Chapter 61 61
She spun on him, eyes shining. “How did you think this conversation would go, Stefan? Did you think that I'd smile and wish you good luck? Kiss you goodbye and pretend I’m not terrified you’ll never come back?”
His throat tightened. “I’ll come back to you.”
Her laugh was hollow. “You can’t promise that.”
He took another step forward, desperate. “Alana, please.”
But she turned away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “It's been what? Barely four weeks. You couldn't even let me live in my fairy tale longer. Just go, Stefan. If you’re going to do this, don’t make me watch you walk out. You've made up your mind and you're only telling me now to let me know, not to change your mind, because I can't, can I?”
He hesitated — just long enough to make her think he might stay — then quietly said, “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Her voice broke. “You can't say that.”
When he turned and left the room, the silence that followed felt different. It wasn’t the silence of absence — it was the silence of a heart breaking all over again.
_________
When Stefan returned downstairs an hour later, he found Alana in the living room, asleep on the couch.
She was curled up beneath a throw blanket. One arm dangled loosely over the edge, her hand resting against the rug, the other tucked beneath her cheek. Her hair spilled across the cushion like a silk curtain, and though her breathing was even, her face wasn’t at peace.
There was a faint frown between her brows, the same one she got whenever she was thinking too much — or hurting too deeply. He couldn't blame her for being so worried. Even in sleep, she looked troubled, and touched as he was that she cared so much, Stefan’s gut twisted with guilt. He’d caused that frown.
He stepped closer, crouching beside the couch. For a long moment, he simply watched her — as if memorizing the curve of her lips, the shadow of her lashes, the way her fingers twitched slightly, as if even her dreams couldn’t rest.
“God, Alana…” he murmured softly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, fighting the ache in his throat.
All he needed was a week. Maybe two or more if things were bad, and he’d be back. He told himself that again and again, like a mantra. But the hollow feeling in his chest refused to fade. If all went well, he’d return as soon as he could, and maybe she’d forgive him.
Every moment he waited, the chances of ever seeing his best friend again grew smaller. Reese had been more than a partner in the field — he was family. The man had saved Stefan’s life more times than he could count. They'd saved each other.
He remembered it vividly — the mission last year, the sharp sting of a bullet tearing through his shoulder, the way the world had blurred around him. It was Reese who had dragged him out of the crossfire, who had kept pressure on the wound, who had refused to let him die. Now Reese was the one trapped, and Stefan couldn’t turn his back on him.
He reached down, gently brushing his fingers across the back of Alana’s hand. “I’ll come back to you,” he whispered, his voice thick. “To you and to Juliana. I swear it.”
She stirred. Her fingers twitched and a soft sigh left her lips. When she opened her eyes and saw him, Stefan almost couldn't bear the sadness he saw in them.
“Hey honey,” he whispered as he brushed his lips against her forehead.
“Please don't go, Stefan,” she begged, and wrapped her arms around him. “Stay with me. I can't live in this house without you,”
He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” he whispered into her hair, then he kissed her.
His tongue slipped between her lips, stealing into her warmth, awakening feelings she didn't want to feel at the moment. His arms slid around her waist, pulling her in tight. Alana lifted her own arms and linked them around his neck, holding him to her, silently demanding he deepen the kiss. Maybe if she held him, kissed him hard enough he'd feel how badly she wanted him to stay.
He deepened the kiss. His arms tightened until she could hardly draw breath. But who needed air? Alana groaned, moved into him, pressing her body along his, and she felt the hard length of him jutting against her. That was enough to send even more spirals of heat dancing through her bloodstream.
Again and again, his tongue dipped into her mouth, tasting, exploring. She gave as well as took, tangling her tongue with his, feeling the molten desire quickening within. He loosened his grip on her and she nearly moaned, but then his hands were moving, up and down her spine, over every line, every curve. When his palms cupped her bottom and held her to him, she sighed into his mouth and gave herself up to the wonder of his touch.
“I need you,” he whispered, dropping his mouth to the line of her jaw, nibbling at her throat.
“Then take me,”
He didn't need a second invitation. He untied her robe and spread her thighs farther apart, leaned in close and locked his gaze with hers as his body entered hers. Inch by inch, he invaded her, torturing them both with his deliberately slow thrust.
Her hips moved beneath him, her eyes squeezed shut as a tear dropped and she bit her bottom lip. Stefan leaned down and kissed the tear away. “Don't cry, baby,” he whispered, “I'll come back to you. I promise,”
Reaching up, her hands found his upper arms and held on, her short nails digging into his skin, and that was the last straw. The final touch that sent Stefan over the edge of reason.
He pushed himself deep inside her and groaned at the tight, hot feel of her body holding his. His hips rocked, setting a rhythm that was both as old as time and new and exciting. She held on tighter, harder, her nails biting into his flesh with a stinging sensation that was counterpoint to the incredible delight of being within her.