Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC 5)

“No monsters hiding in my closet?” I asked, folding my arms as he walked back to the front door.

He grinned wickedly. “Oh, there’s plenty. But they’re friendly.”

I wish.

“So,” he started, stepping forward, “do you want help packing, or will it break some kind of chick rule for me to handle your unmentionables?” His gaze went hooded. “Though if it doesn’t, I’m requesting that exact job.”

I scowled at him. “I’m not moving in with you,” I told him firmly.

“Yes, you are,” he argued.

I restrained my urge to fight, to swear my way out of this situation. Namely because I didn’t want to fight with Gabriel. We were both fighting enough battles; we didn’t need to fight each other. So I took a breath, glancing down at our boots, inches away from each other. “I have to figure myself out before I can give you anything. I have to find out who I am without the drugs, without the stripping, without the filth. That new person is just being made, coming to life after I died those months ago.” I found my strength and glanced into his glittering eyes. “Because that’s what happened. I died. A part of me. A big fucking part. The part I held most precious because it was the part I thought had survived everything. Would survive everything.” I paused, sucking in a breath. “I need to find a way to come back to life before I can make anything with you. I need time,” I whispered.

His eyes still glittered, twinkled with emotion that I couldn’t place, and his usually expressive face was blank, the small twitch in his jaw the only thing distinguishing him from a statue. That and the way my blood sang for him, yearned for him.

He stepped forward, so close his body brushed mine and I was engulfed in his musky scent. He didn’t touch me, though, at least not physically. Though he held me just the same, every inch of me, whoever ‘me’ was.

“You didn’t die,” he rasped, his voice like sandpaper. He lifted his hand and trailed it lightly down my cheek, his eyes watching its progress. “You, my little firefly, turned into a chrysalis, a cocoon that protected that soft, beautiful part of you that somehow survived what would destroy most people.” His hand moved down to my collarbone. “It took a while for the outer parts of you to heal, but now you’re comin’ out of that cocoon, becoming what you’ve always been. Evolving into something more beautiful than before.” He took a breath. “You need time to get to know this new beautiful thing you’ve turned into, you got it. You want to learn to love the woman you see in the mirror every day, fine with me.” His hand circled my neck and pulled me gently so our foreheads were touching and his eyes burned into mine. “You can have all of that, but I’m not going anywhere. You see, I’ve always known that beautiful thing you’ve turned into, always seen it. And I don’t need to learn to love the woman you see in the mirror.” His nose rubbed against mine and I struggled to breathe. “’Cause I already do. Have since the moment you talked about nuts covered in piss.”

Before I had the chance to respond, he pulled back and stared at me. I expected him to say something else, or to pressure me to say something. Instead, he gave me a small, dark grin.

“See you tomorrow, firefly.”

Then he was gone.

That guy so knew how to make an exit.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Sometimes the most courageous act a human can do is to let somebody love them.”

-Michael Xavier

“Great. More fucking visitors,” I muttered to myself. I walked through the hallway to the door it felt like I’d just closed on Lizzie. I’d contemplated ignoring it, but then I thought it might be some big bad biker man who would take my not answering to mean I’d been kidnapped or was hanging from a shower rod. Then he’d take it upon his muscled shoulders to kick the door down and stomp in and save the day. I heard they did that sort of thing rather frequently. So to save Rosie’s door, I answered.

I couldn’t have been more surprised at who the knocker was when I burst it open. Instead of some biker man, it was a biker chick. The biker chick. Or queen, to be exact. Evie was someone I’d only met in passing and she’d made it more than clear what she thought of me, which was not much. Not that I blamed her. She was hard. There was something behind those only slightly wrinkled eyes that saw through the bullshit.

Which had been dangerous before.

Now it was downright terrifying.

She quirked a brow. “You gonna invite me in or just stare at me like that?” she asked, her voice husky and raw.