once been the Council’s administrative tower, now converted into something far humbler, and far better: a hall for meetings, meals, and laughter. The long table we’d set up inside sported mismatched, scavenged chairs, dented, chipped dishes, and a patchwork tablecloth that Lia had bartered from one of the freed tailors, but it worked. A few candles flickered down the length of the table. Someone had acquired a few bottles of homemade wine, and the smell of roasted meat drifted throughout the massive room.
What remained of Varek’s old squad joined us too—Joren, Rafe, and Brenna—the last of his loyal Outer Guard. They didn’t wear their uniforms anymore; their armor had been traded for worn jackets and laughter that didn’t sound like soldiers anymore. The three of them sat at one end of the table, talking together. There was an empty chair for Gareth, left intentionally that way in honor of their fallen friend and brother. None of them said his name, but all of them looked at it more than once.
Lia sat across from me, her hair tied back, her eyes brighter than I’d seen them in a long time. Silas leaned beside her, his hand resting on hers, the position insignificant but clearly affectionate.
Rowan was at the far end of the table, trying to argue good-naturedly with Kendra about how much seasoning should go on the meat. She laughed, tossing him a naughty look that made the massive, stoic wolf blush, and I couldn’t help but smile.
Varek sat beside me, sleeves rolled up, forearms dusted with soot from helping Silas with the continuing work of rebuilding the power grid that day. He poured me a glass of wine, his fingers brushing mine as he handed it over.
“You’re staring,” he murmured, a grin tugging at his mouth.
“I’m just thinking,” I said, taking a sip. “I don’t think I’ve ever gathered for a dinner like this.”
He chuckled in the sexiest, sweetest way. “No gunfire, no blood, no one waiting to capture you or kill me. I could get used to this.”
“Me too,” I grinned.
We talked for a while longer, and then Commander Soren arrived. Her uniform jacket was slung over one shoulder, her hair unbraided and flowing, long and lustrous, over her shoulders and down her back. Her dark eyes glinted in the torchlight. She’d spent the day inspecting the new perimeter walls, but when she sat, she smiled, a small, tired smile that still somehow lit up the space.
“Eat,” she ordered, sitting down beside Rowan. “That’s an order.”
We laughed, and for a while, we did nothing but eat and drink and talk. The hall hummed softly, the air inside alive with faint sounds of laughter, music, and conversation, the rhythm of people learning how to live free and in equality with one another.
Halfway through dinner, one of the Watch soldiers rose, lifting a glass.
“To the fallen,” he said.
The laughter died.
We raised our glasses in silence, for Elsie, for Gareth, for the ones who never made it home, and for all the men and women that had gotten us here and lost their lives along the way.
When we drank, the silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was poignant, full of love and respect.
Afterward, as the others lingered around the table still eating and drinking, Soren stood, brushing crumbs from her hands. “I’m heading down to the tunnels in the morning,” she said. “My scouts think there’s still something under the mountains. Maybe more of the Council’s work.”
