Steamy Chronicles collections
leaned against the mantel, watching his cousins strip off black suits and dresses like shedding skin.
"They'd hate this," he said, grinning as Lia kicked off her heels.
"All this crying." Noah's boy, already taller than his father had been, poured bourbon into Sarah's favorite glass and set it on the porch rail.
"To the fuckers who made us bulletproof," he said, and the toast rang out under the stars.
Later still, tangled in the same bed where it all began, the new generation proved blood didn't just tell—it claimed.
The farmhouse windows were still lit when the first of them left—Lia with her duffel slung over one shoulder, boarding a midnight train south where the city lights would drown o