Page 50 of Reverie

“Now, where were we?” I murmur, planting my face back into her chest.

She laughs, and it’s a light sound. “August? Have you seen him?”

I breathe deeply. I’ve seen him, but he was so sedated that all he could do was sleep.

“Yes,” I say, working my way up to the sweet spot where her neck and shoulder meet. I sigh against her. “He’ll need help working through this.”

I feel Winter’s head move in a nod.

“And we’ll be there for him,” she says, resolved.

I kiss her skin.

“Your father. Blair. Do these people have anything to do with The Legion?” After a long moment of silence, she sighs and pulls my head back so that I look up at her.

“Yes. In fact, my father and Morris Winthrope are sort of in charge. Well,weresort of in charge,” I say. I keep my eyes open and trained on her face. Because if I close them, if I blink, I’ll see the melted remains of my father again. “The ultimate head of The Legion is a figure called The Architect. No one knows who that person is, but the idea is that if The Resistance can get rid of that person, they can end The Legion for good.”

“Who is in charge of The Resistance?”

“Misha is,” I tell her.

“What do they need from you?”

“I don’t know,” I say. What I don’t say is, “And that scares the fuck out of me.”

“What they’re really after is information. Locations. Things that I might have known or seen in my time with my father. Knowledge that might lead Misha and the team to the very top of The Legion so they can cut them off at the neck. They think I might know where that information is.”

I don’t know. Well, I don’t think I know.

“Well, tell them what you know so that we can get this all done and go back home,” she says, her voice turning pleading.

“It’s not that simple, baby.”

She pushes me away and I have to catch myself before I fall.

I straighten in one smooth movement.

“It’s never that simple for you, is it, Hunter? You know what, I’ll get the answers for myself.” With that, she rises and picks up her bowl, heading for the sink. I press behind her when she pours the rest of her uneaten soup down the drain and turns on the faucet.

Putting my hand over her womb, over our child, I press her back into my body. Her head drops to her chest as the water flows down the pipes.

“I’m answering your questions,” I whisper in her ear.

She shivers.

“But it seems you still want to fight.”

She shakes her head, lifting it to stare straight ahead. “No, I don’t want to fight you, Hunter. I want to live in peace. To be happy. Safe.”

“And to the best of my ability, while you are here, you are those things.”

She drops her head back against my shoulder.

“Hunter, I…” When her voice breaks and a choked sob exits her lips, I spin her around and crash her mouth into mine.

She wraps her arms around my torso, but I pull back at her pained, sharp intake of air.

“Easy, Sunbeam,” I say, putting her injured arm back to her side.