“Anything,” I say, even though I suspect I’ll regret it. “I’ll give you anything to get me out of here and help me bring Adam down.”
“Oh, haven’t you seen?” He turns away to pick up something—a remote—and points it at the wall. A screen comes down from the ceiling. St. James presses a few buttons and the TV flares to life.
“—following accusations of their former CEO’s corporate espionage, insider trading, and sexual assault, Archer Industries stock falls by over thirty percent—”
I watch opened-mouth as Adam Archer is led down a street lined with reporters. Adam himself is flanked by two police officers. His hands are cuffed behind his back.
“What happened?”
“A group of women stepped forward and brought Adam Archer’s sins to light. He’s been removed as CEO, of course, but it seems he’s run from the many charges filed against him. The police are looking for him.”
St. James is studying my face but I can’t tear my gaze from the screen. The reporter is talking over images of the press conference that broke the news of Adam’s deceit. A vaguely familiar blonde woman is speaking. The camera pans and—yes, there’s Daphne in her wheelchair, watching. My brave girl.
“Quite a woman,” St. James murmurs.
I snap my attention from the screen.
He raises his hands. “No need to glare. I understand she’s now your wife.”
“Do they really call you the devil?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “Mostly in New Rome, my city. Not here. In New Olympus there are other, older powers.”
“But you can help me.”
“Oh yes.” And he smiles.
“Well, then. Let’s make a deal.”
Twenty-One
Daphne
My mother is beautiful as she walks beside me. Long flowing hair, healthy and shining in the bright summer sunshine.
She reaches out and takes my hand. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you so much.”
I stop her in front of the garden, roses blooming all around us. “Mama,” I cry, a rush of emotion hitting me, I don’t even know why. For some reason it feels like I haven’t seen her in a long time.
I pull her into a hug, squeezing her close.
“What’s got into you?” she asks, chuckling. She rubs my back anyway, just like she used to do when I was sick as a kid.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I say, tears bursting out of my eyes and running down my cheeks, even though I’m not certain where she’s been or why we’ve been separated, or why it’s so good to see her right now. To feel her solid in my arms.
She pulls back from me and cups my face, swiping some stray hairs behind my ear. “You listen to me, Daphne Laurel, you are strong and beautiful and you can do anything in this life you set your mind to.”
I nod, tears still streaking my cheeks. I hear what she’s saying and for the first time, deep in my bones, I believe it.
Just then, the sun starts to set and Mom looks over her shoulder. Then she smiles gently back at me. “It’s almost time for me to go.”
“No.” I shake my head and clutch onto her forearms. “I’m not ready. Just a little longer.”
But her smile only gentles further as she pulls away from me. “My wonderful girl,” she whispers, giving my hand one last squeeze. “I always wished a love like no other for you, and that you’d live a beautiful life. With someone who could match your beautiful soul.”
She beams at me. “I couldn’t have left you and been at peace knowing you’d be all alone in the world. But now I can.”
“Mama,” I call, reaching for her as she backs away, but no matter what I do, she begins to vanish into sudden twilight, while I’m frozen in place.
But it’s not scary or sad. It’s like what she said. She’s leaving now because she’s at peace and…
It comes back to me like a whisper on the wind—it’s not your time yet. And I feel it in my bones. It’s not my time now. Maybe not for a long while yet. Maybe not for a whole lifetime.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”
I jerk awake with a start. To Logan hovering above me on the bed.
I screech and throw my arms around him. “How? How did you get out?”
I wrap my legs around him too, for good measure. “Armand said he’d talk to Marcus but I didn’t think they could work this fast—”
“It wasn’t Marcus or Armand. It’s a long story and I’ll tell you later. What’s important is,” his eyes are shining as he drags me up to a sitting position. “We got a lab. We can mass produce the Battleman’s serum.”
I blink as he explicitly spells it out for me. “Daph, we have the cure. You’ll be cured. Not just of this latest relapse, but completely. We found the cure and we can manufacture it.”
It’s not your time yet.
Holy shit, Mom knew.
Wait, that’s ridiculous, it was just a dream.
But it felt so real.
“Why aren’t you celebrating?” Logan’s exuberance immediately turns to concern. “You should be celebrating. Are you not feeling okay today? Did something happen while I was away? Fuck, have you not been keeping up with the recovery protocols? Dammit, Daph, you promised you wouldn’t slip no matter what happened to me—”
I grab his hands to stop him from getting off the bed. “No, stop. I’ve been keeping up with all my treatments. Just give me a second.” I stare at him and then I start laughing. Oh my gosh, am I still dreaming or is this happening?
“Pinch me.”
A furrow appears between Logan’s brows. “What?”
“Pinch me so I know I’m not dreaming.”
That’s all it takes. He pounces on me. “How about I do a lot more than pinch you?” he growls in my ear before dropping his lips and devouring my mouth. He nips my lips with his teeth. “This real enough for you?”
I can only moan in response.
“This real enough for you?” he slides a hand down from my neck to my breast and pinches my nipple in a way that sends a flood of wetness to my sex. “How about that?”
I arch off of the bed, a high-pitched “Yes,” on my lips. I don’t know if it's an affirmative to his question or and encouragement for him to do more.
Like the smart man he is, he takes it as both and then his hands are everywhere. Massaging. Pinching. Caressing. Teasing.
And I feel alive. So alive life is bursting from within me. I’m going to live. I’m going to live a long, full life full of laughter and Logan and happiness and love and—
Logan rolls us over in bed so that I’m laid flat on my back again, him over me like the devouring predator that he is.
But for once, he’s missing the vacant look of desperation that always used to hover like a cloud over him, like any second he was ready to bolt the second you betrayed him, always on guard and ready for it.
Now, though, when he looks down at me, it’s only with eyes full of love. Well, there’s a fair amount of lust, too, but it’s interwoven with love. And it’s the most powerful emotion I’ve ever felt coming from him.
I’m so consumed by it, that I almost don’t notice the shadow moving outside the window from the balcony.
Almost.
But Logan registers the stiffness of my body even before I’ve realized the shape of the shadow is a man.
And that man is holding a gun, pointed straight at us.
* * *
It’s Adam.
Adam’s on our balcony with a gun.
The thought barely registers before Logan is off the bed and charging the balcony’s double doors.
Wait—
How—?
No!
But there’s no slow-motion like in the movies. It all happens in the blink of an eye.
Logan explodes through the balcony doors that open outwards, knocking Adam off balance.
I scream as the gun goes off. “Logan!”
The covers of the bed catch around me as I try to get to my feet and I almost fall off the
bed trying to get to Logan. By the time I right myself, Logan and Adam are wrestling on the narrow balcony.
Where’s the gun? Did Logan get shot? Does Adam still have the gun?
I run over to the doorway, looking for a vase or something else heavy to hit Adam with, but we’re in Logan’s bedroom in the castle and it’s spare, almost no decoration. How the hell did Adam even get up to the balcony? We’re three stories up. I know he does some free climbing but what the hell? And how the hell did he get here? I thought the police were going to arrest him.
By the time I grab Logan’s laptop, the heaviest thing I can find, and make it back to the balcony, the fight has escalated.
Adam and Logan are both back on their feet, squaring off, right as the clouds darken overhead.
“You stole everything from me!” Adam howls. He doesn’t look well. He’s in one of his fancy suits, but the shirt is buttoned off kilter and there are stains down the front of it.
“You’re trash from the street who never deserved to lick the shit off the soles of my shoes and you think you get to win? You think some fucking rat off the street is going to best Adam fucking Archer? My grandfather shat in your grandparents’ soup bowls and they ate it up and were grateful. But you—”
A sharp gut punch from Logan shuts Adam up but doesn’t make him look any less mutinous. Fury pours off of him in waves as he glares back up at Logan and then lets out the roar of a wounded beast at the same time he charges.
But Logan’s quick.
At the last moment, he feints left and then jerks out of the way to the right. But Adam’s momentum continues forward. He’s unable to readjust for the last minute move.
And he goes sailing right over the balcony in the spot where Logan was just standing.
Oh my g—!
The laptop I’m holding clatters to the carpeted rug at my feet as I run out onto the balcony.
But Logan holds out an arm to brace me, holding me back.
Which is when I hear Adam’s panicked shouts.
“Help! Heeeeeelp!”
And I looked down to see that Adam is dangling from our balcony, holding on by just a few fingers to the stone railing.
The screams continue, jumping in pitch and octave until Adam is screeching in the range of a soprano. “Help! Oh gods, please. Help me! I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything! I take it all back!”
Logan looks down at the flailing man in disgust, but only for a second before leaning over the waist-high railing to grasp Adam’s wrist.
I’m only standing a couple of feet away from both of them and I see it—the instant the expression on Adam’s face changes.
From panic to glee.
But I can’t shout Logan’s name fast enough.
Adam lets go of the balcony completely and grasps Logan’s arm with both of his hands, yanking Logan off balance and pulling him further over the edge of the railing.
“I lost everything. And now so will you!”
Adam’s a fucking maniac, jerking and twisting, trying to wrest Logan all the way over the edge of the railing. And it’s working. Logan’s cursing and struggling to get a hold on the railing, but inch by inch, he’s going over.
Adam is winning. He’s trying to take my Logan from me and he’s winning.
“You son of a bitch!” I scream. And then I run forward, stick my leg through the railing so I can reach down to him, and kick Adam in his crazy, evil fucking face.
Adam tries to lunge for my leg with one of his hands, and that’s his undoing.
He loses hold of Logan’s arm.
And then he falls.
Strangely enough, this part does seem to go in slow motion.
Down and down he falls, arms wheeling in the air. I can’t look away, somehow expecting something at the last minute to save him.
He’s Adam Archer. Golden boy of the city. Sexiest Bachelor of the Year for three years running.
But no magical golden parachute appears beneath him.
He hits the ground, three stories down, as hard as any regular man would. And I know, even without running down the stairs to check, that he is just as dead as any other man would be after such a fall.
And I don’t give a flying fuck.
I grab Logan around the waist and he grasps for the railing now that he has both arms free to steady himself. Together, we haul him back onto the balcony, where he collapses, heaving hard.
It’s only then that I see he’s bleeding. Not much, it looks like the bullet just grazed his cheek. The same one that’s already scarred.
“Logan! Your face! Are you okay?”
He lifts a hand to his face and then looks at the blood on it. But then he just starts laughing.
He draws me into his arms, but that’s obviously not enough, because soon he’s dragging me into his lap and hugging me harder than I’ve ever been hugged before.
“It’s over,” he whispers into my hair. “Our happily ever after can finally begin.”
Epilogue
Daphne
Five years later
“Isabella,” I call, craning my head to peer into the bushes in the back garden. Her brother babbles on the blanket beside me, pulling up clumps of clover.
“I’ve got her,” Logan’s deep voice rings out a second before he appears with my girl on his shoulders. He has to duck to fit under the clematis covered archway, but then he pauses so Isabella can pick one of the purple flowers. They both drift my way so my daughter can present the blossom to me.
“Thank you. Baby, you didn’t go into Daddy’s office while he was working? You know you’re supposed to stay out.”
“I wanted to see Daddy.” Isabella shrugs. “He said I could.”
“It was fine.” Logan sinks down next to me. “She sat on my lap and didn’t talk too much.” He ruffles her hair and she gazes up at him adoringly.
She is such a Daddy’s girl. Both of our kids have their dad’s dark good looks, but Isabella has my mother’s eyes.
“I thought you were on a call,” I ask him quietly as the kids play together.
“I was.” Logan lounges out beside me, his huge body taking over most of the blanket. He wriggles to get comfortable. I would’ve missed his sigh if I wasn’t looking for it.
“Everything good?” I raise a brow. He knows better than to keep bad news from me.
“It’s fine. I went over the latest numbers from the New Rome labs. St. James is happy.”
“That’s good.” When I first learned of the deal Logan worked out with a shadow investor, I was skeptical. It seemed too good to be true. Unlimited funding for our full-time research? Logan wasn’t sure either. “A deal with the devil,” he called it.
But so far, it’s worked out well. Just ask the other Battleman’s patients who are in remission. Yeah, we have to have regular infusions, but we’re able to live healthy, normal lives.
“St. James sends his regards. He’ll be at the gala. No plus one.” Logan grins suddenly. “I told him we’d help him find a date.”
“You didn’t.” I can’t imagine joking or teasing someone like St. James. He’s my age, but so intimidating. “Maybe we should introduce him to Rachel. Whenever I call her, she complains she’s too busy running Belladonna to have time to date.”
Logan snorts. “They’d kill each other.”
“Probably.” I shake my head, imagining them meeting. I’m about to joke about it when a few drops of water hit my arm.
Isabella runs up to us. “Mommy, it’s raining.”
“You grab her, I’ll get Nathan and the blanket.” Logan kisses me and we triage, racing inside ahead of the heavy summer downpour.
An hour later, Logan finds me in my mother’s old room, which I’ve converted to my study. It has the best view of the gardens. I stare out the window, letting the rain lull me to peacefulness.
“Kids are asleep,” my husband whispers in my ear.
“I was going to check the latest test results,” I murmur. “But I might have a few minutes.” I t
urn and ease up to tiptoe to twine my arms around his neck. “What do you think, Dr. Wulfe? Will this only take a few minutes?”
His answer is a growl. I laugh as he pounces. We make love under the open window until the storm recedes, leaving only the sound of dripping leaves and the heady fragrance of roses.
* * *
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