Page 103 of Property of Crypt Keeper

“You two are slow,” she muttered and rolled her eyes.

I snorted.

Katalina muttered something in Romanian that definitely wasn’t polite.

Then, she got to her feet and awkwardly stood there for a moment before she walked around the bed and slid beneath the blanket beside me. Carefully. Avoiding every bandage. Every bruise. All the places she’d apparently already memorized.

Zara immediately smiled. Satisfied. Then closed her eyes. Within minutes, she was asleep. One little hand wrapped around the edge of my shirt, the other gripping Katalina’s sleeve where her arm rested across my abdomen. As though making absolutely certain neither of us disappeared.

I looked down at the child, then over at Katalina. She was already watching Zara, her fingers absentmindedly brushing loose strands of hair away from the little girl’s face. So gently. So naturally.

The woman who once claimed she’d rather fight an archdemon than babysit now looked like she’d been protecting children her entire life.

She caught me staring. “What?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“Liar.” She gave me that “I don’t believe you” look.

“Probably.”

We stayed that way for a long time. Katalina’s head resting on my chest after a bit of a battle and a promise that she wasn’t hurting me. Listening to Zara’s soft little snores. Listening to the clubhouse settle. Listening to the unusual lack of activity in the building.

Eventually, I spoke. “You’re staying.”

Not a question. Not really, anyway.

She didn’t even look up. “You don’t own me.”

“No.” I smiled. “No, I don’t.”

Finally, she met my eyes. The room was quiet enough that I could hear my own heartbeat—or maybe it was hers.

“I think…” I lifted my hand until my fingers found hers where they rested lightly on my abdomen. In a featherlight caress, I trailed along her skin. “We own each other.”

For the first time since I’d met her, Katalina had no sarcastic reply. No deflection. No joking. No walls.

She simply stared up at me. Then she slowly intertwined her fingers with mine.

“The marks…” she said quietly. “They’re real.”

Listening, I nodded.

“My parents had them,” she explained.

“I know.”

“Except according to my uncle, they appeared after my mother became a demon for my father. They were never supposed to happen between our kinds,” she continued.

“I know.”

“They mean our lives are tied together,” she went on.

“I know.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “You keep saying that.”

“Because I do know, but none of it changes anything.”