2. Kabir

Chapter 2

Kabir

now

Every cisgender American male stereotype there is just played out in real time right before my eyes.

Bloody hell.

"Well, he seems reasonable and well-adjusted." I approach Hunter with caution, wishing I could better gauge her current mental state, unsure of where she's at in her cycle. Is she well? Is she thriving? I know so little about the life of the woman still kneeling on the concrete in front of me.

Yet when she tilts her head up and hits me with an unamused glare, I'm catapulted back to our first encounter at Splice. To every encounter after that in which she consumed me.

My Italian loafers squelch in the damp earth below my feet as I step closer. I shudder at the sensation. Americans and their ridiculous expanses of plain green grass. Has no one ever heard of a garden?

Squatting, I cup Hunter's cheek with one palm. "I take it he wasn't aware of the circumstances prior to my arrival?"

Tears well in her pretty green eyes, and her face crumples. She's heartbroken. Dammit. It wasn't my intention to show up and make things even harder for her.

I caress her cheek, capturing a single tear on the tip of my thumb and sweeping it away. "Chin up, love. I'm here now. We certainly have loads of catching up to do."

She sinks into the touch, turning her head and letting me palm the weight of her skull.

Bloody hell . This woman. I missed her more than I've allowed myself to admit.

We've been apart for two years, and there has been a Hunter-shaped hole in my life since she fled from London and left me behind.

Her departure hurt.

Even if it was for the best. I told myself that she wasn't leaving forever. That she'd be back.

It helped that I kept up with her whereabouts.

At the thought, I shift my hand, dragging my fingers against the soft skin at her nape, and cup the back of her neck. With my thumb, I brush over the tiny implant—a tracking device I installed during her lowest point.

It's no bigger than a grain of rice, yet the comfort it brings is enormous. It's the assurance I need. A reminder that I can always find her. That she and I are endgame, in this lifetime and through all the rest.

That's the only reason I ever fucking let her go.

"Shall we go inside?"

Her glossy green eyes search my face.

"Or we can go somewhere else? We could check into a hotel, or—"

She shakes her head, snapping out of her stupor. "I'm not going anywhere. Levi and I—" She surveys the sandy-haired man watching her warily from a few feet away. "This is our home, too."

"Then I'm not going anywhere either." Standing, I brush off the front of my trousers.

The blond man shifts forward instinctively. Protectively .

Noted .

Where was his gumption when Garrett was drilling into her, I wonder?

I offer her my hand, which she scrutinizes as she worries her lip. The sun glistens off my gold rings, casting brilliant beams of light across Hunter's face.

"Come, love," I try again, taking a small step closer.

My patience is wearing thin. I traveled for upward of fourteen hours to be here, all the while tempering the adrenaline that flooded my body and forcing myself not to stress too terribly about what I might find when I finally got to my girl.

The call came in from her old counselor's office yesterday.

Hunter requested an emergency appointment, which she hasn't done since leaving London. When the team was unsuccessful in their efforts to contact her, they alerted me.

"I can't believe you're really here," she tells me as she rises to her feet.

Pulling her into my arms, I squeeze tightly, savoring the solidness of her pressed against my chest. She smells of berries and sugar: tart and sweet, exactly as I remembered.

With a deep inhale, I cup the back of her head once more and kiss her hair.

"I'm here," I assure her. "I'm yours."

At those words, that assurance, I swear she gives me more of her weight, sinking deeper into my arms.

"Let's get you inside. I would kill for a cup of tea."