The Reaper's Runaway Princess novel · Chapter 10 of 24

Chapter 10: Wyatt

At midnight, Mara crossed Main Street in the rain and knocked on the door of the rented house.

Wyatt opened it before her knuckles touched the wood a second time.

He was barefoot, in a gray T-shirt and jeans, and he had not slept in days.

"I said we'd talk about the pass," she said.

"I know."

"Then let me in."

He stepped back.

The house smelled of coffee and gun oil.

A lamp burned in the living room, and a duffel bag sat open on the couch with a few shirts in it.

She shut the door and stayed with her back against it.

"You went behind my back."

"Yes."

"You decided what my life was worth, without me in the room."

"I decided what mine was worth." His voice was steady, and his hands weren't. "It was a bad trade, and it wasn't mine to make. I'd do it again tomorrow, and I'd tell you first."

She hated how much she believed him.

"Six years," she said. "You say you looked."

"I looked."

"I went through four motels. Waited every single day. Nobody knocked."

He crossed the room slowly, and he stopped an arm's length from her.

"I got your message," he said. "The morning after the bridge. I got a text from your number."

"What text?"

"It said you went back to him. That it was what you wanted. Please stop looking." He swallowed. "I read it on a wet bridge with a broken rib. I didn't believe it for one second, and I looked for you anyway, because if I believed it, I couldn't stand it."

Her mouth had gone dry.

"I never wanted to go back," she said, low and raw.

"I know that now."

"I wanted you to come."

"I was on that bridge, Mara."

"I know," she said, and the tears finally came. "I think I know."

He did not touch her.

He stood there with his big hands open, shaking, letting her cry in front of him.

When she looked up, he was crying too, silently, and he didn't wipe it away.

That was what undid her.

She crossed the arm's length between them, took his face in both hands, and pulled his mouth down onto hers.

He made a low, broken sound.

His hands stayed at his sides.

"Rule two," he said against her lips.

"I started it."

"Say it again."

"I started it. Put your hands on me."

His fingers closed on her hips and he hauled her against him so hard her feet left the floor.

The kiss turned fierce and open and wet, and she dragged her nails up the back of his neck.

He walked her backward through the dark hall into the bedroom.

The mattress hit the backs of her knees.

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