Chapter Twelve

Talia stared up at the hulking man. Hulking with the round cherub face of a sweet baby. She wasn't sure if she should be slowly backing away or smiling up at him and pinching his cheeks.

"What of ye?" the barkeep asked from one of the two back doors at the Pink Filly brothel as he tossed the contents of a metal pot into the alley.

Talia cowered appropriately, glancing with a side look up to him as she slipped into her harsh accent. "Oye be lookin fer work—‘em pots o' filth aye cin empty. Oye ‘ave no problems ‘bout ‘em and will empty ‘em, ‘n scrub ‘em right good. Not but a sixpence."

The barkeep tilted his head toward the door with a sigh, his thick hand pushing it open. "Come with ye, then. If ye cin last the night, ye cin get paid."

Talia bowed her head, scurrying past him. She saw the shadow of Fletch move from the end of the alley as she disappeared inside.

The barkeep sent Talia upstairs almost immediately to service the rooms above. This brothel was larger than the last, but much more intimate, the décor catering to a more well-heeled customer than in the previous brothels where she had searched for Louise.

But it was all cut from the same cloth—the blood-red curtains in these rooms were the same as in the room she and Fletch had found themselves in the night before.

She emptied pots, going up and down the stairs for two hours and passing each time by the table Fletch had staked out in the corner of the main room.

The brothel as a whole was classier—the ladies working through the tables in the main room had bodices on their dresses that actually covered their bosoms. Cleavage was still plunging, but at least the nipples were covered.

Talia gave slight thanks for that minor token, as she had to watch her husband ogle and pander to the many women that approached his table.

Working her way up to the fourth floor in the building, Talia's hope for the evening was waning. She looked down the hall on the last floor, noting she only had six more rooms to check in. At least they could leave the place soon.

She stepped around the burly man that stood guard at the end of the hall. Curious, as there were no guards on the levels below, only at the bottom of the stairs.

She knocked on the door closest to the stairs and the guard. With no answer, she opened the door.

Inside, a woman sat alone on a bed, her back to the door. Talia could tell the bright turquoise dress the woman wore was similar to the ones the other prostitutes modeled, cut low all around the torso—showing everything but the nipples. The woman's shoulders were softly shaking.

"Fer the pot, miss?" Talia kept her voice soft so as to not startle the woman.

The woman turned on the bed, and Talia almost dropped to the floor.

Louise.

Louise turned away from Talia. "Take it and go."

Frozen, it was a full minute before Talia realized Louise didn't recognize her.

Talia shuffled forward, grabbing the chamber pot underneath the foot of the bed. Striking the insane need to run to her sister and grab her and drag her down the stairs, instead, Talia backed out the entrance and closed the door, forcing herself not to say a word.

She spun to the stairs, her chin on her chest as she went past the guard to reach the stairs. Chamber pot clutching her belly, Talia veered to the inside wall of the main area and made her path to the back door. It sent her behind Fletch's chair, and she flung out her pinky, scratching his neck as she passed him and continued to the alley.

Calm, he didn't even twitch at the scrape. But he did set down his drink with haste.

Within moments, he joined her in the back alley, pretending to relieve himself against the brick wall next to the cesspit.

Talia had already dumped the chamber pot, but stayed bent over, shaking the pot, her back to Fletch as she whispered. "She's inside. Top floor, first door on the right. Closest to the guard by the stairs."

"Do nothing, Talia. I will get her out," Fletch hissed.

"I will meet you in her room."

"Tal—"

The door next to the bar opened and another patron stepped into the alley. Fletch coughed.

A very pointed cough, but Talia refused to acknowledge the warning. She kicked the cover over the cesspit closed and tucked the pot under her arm.

She scampered up the four flights of stairs as quickly as she could without drawing any attention to herself.

Passing the guard, she moved back into the room. Louise still sat on the bed, silent to the movement behind her.

Perfect.

Talia lifted high the chamber pot and smashed it as hard as she could onto the floor. The porcelain shattered, sending jagged pieces far and wide on the floor of the room. Talia dropped to her knees.

The door to the room opened almost instantly. The guard glared down at Talia. "Bloody id'it, ye fool wench."

"Oye slipped, sir." She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "Please don't tell yer barkeep. I slipped."

"That'll be all yer wages, wench. Clean it."

Talia nodded, her hands flying along the floor, trying to scrape the pieces into a pile.

With a grunt, the guard closed the door.

Talia looked up to the bed only to see Louise looking down at her with tears streaming down her face.

"Ta...Tally?"

A huge smile broke through the crusted muck on Talia's face as she got to her feet, running over to clutch Louise.

Holding Louise to her chest, she bent to her sister's ear. "Do not say a word. There is no time to talk. No time for anything except for us to change clothes."

Louise nodded.

Within two minutes, both sisters had stripped out of their dresses. Naked save for her boots, shift, and the binding around her breasts, Talia slipped the black maid's dress up her sister's body and tied the apron as quickly as she could around Louise's waist.

The door opened, sending Talia's pounding heart into a frenzy as she jumped in front of Louise, her arms flying backward to keep her sister behind her.

Fletch was in the doorway, glare unmistakable at the scene.

But she saw the flash of understanding flicker across his face.

His scowl deepened. He realized instantly what Talia intended. And he didn't care for it one bit.

He leaned backward out the door, a wide smile on his face as he looked down the hall in the direction of the guard. "This one. This one I'll take."

Louise whimpered behind her, but Talia could only offer a squeeze on her arm to soothe her. Fletch stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, and Talia dropped Louise's arm and quickly untied the handkerchief wrapped around her head.

He went to Talia, grabbing her shoulders. Barely bridled anger threatened to pitch his voice loud. "Absolutely not, Talia."

Talia twisted out of his grip and spun to her sister. "It is already done. Louise is going to walk out of here and you are going to get her to safety." She started wrapping the handkerchief around her sister's head.

"No."

Tucking escaping strands of Louise's blond hair under the cloth, Talia glared over her shoulder at Fletch. "Yes. You are getting her to safety and then you are coming back for me."

She looked to her sister. "To your knees, Louise, hold out your apron."

Louise dropped to the floor, and Talia started scooping pieces of the broken pot into the apron. Fletch bent next to her, helping her to shovel pieces into the apron.

The apron full, Talia grabbed Louise's face. "You are going to walk out of the room with your head down. Go to the left, past the guard, and down the stairs. Do not look up at anyone. This is Fletch. You will trust him. He will follow you, catch you on the stairs, and guide you out. Keep your head down. Do not look up for anything. Do you understand?"

Louise nodded.

Talia looked to Fletch, her eyes pleading. He had to do this. She recognized how infuriated he was, and she would have to deal with that later. Right now, getting Louise out of this hellhole was the most important thing.

He sighed, his lips drawn tight, but he nodded. "Get the bloody dress on, Talia."

Talia grabbed her sister's arm, pulling her to her feet and pushing her to the door. Before fear overcame her sister, Talia shoved her out the door.

Fletch moved past Talia, stepping into the hall. He looked toward the guard, pointing back over his shoulder as he closed the door. "No pot in there, I'll be back up after a piss."

Talia set her ear on the door, listening. No sound, no scuffle.

Fletch had to succeed. He had to.

***

Where was he?

How long did it take to squirrel away one frightened girl from the East End?

Unless something had happened. Something bad.

Sitting on the bed, Talia stared down at the silver strands wrapping the dark green jade on the handle of the blade in her hand. She had pulled it free from the sheath in her maid's dress before putting Louise in the garment, and was now praying she wouldn't have to use it. Yet every second that ticked by, she was getting closer and closer to that very possibility.

Her thumb moved over the silver, counting the bumps, attempting to speed up time.

It had been too long. Something happened to Fletch. She trusted him to get Louise out, but something had to have happened to him on the way back to her. It had been far too long.

Or maybe it just seemed long.

Or maybe he wasn't coming back for her. Maybe she had demanded too much of him. Defied him for the last time. Did not offer up what he needed.

Maybe he was abandoning her.

Her fingers tightened around the blade of the handle. Stop. She needed to stop her imagination. Fletch was coming for her. He was.

But when?

The door opened in a fast swing, and Talia froze, unable to turn around to her fate. Her eyes closed, her breath held, she sat on the bed in Louise's cheap gown, her back to the door.

It was either Fletch or it wasn't. If it wasn't, she prayed the person didn't recognize the fact that Louise had blond hair and now the person sitting in the room had greasy black tinted hair.

"Wot the bloody ‘ell?"

Heaven help her.

Boot steps came rushing at her and Talia fumbled with the blade in her hand, nearly dropping it before she got her grip on it, and spun. But she spun too late, just as the guard snatched her by the hair and yanked her off the bed.

She swung wide with the dagger, her thumb and forefinger pushed up against the guard of the blade, slicing into his arm.

Her wrist crumbled with the force of steel hitting flesh. She wasn't holding the blade like Fletch had shown her—instead pointing it straight out along her arm—weak—it was weak and now she knew why.

The guard yelped, swearing, but his hand stayed tangled in her hair and he ripped at her scalp, swinging her to the side. Her feet flying from under her, Talia hit the wall, her head feeling as if it were being torn in two.

Scrambling for footing, only the wood floor in her vision as she hung from his hand, Talia swung the blade, frantic. She didn't hit flesh, and her flailing didn't cut short his vicious chuckle. He caught her wrist with his free hand and slammed it onto the wall. The blade dropped from her hand.

More boot steps. Something splintering above her.

She fell to the floor, free from his grip. She got to her hands and knees only to see the brute tackling Fletch. They fell hard, two unyielding bodies crashing into a chair that crumbled under the mass. Fletch was on the bottom.

It only took a second for Fletch to shove the man off of him, and he was to his feet in an instant. The brute staggered to one foot and one knee, but Fletch was quicker, his boot flying up, kicking the man in the face before he could stand straight.

The blow sent the guard down. Unconscious at Talia's feet.

Fletch stepped past his legs and grabbed the dagger from the floor at the same time he snatched Talia's hand.

"We have to run."

She nodded, jumping over the brute's legs.

Out the door and down the stairs, they shoved past the bottom guard and could hear yelling behind them as Fletch slammed the door to the alley closed. They ran, Fletch dragging Talia down the alley, along a street, and into an alleyway cutting to the next street over.

Eight blocks they ran—a haphazard path through mazes of alleys—before Talia could breathe no more.

"Fletch—Fletch—" Her words were cut off by her lack of air. She yanked on his hand gripping hers.

His feet slowed, but kept moving as he looked over his shoulder to her. "We have to keep the pace, Talia."

His fingers tightened around her left hand, his steps quickening. She grabbed his wrist with her right hand, digging her heels into the ground. The cold air was hitting her now, even with the blood pounding through her body from the run, it hit her hard in Louise's low-cut, bare-threaded gown. Every breath a shock to her lungs. Her ears stinging from the cold.

"Fletch, slow."

He looked at her again, looked at her face, at her panting. His gait tempered. "We cannot be here, Talia." He glanced around, searching the surrounding buildings. A horse and cart passed, and he quickly dragged her across the street, ducking into an alley.

He propped her against the wall, and Talia's hands went to her sides, trying to squeeze out the sharp pains that had started to cut viciously across her innards below her ribs.

Fletch stood in front of her, staring at her with his stance wide, shielding her against anyone passing by. "Our exit was supposed to be quieter than this, Talia. And now we're thick into the exact area we should not be in."

"Louise?"

"She is safe. The carriage should be nearing—or even at our house already."

Nodding, Talia pulled one hand from her side, gripping his left upper arm as she tried to suck in breath that would not fill her lungs.

He instantly flinched away.

"Your arm?" Talia asked.

"It is nothing. It took the blow from landing on the chair—all my weight, all his weight."

"Can you move it?"

"Yes." He lifted his elbow, giving the limb a quick shake to prove it. "It is nothing, Talia. Can you breathe now? We need to move onward."

The dark forms had moved in silently around them in the alley. Small forms, but a number of them. Silent in their stealth. It wasn't until the voice came out of the dark that Talia realized they were surrounded.

"We be tak'n yer purse, now, guv." A growl, it was meant to intimidate, even if it had the high pitch of a young man.

Talia's look ran along the shadowy group surrounding them in a half-circle against the wall. Fletch spun, drawing the dagger from the waistband of his trousers.

Reckless.

He was going to fight ten? Half of them not even fifteen years old. Two women. Three were tall, but thin and lanky. All of them looked desperate. Rabid. Foaming at the mouth at the rich threads that had just appeared in their alley.

Fletch flashed the blade in a wide arc, defending the last of their space.

Bloody reckless. Reckless when they could get out of there without anyone getting hurt. Talia had seen this countless times on these streets. This hodgepodge gang wanted a fight no more than she did.

Talia went to her toes, hissing into the back of his ear. "Fletch, give them all the coin you have."

His hand jutted out behind him, pushing her to the wall. "Stay behind me, Talia. This was what I was meant to do."

She stared at the back of his head in the shadows. What he was meant to do? Meant to do?

Dammit. The idiot was being utterly reckless—reckless because he was waiting for death. Ready to die saving her.

Her hands went onto his shoulders, fingernails digging in with her whisper. "Fletch, do not dare to think now is the time to be a bloody hero."

"Stay the hell behind me, Talia."

The tall, thin boy to the right took a jabbing step inward. Fletch swung the blade in his direction as he pushed her harder against the wall.

She pulled herself up to his ear, her voice a wicked whisper. "You are not going to die in some imbecilic grand gesture of saving me, Fletch. No. You do not go down like that. Not because of me." In one quick motion, she ducked under his right arm and ripped the blade from his hand as she jumped in front of him.

She grabbed the dagger correctly this time, her thumb tucking over forefinger on the handle, the silver blade cutting out in a right angle to her fist. She could slice like this. Slice without her wrist crumpling from the force.

Strong.

She manifested her lowest guttural accent as she slowly flashed the knife in a half-circle at the group, finding each face. She was dressed as a whore, and she could very well speak like one. "Ye bloody rabble, ‘e be mine, I cornered ‘im fair—and I be cuttin' each and every one of ye, if'n ye be takin' a step."

The tall boy shuffled a step closer. "There be plent' o' ‘im, ducky."

She whipped the blade in his direction. "No, ye bleatin' scrap dog. Ye want to put me—Redrock's best whore in the gutter, and ‘e be comin' after the lot of ye—ye know ‘e will. Now be gone with ye all, fer I cut ye just fer pleasure. This cull be mine."

Talia met each of the eyes she could see in the dark shadows, the blade high in front of her, moving slowly, with intent, in front of their faces.

It took long seconds before a few along the edges started to shuffle off, grumbling. The rest followed suit within moments.

Talia's knees nearly gave out the instant they disappeared fully into the darkness from where they had crept. Fletch's steel grip clamped onto her upper arms, holding her upright as he shoved her from the alley.

He ripped the dagger from her hand, yanking her down the street, his voice sinking to a low, furious tirade. "Reckless, Talia. Foolish recklessness. You don't know how close you were to having your fool head bashed in. Beyond reckless."

Each word was punctuated with a jerk on her arm.

She would have none of it. She kept up with his pace just to refuse him the satisfaction of manhandling her. "And you were not reckless, Fletch? I'm not going to trade my life for yours—no matter how you think fate wants this to play out. Death is not coming for you, Fletch. Not while I can stop it."

He growled, his feet speeding. He was back to dragging her. Dragging her to safety.

Talia ran, attempting to keep up with his long strides. Staring at the back of his dark jacket, she wondered if he was truly mad at her.

Or mad because he had just dodged death—dodged fate.

***

Fletch rubbed the bare flesh of his left triceps, turning the muscle to the light of the fire to look at it. The bruise was deep to the bone and already starting to discolor his skin.

He had been ready tonight. Ready for the end in that dark alley. And the end hadn't come.

He wasn't sure if he could be mad at Talia for what she had done. He had used brawn to get them out of the brothel, and she had used her brain to get them out of the alley. Both tactics had their place, whether or not his ego wanted to admit to it.

With a sigh, he forewent putting his shirt back on and instead grabbed the brandy he had set on the mantel and sipped it, staring at the door connecting his room to Talia's.

As if on cue, a soft knock floated from the door to him.

"Come in." He took a step away from the fire, stopping as Talia cracked the door and moved into his chambers.

Freshly bathed, she glowed like the goddess Amphitrite slipping from the gently rolling waves of the sea. Her wet hair hung over her right shoulder, back to its normal red-blond color, her fingers still working through a few rogue tangles as she smiled at him.

Had he been debating about being irate with her? Looking at her in clean innocence, he couldn't quite conjure the reason she had vexed him.

"Louise is settled?" Fletch asked.

"She is asleep. She was rabid when I went into her room. She thought she had only imagined me and that she had been sold again."

"I feared that, sending her alone in the carriage, but I had to come back for you."

"I know." Talia walked slowly across the room, stopping in front of him. "The physician and the nurse you sent in helped tremendously. Thank you, for that."

"Did she have any injuries?"

Talia shook her head, twisting her hair over her shoulder. "No. At least none that are physical. Her mind is in a precarious state, though."

Fletch watched as three fat drops of water fell from the tip of her twisted hair onto her cream robe, wetting the soft silk. Her skin showed through the fabric, the dark pink of her nipples making obvious her lack of a chemise beneath the robe.

Fletch took a sip of brandy, attempting to calm the instant twinge beneath his trousers. One look at a half-revealed nipple, and his mind was consumed with picking up his wife, parting her legs, and sliding her down onto him—instead of where it should be, which was easing her worry over her sister. Ass.

He offered a grim nod to Talia. "Her state of mind is as expected. She has been through an extreme trauma. I did send a carriage up to Norfolk to retrieve your mother. She should arrive within days if the roads allow it."

Talia's eyes widened. "You did not tell me you sent for my mother."

"I did not want to add to your worry. I sent for her the day we were married, but I did not want you to be concerned over what would happen if she arrived and we had yet to find your sister."

She offered one nod, a distinct frown settling on her lips.

"You are not pleased?"

Fletch could see her attempt to ease her frown. She failed. "I love my mother."

"Yet?"

"It is just that we have a difficult relationship. Finding Louise was my concern, and I hadn't begun to think about my mother."

"Why difficult?" Fletch took a sip of his brandy.

"It wasn't always so. Not until after we lost everything. But she stood by me when it was most needed."

That piqued Fletch's curiosity and his eyes lifted from drifting down to her nipple again. Again, an ass. "When was that?"

"There was one thing I didn't tell you before about how Cousin Arnold removed us from Rosevin." Her fingers twisting her hair tightened, pulling the red-blond strands. "Cousin Arnold wanted to marry me. But he is twenty years my senior. A hideous, vile man. I could not fathom it. Papa had just died, and he had already come in and taken over everything. And then he demanded I marry him—threatened us if I did not." A shiver visibly ran through her body. "Had I married him…"

"The three of you never would have lost everything. You could have stayed at Rosevin."

Talia nodded. "But I could not marry him. And mother supported me. Stood up to him. She told him she would not prostitute her daughter for her own comfort." She heaved a heavy breath. "And the next day we were removed from Rosevin."

Fletch swallowed back his rising rage at Talia's story. The current Earl of Roserton needed to be ruined in every way possible, and now that they had finally found Louise, he planned to get to that very task on the morrow.

But not at that moment. At that moment, he had his wife half naked in front of him, and for the first time, the constant worry in her hazel eyes had finally eased.

"Fletch, do not look murderous. All of that happened years ago, and we all eventually accepted the consequences—we had little choice but to do that very thing." Her fingers fell from her hair. "And my mother never broke, never asked me to reconsider marrying him. He waited, watched and ensured our descent, and then sent numerous offers for my hand—offering us back everything we had lost. But she did not falter. So as complicated as she is for me, I will always respect her for that. Love her for that."

"I am sorry I did not ask you if I should send for her," Fletch said. "I assumed you would want her here posthaste."

"I do. It just caught me off guard." Talia smiled. "But you doing that for me…it was too kind, Fletch."

Her head cocked to the side as she looked up at him, the blue in her hazel eyes dancing with the light of the fire. "You are an uncommon man, Fletch. Very uncommon."

He smirked. "You are only realizing that now?"

"Maybe." She shrugged. "I realized you were uncommon from the start, but the depth of your kindness. I don't think I understood it at first. From the very thoughtful little things—making sure I eat enough—to the fact that you have righted all of the wrongs in my life in an amazingly short amount of time. I do not know how you have managed to do so. Or why I have been so fortunate."

"I look at you, Talia, and I wonder the very same thing." He turned from her, setting his glass on the mantel.

She followed his movement, slipping between him and the fire, her right hand sliding around his bare waist just above his trousers. "Fletch, I do not want you to think I accepted anything you said to me earlier."

"When?"

"Before we left for the brothel."

He stiffened. "Talia—"

"No—hear me out." She squeezed his side as she cut him off. "You gave me all of this—a home, a life, security, my sister, my mother. It was a future I never could have imagined—comprehended a month ago."

"Yet here you are."

"Exactly. Here I am." Her left hand slipped around him as well, her fingers touching in the middle of his back, playing with the ridge along the base of his spine. "It proves that one cannot see the future, Fletch. No one can—you do not know that death will be your fate."

He inhaled, his jaw tightening as he tried to take a step backward. Talia's fingers instantly clasped behind him, holding her body to his. He shook his head. "I know, Talia. I also have proof. I have a dead brother. A dead father. Generations of dead grandfathers. I know."

"I refuse to accept that. Refuse to accept that you have come into my life to give me footing, and that death will rip you away. I refuse to accept that you will not give me all of you."

His head jerked back. "You speak of my seed?"

"I cannot accept that you will refuse me this." Her hands tightened around him. "Refuse me this essential part of you."

His chest expanded in a heavy breath as he cupped her face. "Everything—land, homes, money—not obliged to the crown will be left to you, Talia. You will always be taken care of. I swore that to you, and the estate is already in place. You do not need to bear my child, an heir, to ensure that."

"I don't care about the bloody estate, Fletch." Fire flashed into her eyes. "I care about you. I refuse to let you believe you are done for this earth within a year—within months. I refuse to let you keep this one thing from me—keep you from me."

Her fingers unclenched from his waist, her left hand untying the belt holding her robe tight, her right hand dropping to his trousers, grabbing him fully through the cloth, massaging.

Fletch nearly jumped away.

Move. Move away from her before actions became regrets.

But for the life of him, Fletch could not move from his spot.

Talia's robe fell open, the full of her, naked. The firelight sent glowing shadows along the lean lines of her body.

"What are you doing, Talia?"

Her left hand joined her right, moving along the buttons on the flap of his trousers. "Proving to you that you are worth this. That I want you—all of you—without hesitation, without fear of a future you have no way of knowing. That I need you right now."

He grabbed her wrists. "I do not want a child only to curse him, Talia."

She looked up at him, her eyes blazing. "It is not a curse, Fletch. You are not a curse. This is you, all of you I am demanding."

"Are you prepared to watch me die, Talia? Are you prepared to watch our child die before you thirty-three years from now?"

"I do not accept that will happen."

"It is reality, Talia."

His hold on her wrists did not stop her fingers from moving, from drawing his shaft full, straining to escape the last buttons that held him captive.

"And I do not accept your death, Fletch." She managed to flick the last two buttons free, his trousers falling as his cock stretched free. Her eyes not leaving his, she grabbed him fully in her hand, stroking the length of him. "I need all of you. Every last piece of you, because you are not cursed, and you do not know the future, and you are not going to leave me."

She stared up at him, the will in her eyes an undeniable force. "All of you, Fletch. All of you."

He wanted to believe her.

Hell, he did believe her.

In that moment, the vehemence, the unshakeable belief in her eyes made him believe it.

Growling, he lifted her. Sliding her onto his cock in one motion.

Hot, slick, he drove deep into her until her legs stretched wide, wrapping around his backside. Her hips swiveled on him, torture with every loop.

Fletch spun the two of them, moving them to the wall next to the hearth, his lips meeting hers in hunger.

Fletch thought he was gentle, but a slight grunt escaped Talia as her back hit the wall. He pulled free, searching her face, but she just wedged a hand up, grabbing the back of his head and forcing his mouth back to her.

Her appetite for him was no less ravenous than his own. Her hips shifted, and Fletch took control, supporting her backside as he slid out of her. To the edge, sending him to shaking, he drove himself into her at the very moment his last defense crumbled.

Twelve times, methodical, he remained in control, until control was lost. He slammed up into her, his fears of her pain overshadowed by the scratches down his back, the guttural hum in every breath she took. She only wanted more.

And then she said the word.

"Harder."

Fletch needed no other encouragement, and he sank into her, possessing her with every part of his body.

"Harder."

A growl, and he crashed into her.

"Harder."

He plunged, lifting her higher, reaching her deepest core. She screamed, her body shattering against him. The cracking sound blasted into his soul, and Fletch could take no more, his mind and body splintering as he came into her. Gripping her as the very life that could deliver him from death.

He stood, Talia pinned against the wall, as he pulsated into her, his body shuddering against the trembles of her flesh. Her mouth opened on his shoulder, her teeth resting into his skin, clamping with each wave racking her body.

He had never lost such restraint—or come so brutally.

Reckless.

It hit him cruelly, stealing the last remnants of the only true, glorious freedom he had ever felt in his life. His gut instinct that only moments before had believed in escaping the curse, reminded him that his death was inevitable.

He couldn't renounce that one truth he had spent thirty years believing in.

Yet even as his seed continued to flow up into Talia, he could not force himself to draw from her. Could not force himself to deny her what she needed of him.

The regret came hard, swift.

Regret he had no one to blame for but himself.

He had lived his whole life without a weakness—easy to do, when death loomed over him with every step.

But one weakness had sneaked into his life without his even realizing it—his wife.

And he had just done the one thing he swore he never would.