A quiet clack.

I dropped my hands, my gaze darting to the house. The front door opened. A silhouette appeared in the dark threshold, followed by a soft, familiar voice that I needed to hear so badly I ached for it.

“Tori.”

I was running. I didn’t remember moving, but I was running, and then I was flying up the steps and throwing myself into Ezra. His arms closed around me, squeezing tight.

Enfolded in his arms, the rigid tension inside me released. I slumped against him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremble in my limbs. My heart ached, wrung out from so much conflict and so little rest. He held me for a long minute—though not nearly long enough to suit me—then drew me inside the house and shut the door. When he flicked on the hall light, I flinched against the brightness.

He gazed at me with mismatched eyes, somber and serious—actually serious, not his deadpan-humor version. His hair was rumpled and tired lines edged his mouth. “Tori, are you okay?”

I nodded wearily. “I’m fine.”

His fingers tugged on my coat zipper. I blinked confusedly as he unzipped it, pushed the jacket off my shoulders, and tossed it into the closet. He scanned me—double-checking I was unhurt—then brushed his thumb against my cheek.

“What do you need?”

Those might’ve been the best four words I’d heard this year. Closing my eyes, I weighed my options.

“Shower,” I answered firmly. “Definitely a shower first.”

“Straight downstairs, then.” He softened the order with a smile. “I’ll bring you clothes and a towel.”

The hot shower warmed my frozen bones, and I spent a ridiculously long time standing under the million-and-one jets, basking in the heat. When I was too tired to keep upright, I exited the shower to find two fluffy towels and a stack of folded clothes on the counter. After scrunching the water from my hair and twisting it into a damp bun, I donned a tank top and snug-fitting yoga pants. He’d brought me a sweater as well, but I carried it instead, too overheated to put it on yet.

On the main floor, I discovered Ezra in the kitchen, his back to me as he fiddled with something on the counter. He ushered me into the living room and onto the sofa, then flipped a thick, fuzzy blanket over my lap. Retrieving a pillow from upstairs, he tucked it beside me.

I snuggled into my cushy nest—definitely no need for that sweater now—and waited as he clattered in the kitchen. A moment later, he returned with a steaming mug.

“For me?” I wrapped my hands around the mug, my mouth instantly watering at the aroma of chocolate. Clean and warm, bundled in a blanket, with hot chocolate, lights holding back the darkness, and—

He sank onto the sofa, the cushions dipping with his weight.

—and Ezra beside me, steady and strong. This. This was what I’d needed. Exactly this.

My lower lip trembled. I blew on my hot chocolate to hide it. “Is Aaron still out with Shane?”

“Yes. The Pandora Knights are chasing down rogues, and Shane is dragging Aaron all over downtown to question everyone involved.”

“I figured you’d be with him.”

He caught the edge of the blanket as it slid off my shoulder and readjusted it. “We didn’t know when you’d be back, or if you needed help.”

“You stayed to wait for me,” I mumbled. He’d waited all night. He must’ve been checking out the window—how else would he have known I was standing there on the front walk like a lost puppy?

“I got the better end of the deal,” he said with quiet amusement. “Aaron’s been texting me and he isn’t too happy with Shane’s priorities.”

I lifted my mug to my lips, blew one more time, and took a long sip. The chocolaty heat flowed down to my stomach and warmed me from the inside out. With a shuddering breath, I leaned forward and set the mug on the coffee table.

“Is it too hot?” Ezra asked. “I can add some milk to—Tori? What—”

He broke off as I climbed into his lap. I curled up against his chest, arms around his neck, face pressed to his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me, and I closed my eyes with a sigh. This, too, was what I needed.

Maybe this was something I needed every night. To be in his arms. To be safe and warm and protected.

The thought surprised me. I’d spent half my life molding myself into the most independent person I could be—a woman who didn’t need anyone to take care of her—but somewhere along this crazy mythic road with the guys, I’d learned that it was okay to be weak and scared. Sometimes, it was okay to let someone you trusted shield you.

I tucked my face against the side of Ezra’s neck, thinking of Zak out there in the Eastside alleys, walking among garbage and rogues, alone and grieving. Terrifying victims into giving up the information he wanted. Maybe hurting them. Maybe killing them.

And with no one to stop him.

I drifted on the edge of sleep, drowsy thoughts worming into my exhausted brain as I gradually came awake. Faint light leaked through my eyelids, which meant morning had arrived. That, or some jerk had turned on a light.

Warmth suffused me, and I was so comfortable I couldn’t imagine ever moving again. Why were mornings like heaven, but it was impossible to get comfy when you were trying to fall asleep at night? So dumb. But I was comfy now, cocooned between cushions on one side and … uhhh …

My fingers twitched, the pads of each fingertip pressing against warm, bare skin—and my eyes flew open.

I stared. Gulped. Commanded myself to keep it together.

So, it turned out I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. And I wasn’t the only one. Ezra was stretched across the sofa too, and I was half on top of him, snugged between him and the back cushions. My cheek on his chest. His arms around me. I had one leg flung over his thighs and one hand …

In my sleep, I’d slid one hand under his shirt, my palm resting on his stomach.

I blinked a few times. His head was pillowed on the armrest, and he was breathing slow and deep, each inhalation lifting me slightly. His impossibly mouthwatering scent, his soap or cologne or whatever, clouded my head.

Well … guess I’d just go with this.

Resettling, I let myself appreciate the moment. Wrapped in Ezra’s arms as he slept. Warmth, strength. And good god, his body was all hard, heavy muscle. Despite my best intentions, I couldn’t stop my fingers from drifting. How many times had I daydreamed about touching him? How many times had I relived our kiss under the mistletoe?

My fingertips met a ridge of texture very different from his smooth skin and uber-fit mage muscles.

Ezra inhaled sleepily. “Tori … that tickles.”

Oh shit. My cheeks heated. Feeling him up in his sleep. Nicely done, Tori.

Since he’d already busted me as a perv, I rubbed my fingertips across the ridge, realizing what it was. A scar. One of the three scars that ran diagonally from his right hip to his center, petering out just below his sternum. I traced it downward—then tickled my fingernails over his side.

He started, arms constricting so suddenly air whooshed out of my lungs.

“You’re ticklish?” I wheezed.

“I said that,” he grumbled, grabbing my hand through his shirt before I could move my fingers again.

Grinning wickedly, I tipped my head back to bring his face into view. “I am so glad I know that now.”

He peered at me warily. “With great power comes great responsibility, Tori.”

“Are you suggesting I don’t abuse this new information?” My grin widened and I tried to wiggle my fingers free. “Fat chance.”

He tightened his hold on my hand. “Let me guess. You aren’t ticklish.”

“Not—one—little—bit,” I sang cheerily.

His mouth twisted in a way that was dangerously close to sulky—and my heart flipped. How could a sulk be sexy? I was hopeless.

“I don’t know if I should take your word for that,” he muttered. “Honesty would be tactically unsound.”

“True, but luckily, I don’t need to lie.” I arched an eyebrow, my chin resting on his chest. “But if you don’t believe me, you can always find out for yourself.”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Something that made my heart do that flippy thing again.

“However,” I warned dramatically, “if you want to tickle me, you’ll have to let go of my hand. And if you do that …”

He pressed my hand into his side, and I relaxed my arm, hoping to lull him into a false sense of security. He rolled his mismatched eyes, seeing right through that.

Laughing, I nestled against his side more comfortably. “I’m beat. What time is it?”

“Not sure. I’d check my phone, but it’s in my pocket and I need a free hand to get it.” His other arm was pinned under me. He wasn’t getting it free without tossing me right off the sofa.

I smirked. “Guess you’ll have to trust me.”

“Guess so.”

Releasing my hand, he reached down. I was considering whether I could, in good conscience, tickle him after daring him to trust me, when he tilted his hips sideways to get at his back pocket. The shift of his body against mine threw all thoughts out of my head.

He settled down again and checked his phone’s screen. “It’s just after nine. Aaron sent a message thirty minutes ago. He thinks Shane will be done soon.”

“They’re still working?” I yawned widely. “Poor Aaron.”

Ezra reached above his head to put his phone on the end table, his stomach tautening with the motion. My fingers reflexively pressed into his side—and his mysterious scars.

“Ezra, what happened to you?”

His breath caught, muscles going rigid. I’d asked without thinking, and I almost took the question back—but if I didn’t ask, would he ever tell me? His past wasn’t something I could ignore, especially since his secrets could make all the difference in his future … and whether he’d live to see it.