Page 302 of Immune

Her gaze drops to my shoulder, where she bit me hard enough to leave a mark. Not a claim. Just… Dakota beingDakota. Then her eyes drift lower, to my side. The skin around the stitches is a little irritated and red now, yanked about and pulled tight from movement.

Her mouth presses flat before accusing, “You’re bleeding.”

I glance down, only to find a small speckle of blood blooming on my side. It’s annoying, but it’s not enough to pull me away from this moment. From Dakota. So I tell her, “It can wait.”

“No, it can’t.”

“Dakota—”

“No.” Her voice is rough, but steadier. “You don’t get to make me own my choices and then hide yours.”

That stops me, because it’s fair. Annoying but totally fair.

“I’m still scared,” she whispers.

“I know.”

“Not of you.”

“I know that too.”

Her eyes lift and I hold them.

“I’m scared of what they’ll do when they figure out what I am.”

“Honestly, so am I.”

Her breath catches at the honesty and I touch her face. I’m careful about it, but she doesn’t shy away, not even when I promise, “I’m not scared of you, Kota.”

Her eyes shine.

“I am scared for you,” I add. “And that’s a pretty big difference.”

She swallows before nodding slowly.

Outside the locked door, voices travel down the hallway. They’re distant. Careful. Waiting.

Of course, because it looks like Haven Ridge wants answers and the bastards outside have grown impatient. Mercerwants tests. At least the dead don’t want anything other than a bone to chew on.

Dakota presses her forehead to mine. “If they try to use me?”

My hands tighten once and then loosen just as quickly. “Then they’ll learn what happens when dangerous people choose each other.”

She stares at me for a second, and then she laughs. It’s only a small and slightly broken sound, but it’s real. It’s so fucking real and beautiful. “Genuinely, that was almost romantic.”

“Almost?” I blurt, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I mean, yeah? You did just threaten an entire compound.”

“For you,” I say, like it’s obvious that it should be the most romantic thing in the world to her.

“Yeah,” she whispers then, a faint ghost of a smile on her lips. Her fingers slide into my hair, gentler this time as she adds, “That helps.”

I lean in and kiss her once. Not to start anything or end anything. Just because I can, and because she leans into it. Because she lets me and takes what she wants and what I’m more than willing to give her.

When she pulls back, her eyes are still afraid. Afraid, but she is absolutely still there. Really, truly there.

In her body, in her choices, and in the blood and the bond and the stubborn little lift of her chin.