"You can leave," Rhett says to the guards as they reach the forest clearing, where the cottage stands—dimly lit, flanked by two men stationed on either side of the entrance.
A soft golden glow from the electric lamps filters through the windows—electricity here only hums to life in the evenings, and even then, barely. The lanterns placed by the entrance door cast life upon the two, broad and tall, still silhouettes.
The two guards who accompanied them bow and turn to walk back toward the village.
Apphia, her husband, grandson, and Pastor Gideon have already returned safely to their homes.
The two-and-a-half-mile walk from Ephrath to Mount Lumora took them nearly an hour.
"It's so quiet," Neva whispers as they approach the cottage.
"Are the children asleep? But it's barely seven."
She glances at Rhett, who now carries their son, cradled against his chest. Rhean is limp with exhaustion from his adventurous day, sleeping soundly against his father's chest.
"They might be," Rhett replies.
The two guards standing at the door bow low—former members of their old detail, reinstated recently. One of them, the one who fainted during the last ambush, had suffered only minor injuries but insisted on returning to duty.
Neva gives them a slight bow in return.
"Everything good?" Rhett asks, reaching for the door handle with his free hand, still cradling Rhean in the other.
The entrance had been repaired just this morning after it was broken yesterday.
"Yes, Boss," the guards reply in unison.
Rhett lifts a brow, half-amused.
They've picked up the title from Ace and now refuse to call him anything else.
Neva smiles at them—their chins high, chests puffed, ever-vigilant for danger.
"Stay alert," Rhett instructs, opening the door with a soft creak.
"Yes, Boss," they echo again as the married lovers step inside with their slumbering child.
"I'm home," Neva calls out the moment she crosses the threshold. "Naya? Isaiah? Where are you?"
Rhett shuts the door behind them with finality as she walks toward the parlor.
The house is quiet—too quiet—but not for long.
Tiny footsteps come storming from the living room.
"Mumma!" Inaya cries, rushing forward.
"Mumma," Isaiah echoes, right behind her, with Ace trailing wearily after them.
Neva sets down the basket and kneels, wrapping the children in her arms.
"Did you miss me?" she murmurs, holding them tightly, melting into their warmth, breathing in the scent of lavender still clinging to their hair.
They both nod against her chest.
"Took you a whole damn year to arrive," Ace mutters, looking utterly drained.
"You can take a short break," Rhett says flatly, brushing past him toward the room across from Ace's, Rhean still asleep in his arms.
Relieved, Ace finally disappears into his own room to rest.
"Where did you go?" Inaya sniffles, her sweet voice trembling with pain and betrayal.
"I told you I had something to do," Neva says softly, pulling back to wipe the tears from her daughter's cheeks.
"You said you'd come back soon," Isaiah mutters, his voice quivering.
Neva smiles gently, brushing his face. "But I'm back, aren't I?"
"Why didn't you take us?" Isaiah presses, fighting the tears pooling in his eyes.
Her expression softens. "It wasn't safe to take both of you with us, Isaiah."
He shakes his head. "But you took Rhean," he chokes out, voice breaking.
"Y—You don't love us anymore."
Neva's heart aches. "Of course I love you," she whispers, wiping his tears with her thumbs.
"You left us," Isaiah sobs, throwing his arms around her. "I want to go home, Mumma. I don't like being here."
"We'll go home soon. I promise," she says, kissing the top of his head, drawing him and the silently weeping Inaya close into her arms.
"Are you hungry?" she asks after a quiet moment. "Let me make something tasty for you."
She gently pulls away, brushing the tears from Isaiah's cheeks and then Inaya's.
"I want chicken curry," Inaya says with a pout.
Neva chuckles as she rises to her feet. "Of course. I know how much you both love curry."
---
It's been four hours since they arrived.
The night is quiet. The only sound is the chilly November breeze rustling through the forest, blending with the song of the orthopteras.
It's almost midnight now.
The children are warm and asleep on the bed, while Neva sits on the mattress she's prepared on the floor beside them, smoothing out the bedsheets and pillows.
She looks up as Rhett appears in the doorway. He's changed into comfortable clothes, a towel hanging loosely around his neck.
"Are we sleeping on the floor tonight?" he asks, softly closing the door behind him before stepping toward her.
"Yup," Neva replies, rising to open the wooden cupboard.
Rhett tilts his head, drying his hair with the towel as she retrieves a quilt and nudges the cupboard closed with her shoulder.
"I think the bed's wide enough for us," he says. They've been sharing it with the children—close, warm, tangled. The narrower the space, the closer he could hold her. And this is the largest bed in the house. It's always fit them just fine.
Neva spreads the quilt across the mattress, then glances back at him—still standing there, confusion softening his features. She chuckles and pats the space beside her.
"Yes, the bed is fine enough for us." She smiles. "But tonight isn't just any other night."
Rhett raises a brow. "What do you mean?"
Neva only smiles, amused. "It's not your hour to keep watch, right?"
Rhett nods. "Ace is up for the next four hours. I finally got to shower," he says, tossing the damp towel into the laundry basket in the corner. He settles beside her.
"But what's your plan for tonight, my Angel poet?" he teases, a playful grin tugging at his lips.
Neva chuckles, pulling the quilt up to cover them to their torsos. "How did you come up with Angel, anyway?" she asks, leaning back into the pillows.
Rhett leans back too, eyes finding hers—and softening. "Because you looked like one."
"But you've never met an angel," Neva counters, resting her cheek on her palm, elbow braced against the pillow.
"I haven't," Rhett agrees. "But you were too beautiful to belong to this world."
He kisses her—slowly, tenderly.
"The home I finally found," he murmurs, breath warm against her lips. "A home too sacred to belong to earth. But only Heaven."
Neva smiles, her fingers brushing the light stubble on his jaw.
She presses her lips to his.
The kiss deepens—passionate, slow, and aching. Tongues meet, twirling, hungry, reverent. The air between them thickens with longing.
He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer.
Breath becomes irrelevant.
They dissolve into the language of love,
The ache of buried desire rises, consuming—burning them alive in a beautiful apocalypse of their mortal bodies… and resurrecting their eternal souls.
Rhett lays her back gently and hovers over her, lips still claiming hers.
They run out of breath and pull away, his forehead resting against hers.
"You're just planning to kill me tonight, aren't you?" he rasps, eyes closed.
"Exactly," Neva breathes, wrapping her arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair.
"But after we resurrect… we'll be more alive than ever."
"You've waited long enough," she adds softly.
He chuckles, low and breathless. "Are you sure you want this? Because if you're forcing yourself for me—"
"I'm not," she says, brushing her lips against his, making him shudder with need.
"I love you. I'm your wife. It's only right we celebrate that."
Her voice softens to a whisper. "I'm all yours tonight."
"Just tonight?" Rhett teases, a wicked grin rising through the tenderness.
Neva opens her eyes and chuckles.
"I'm yours for eternity," she says, her glowing eyes meeting the shimmer in his.
"Now that's more like it." He grins, and kisses her again—hungry for every piece of her.
He gently lifts her by the back of her head, his lips trailing warm, moist kisses along the curve of her neck.
With his other hand, he slowly pulls down the zipper of her nightgown.
She lets out a soft breath, eyes fluttering shut, cheeks flushed crimson as she clings to him—his warmth pressed against her, igniting a slow fire that ripples through the depths of her soul.
The light goes out, leaving only the warm, golden glow of a single lantern casting flickers across the room.
Silence settles—except for the soft sounds of love: tender kisses, quiet exhales, the gentle rustle of crinkling sheets.
He lays her back onto the mattress, his warm lips moving with slow, deep devotion.
Feverish, consumed, hearts thudding fast, they lose themselves in each other—stripped of shame, of pretense, of every veil ever worn.
They are bare—utterly, achingly bare—before each other's weakness, each other's longing.
And in that nakedness, they find the passion and unconditional love of two halves finally, wholly made one.
"I love you," he breathes, voice low and heavy, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
"I love you too..." she exhales, eyes closed, the words slipping from her lips like a sacred vow.
There's magic in their intertwined fingers,
in the way they lose and find themselves in the depths of each other—
in the wild, blooming garden of love that grows between their hearts.
A wildfire kind of love burns between them—
igniting the joined souls of the married lovers.
A calm river runs beneath the flame as they make love—devotional, sensual—becoming one flesh, one fire, one faith, utterly whole.
A feeling of serene bliss washes over them.
The melody of singing nightbirds flows through their veins.
Shadows deepen around the echoing exhales of love, yet only brighten the natural light within them.
A love so beautiful—woven by heavenly miracles.
Wounds kissed into healing.
Scars painted over with love marks.
The honeyed sweetness of flower nectar—
Like summer fruits, ripened and bursting,
So agonizingly sweet... they want to savour it forever.
So agonizingly ambrosial... it almost hurts to swallow.