slosh slosh slosh
Kael scrubbed the last plate, the warm water sloshing in the sink as a smile lingered on his face, quiet but genuine.
He had already served Freya her breakfast even though she had denied, stating she had some groundwork to do.
Things with Rhea were moving—hell, sprinting—in a way he hadn't dared hope when they'd first met.
Back then, she'd been a wildfire, all sharp edges and raw fury, her amber eyes threatening with death to anyone who got too close.
He'd figured one of them would end up dead—her hands around his throat, or his around hers.
But now?
Yesterday alone, they'd fucked twice, her body yielding to his, her moans echoing in the Haven's quiet walls.
This morning, that kiss—soft, warm, heavy with meaning—had shifted something deeper.
They weren't those people anymore, not the killer and the keeper.
His grin widened as he turned off the tap, drying his hands on a worn towel, the memory of her lips still tingling on his.
