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She could count the number of people who loved her on one hand, and they all kept begging for the only thing she couldn’t give them.
“Red, I’d let the world burn before I hurt you.”
It was a quiet storm of root and thorn and branch, the deluge of the Wilderwood finally coming for her—not as a predator, but as a missing piece,
“I’ll thank you to keep your hands off my wife.”
“Find a way to get him back,” he muttered against her mouth. “You deserve to be loved, Red. You always did.”
