KAT
Rogue Movements
Morning coffee tastes like possibility mixed with the lingering sweetness of last night's activities. I stretch in bed, feeling delicious aches in all the right places, while Dave stands by our window talking on his phone. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his free hand clenches and unclenches—whatever news he's getting isn't good.
"You're certain it was him?" His voice carries that particular edge that means violence is being considered and temporarily set aside. "Nashville. And the rogues—you have positive ID?"
Through our bond, I feel his fury spike, cold and sharp as winter wind. I slip from bed, pulling on one of his flannels that smells like sawdust and him, and pad across to wrap my arms around him from behind. The solid warmth o
