stern face, he opened his arms and caught me.
I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the leather, clove, and sharp, bracing scent of fresh air imbued in his beard and skin. Vaguely, I was aware of him taking a deep drag of fragrance from my hair.
“You’re good,” he declared, strong hand flexing on my bottom, one of them tracing the notches in my spine from tailbone to neck beneath my open coat where it fisted in my hair to bring my face out of hiding. His eyes burned on my skin as he searched my features for lingering fear and pain. “You’re fine.”
“Good,” I agreed, squeezing myself tighter around him to confirm it. “Fine.”
He nodded curtly, but that hand in my hair loosened so he could dive underneath the locks to find my pulse point with his thumb. His ruddy brow furrowed as he took a moment to feel the patter of my heartbeat.
“Fuck, mo cuishle,” he muttered on a staccato sigh that fanned minty air over my mouth. “Not lettin’ you outta my sight again. Not till this motherfucker is put down.”
“Okay,” I agreed easily, smoothing his messy hair down with my hands, staring into his gorgeous face with awe because I was currently living a miracle. A miracle where I had the right to touch him. “I’m good with that.”
“Should’ve known you’d be here,” a gruff, deeply unimpressed voice said from over my shoulder.
Priest didn’t put me down to address the man. Instead, he tucked me slightly to one side of his body so I could face the man too. There was a dangerous glint in his pale eyes, a promise that whoever was speaking to him was this close to being ripped to shreds.
“Tend to show up when I got family who needs me,” Priest agreed with faux ease as he ran a possessive hand down my hair and wrapped it languidly around his fist. “Can I help you with somethin’, Officer Travers?”
The cop squinted at him, hands on his gun belt, legs braced as if for war. He had the face of a pugilist and, apparently, the manners of one too. “Seeing as this is a crime scene, you can tell me what went down here.”
“He just arrived,” I told the asshole, sticking my chin in the air to glare down at him from my advanced height perched on Priest’s hip. “If you want a statement, ask me. I witnessed the entire thing.”
Officer Travers opened his mouth to speak, but Priest turned his back on the man, dismissing him. Before the cop could protest, my psycho moved us down the slight incline to the parking lot where the rest of our family milled together in the chaos.
“You called us family,” I said quietly, not wanting to spook him by repeating his words. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you refer to anyone as family.”
Priest slanted a look down the strong line of his nose at me. The skin beside his eyes and lips was smooth, no smile lines or brackets around that expressionless mouth because he so rarely emoted. But I could read the depths in those peridot eyes, and I saw the way they flickered with bank flames.
“Death makes you realize real quick how you feel ’bout someone. Lost Mute and realized what the club meant to me. Feels like I’m nearly losin’ you just as I got ya, and that did it too.”
“Did what?” I breathed as he manoeuvred through the clusters of shocked churchgoers to the far side of the lot where the club congregated, outsiders by their choice yet also ostracized by the parishioners. It was amazing to see social divides existed even amidst all the calamity.
“Made me realize you make me feel human,” he grunted without looking at me. “Not sure I like it, but there it fuckin’ is.”
“Human’s good,” I promised him, pressing a kiss to his beard because I couldn’t help it. Because joy was ballooning inside me with nowhere to go, and I needed some outlet for it.
“Human’s weak.”
“Hey.” I tugged on the short end of his beard, then raked my nails through it in a way that made him shiver despite himself. “You think I’m human, and once, you told me that I’m not weak.”
He considered me for a moment, a muscle in his cheek popping as he chewed over my words. Finally, he dropped me to the group and took a step away as if I was suddenly infected with some highly