Page 70 of Donovan
“I understand,” I said, my voice even.
Kit studied me for another beat, then nodded. A short, final thing.
Then he turned to his hunters. “Let’s go.”
One by one, they moved, peeling away into the trees. The sounds of their retreat faded, their presence swallowed by the darkness of the forest.
Declan and I stood frozen, listening, waiting. Minutes stretched. No movement. No sounds. And then finally they were gone.
Relief slammed into me, stealing my breath. My heart was still hammering, my body still buzzing with adrenaline.
Every inch of me was shaking from the high of battle, the impossible stakes, the razor-thin margin between life and death.
I turned to Declan. He was already looking at me, those storm-dark eyes unreadable.
Something inside me snapped.
I lunged for him, grabbed the front of his shirt, and crushed my mouth to his. It was desperate, furious. A collision of relief and adrenaline and need.
Declan growled low in his throat, his arms snapping around me, pulling me flush against him.
He kissed me back just as hard, just as desperate, like he needed proof that I was here, that I was alive.
I fisted my hands in his shirt, holding onto him like a lifeline, not caring about the blood or the dirt or the exhaustion weighing down my limbs.
Nothing else mattered. We had survived. And somehow, against all odds, I had managed to get the hunters off our backs.
The walk back to the village felt different this time.
The gnawing dread that had followed us for weeks, the constant threat of the hunters, the rabid vampires were gone.
The battle was behind us, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next fight.
Kit’s warning still echoed in my head.Next time, I won’t go easy on you.
I knew he meant it. If our paths crossed again, it wouldn’t end with mercy. But I wasn’t thinking about next time.
I was thinking about this time.
About the impossible truth that we’d made it out alive.
Beside me, Declan walked in silence, his long strides unhurried, as if he could finally relax now that the weight of survival wasn’t pressing down on us.
His face was unreadable, but his shoulders, so often tense and coiled for a fight, were looser. Lighter. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but I didn’t. Not yet.
The village came into view, lanterns glowing soft and golden against the dark.
The sparrow shifters had been waiting for us, their small, tight-knit group gathered near the fire, expressions wary but hopeful.
As soon as we stepped past the threshold, Jonas and Lena moved forward. Jonas’ sharp eyes swept over us, taking in every bruise, every streak of dried blood.
“You’re back,” he said, voice steady, but I caught the way his shoulders eased just a little.
I nodded. “It’s over. Those vampires won’t be bothering you anymore. We killed their leader.”
A ripple of relief moved through the crowd. Someone let out a breath.
Someone else murmured a quiet prayer of thanks. A few of the younger shifters exchanged glances, their tension unwinding at last.
