Page 80 of An Oath at Midnight

Black dots filled my vision, and this time when my knees buckled, there was no stopping it.

Bram scooped me up. “I’ve got you,” he said.

Then everything went dark.

* * *

Bram

I worked my way across Magnolia’s body, liberally using Else’s healing balm and some of the other concoctions Mags had made and used on me many times. There was a bite on her side that was starting to look puffy and pink around the edges. Infection would have set in if it’d been left any longer.

It was a good thing she was out cold, it meant she wouldn’t feel it when I cleaned it out. I rinsed it a second time with herb-infused warm water. There was a clear outline of a vicious set of teeth deep in her skin.

My hand shook as I dabbed the area clean. Only now that things had quieted down was the shock setting in.

I would never forget the image of Magnolia running across that field, a forest full of monsters right behind her. She’d been powerful, god, magnificent. My Mags was a fucking warrior, but I’d never been as terrified as I was in that moment.

There’d been so many other emotions there as well. Fuck. Pride, possessiveness, hope, love—lust.

My gaze trailed up to her face. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling slow and even. Her lips were puffy and darker from our kisses, and I wanted to taste her again so badly. I wanted to taste every part of her. My need was so great and my gut was in constant knots, but I meant what I said, I’d wait. Yes, I wanted Magnolia in a way that, if she could feel it, see it, would probably scare the hell out of her, but I’d wait another lifetime for her if I had to.

She needed to be ready for me, which meant the ball was in her court. I’d lived with the aftermath of what Clayton fucking Whitlock did to her. I knew how much she’d struggled to live with it, to get past it. It’d been the hardest thing she’d ever done, and I wouldn’t undo all that work by pushing for something she wasn’t ready for.

The way she’d asked me to touch her, pleaded for it, the way she’d called out my name in the shower, the sounds of her coming for me, kept running through my mind now, and I sucked in a sharp breath when my cock grew heavier.

It’s not like I wasn’t used to it when I was around her, but it was different than before. Before I had no hope of ever making her mine. Before, I hadn’t touched her pussy or felt how slick and hot she was for me. I’d resigned myself to never having her, to never knowing these things. Now it wasn’t a matter of if, but when.

I dragged in another fortifying breath and willed my dick down as I smeared more balm on her side, rubbing it into the wound as best as I could, then adding another layer before I dressed it with a thick bandage. I’d stripped Mags out of her wet bra and panties while she was out cold and tugged the shirt I’d put on her down to cover her nakedness.

It was late, had grown dark outside, and I climbed into bed beside her, getting as close as I could so her body was plastered against mine. Wrapping my arms around her curvy, little body, I closed my eyes and breathed her in.

A sense of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time, not since the day I found her, filled me. Mags made a breathy little noise, wriggling against me, finally regaining consciousness. I didn’t move behind her, still afraid she’d wake up and change her mind, that she’d pull away, that she’d say this was all a huge mistake.

She didn’t, instead, her hand covered mine, threading our fingers together. “Night, B,” she whispered.

“Night, Mags,” I said, and kissed her jaw.

How the fuck was I supposed to sleep now? It felt like Christmas, all my birthdays, every good fucking thing all rolled into one.

Mags was here with me. She was finally mine.

And I was never letting her go.

CHAPTER 21

Magnolia

Sun filtered into the room.

I blinked several times, letting my sleepy brain clear, then remembered where I was. With Bram, at his village.

In his bed.

I’d shared a bed with him more times than I could count, pressed against him, draped over him, but this…this was different. We’d kissed, he’d touched me. He’d made me come.

We’d admitted to feelings we’d both hidden from each other, and in my case, from myself, for far too long.

He was plastered against my back, his hand up under the shirt he must have put on me while I was out cold. His palm was flat against my stomach, hot against my skin. I could tell without looking, he’d tended my wounds while I’d been out. I could smell the balm. There was half a glass of water by the bed. He’d given me water, but I had no recollection of it. I shifted, reaching for it now, my wounds smarting as I carefully moved while trying not to wake him.