Aria has an angry streak. Emery holds secrets. Molly is fiery. Grace is just mean. I understand why those females might have landed themselves in prison. But Quinn? There must have been a mistake.
“How did you end up on that ship, my sweet mate?”
Her smile falls and panic flashes in her eyes that are magnified by the lenses. “I, uh…” She starts to take a step back, but I grip her hips, pulling her closer.
“Don’t be afraid, Whisper. You could tell me you farmed Kevins and I’d still love you.”
Her mouth parts. “You love me?”
I’m surprised I let those words out, but I certainly don’t want to retract them. It feels right with Quinn. Like I was in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her sleeping form.
“I do. Now, as Molly says, ‘Give up the goods.’”
She laughs. “Of all the morts, I swear you have become her little parrot. You would’ve made a fine Southern boy.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, grinning at her. “Like a rogcowboy?”
“We call them just cowboys, but yes.”
“The just cowboys have rope. Molly told me so.” I bare my double fangs at her. “I could tie you up, little rogcow.”
She snorts out a laugh. “You called me a cow!”
I tickle her sides because it always makes her giggle. Her giggles are what make me want to save the whole world—to save all the worlds if that made her happy. “Ronk! Ronk! My adorable little rogcow!”
Our playful roughhousing sends Legolas squeaking and scurrying to a corner to hide. I fall to the bed with my sweet mate, pulling her to my chest on top of me. We both breathe heavily, our eyes locked on each other. Gently, I stroke my fingers through her curly locks.
“I love you too,” she whispers. “In the books in the library, they call this instalove.” She frowns. “People make fun of it, though. Like it’s not real.”
I tangle my fingers in her hair, drawing her to my lips. “Feels pretty rekking real to me, mate.”
Her lips part and she kisses me so sweetly. I roam my palm down her spine, settling it on her rump.
“I was always a fan of those stories,” she tells me. “The hero had to work faster and harder than the other heroes. He had to be determined to keep his heroine safe and by his side.”
“This sounds like our story,” I muse aloud.
“I think our story is all of them.”
We kiss again, but she pulls away with a sad expression.
“I killed a man, Oz.”
My brave, strong mate.
“A Kevin?”
She nods. “A horrible, horrible Kevin.”
“I’m so proud of you. My little Kevin slayer. Just like in the stories you told me about.”
“I can’t believe you’re praising me for taking that man’s life. You don’t even know the story yet. You just trust that I was justified in doing so.”
“In your story, you’re never the villain, Quinn. Ever.”
Her cheeks blush pink. “I’m glad you’re my mate. You’re the best of all of them.”
“You were worth the wait, Whisper.” I kiss her nose. “Now tell me what this Kevin did to deserve the wrath of a librarian who never even raises her voice.”
She frowns. “Do you remember when you were seven or eight years old—er, revolutions?”
“A wee thing who always got into trouble for taking things apart.”
“Innocent and so full of adventure. Imagine if someone tried to dampen your spirit. Worse yet, snuff it out altogether.”
“Why would someone want to do that to a little one?”
“Kevins can be cruel like that,” she explains, tearing up. “Sometimes they, um, touch women in places they don’t want to be touched.”
A growl rumbles in my chest.
“And sometimes, they do the same for little ones.”
My sub-bones start popping furiously, my mind racing on how to protect these innocent beings from the monsters.
“I walked in on something terrible, Oz. Something so horrible, I couldn’t control the burst of rage. All I could think to do was protect the little one.” She sobs, tears dripping onto her face. “I picked up a chair and I hit him over the head with it. The child ran off and I kept hitting. Over and over again.” She swallows. “They found me splattered in his blood, sitting beside his lifeless body, reading a book about canning okra and other farm vegetables.”
“He deserved every painful blow you delivered. You mustn’t feel guilty.”
Her blue eyes harden. “I don’t, though. You see, when they came for me, I looked at the library manager’s body and I spit on it. I told them he deserved it. And then I went back to reading my canning book.”
My fierce, strong mate.
“And what happened next?” I urge.
“They pried that book from my grip and took me right to jail. After a quick hearing, where I continued to show no remorse for my deed, they banished me to the ship that was headed here.” She shrugs. “Before I left, the little one snuck in and found me. She took my hands through the bars and kissed them. I watched her flee, free from the monster, and I smiled. I smiled when the pod closed and they put me in cryo.”