The safehouse walls groaned when the wind hit them, a low moan like something alive. I lay awake, tracing the cracks above the bed with my eyes, unable to shut my mind off. Sleep should have come easily after last night after the way Jaxon and I had torn each other apart and stitched ourselves back together with skin and breath and need. But instead of peace, all I felt was the echo.

His arm was heavy across my waist, possessive even in sleep. His breath warmed the back of my neck, steady, ...