Chapter 848
Skye’s hands found their way into his hair. The cool logic of her mind finally gave way to the heat of his touch. “Okay,” she whispered. “Just for tonight.”
The master bedroom of the Vance Estate’s guest wing was a world away from the grit of the streets. The air was scented with expensive beeswax candles and the faint, metallic trace of champagne. The sheets were Egyptian cotton, cool against Skye’s heated skin.
Alistair hovered over her, his weight supported on his forearms, creating a canopy of muscle and intent. His eyes, usually so guarded, were open now — dark pools of adoration and hunger.
𝗣𝘰р𝗎𝗅а𝗿 𝘀𝗍o𝘳𝗂еs o𝗻 𝘨аlno𝘷е𝗅𝘀.c𝗼𝗆
“We missed a lot,” he murmured, his voice rough. His thumb traced the line of her collarbone, lingering over the pulse that hammered there.
Skye let out a breathy laugh, arching into his touch. “Like what? A formal wedding? Cake cutting?”
“The boring parts,” Alistair agreed. He lowered his head, his lips grazing the sensitive skin behind her ear. “This part is for us. No cameras. No enemies.”
“Just us,” Skye whispered.
For a moment, the world shrank to the size of the bed. The schemes, the betrayals, the violence — all of it was locked outside the heavy oak door. There was only the friction of skin, shared breath, and the desperate affirmation of life in the face of so much death.
At that exact same moment, across the hallway, the atmosphere was thick with a different kind of tension.
Travis Tate couldn’t sleep. The silence of the countryside was unnerving after the constant noise of the city — or perhaps it was the knowledge that he was sleeping in the lion’s den.
He slipped out of his guest room, claiming insomnia to the empty hallway. He moved silently through the house, heading for the French doors that led to the garden. The night air was crisp; Travis pulled his hoodie tighter. He walked along the perimeter of the patio, his eyes scanning the walls. He wasn’t merely walking — he was counting cameras, noting the blind spots.
He paused near a large oak tree, pretending to admire the moonlight. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing the small scanning device he had stolen from the tech lab earlier.
A low growl vibrated through the air.
Travis froze.
From the shadows of the hedges, a massive shape emerged — a Doberman, sleek and black as oil, with cropped ears and eyes that reflected the moonlight like twin lasers. It didn’t bark. It simply stood there, muscles coiled, blocking his path.
Travis stumbled backward, his heart slamming into his throat. The scanner slipped from his fingers and fell into the grass with a soft thud.
“Easy,” a voice called out from the terrace above. “Cerberus doesn’t like sudden movements.”
Travis looked up. Julian Vance was leaning on the stone balustrade of his bedroom balcony. He wore a silk dressing gown that billowed slightly in the breeze, a glass of whiskey in one hand. He looked like a gothic prince surveying his kingdom.
“Mr. Vance,” Travis stammered. “I was just getting some air.”