"This one's trouble… the good kind." 🔥
A little treat, just for you… 💋
Chapters 1 & 2 are yours to savor, but the rest? That's locked away for my favorite people — my wonderful patreons.
If you're a Free Member and can't stand the suspense, join the Sapphic Only tier for just $5/month and I'll give you the rest of the story to devour. ( https://www.patreon.com/c/nightkitten/membership )
Now… shall we begin Chapter One? 💌
Chapter 1: The Woman in Combat Boots
The priest's voice droned on, low and somber, as the coffin descended inch by inch into the dark earth. The November wind gnawed at black coats and veils, pulling at scarves, whispering through bare branches above the small cemetery on the edge of the city.
Solar stood at the front, her hands clasped behind her back, a black tailored suit hugging her broad frame. Her jaw was carved in granite, unreadable as the words ashes to ashes slipped into the cold air. She watched the rope strain under the weight of the polished mahogany coffin, watched it sink, swallowed by the earth like every secret her brother had ever kept.
And then—
The sound of boots hitting gravel.
At first, faint. Then sharper. Louder. A deliberate stomp, like war drums cutting through the quiet. Heads began to turn, the priest's words faltering mid-prayer.
From the far end of the path came a woman—tall in presence if not height, wrapped in a silk dress the color of peaches and cream, the hem swaying against the scuffed leather of black combat boots. Her hair was loose, wild golden curls whipping around her shoulders, catching the light in a way that didn't belong to this gray-skied day.
Her lips were pressed into a line, eyes locked not on the mourners, not on the polished coffin—but on the man being lowered into the dirt.
And she didn't slow.
"Jesus Christ," someone muttered in the crowd.
"What is—" whispered another.
Ever cut through the black-clad line like a knife. Perfume, heady, sweet, defiant, filling the air in her wake. The priest stepped back as she reached the edge of the grave. Her chest rose and fell, her knuckles white around something small she gripped in her fist.
"I hope you're listening down there," she said, her voice sharp enough to slice the cold. "Because you lied to me. You promised me the world, and all I got was an empty bed and a goddamn hole in the ground."
Gasps rippled through the gathering. Solar's eyes narrowed, her head tilting ever so slightly.
Ever's gaze dropped to the coffin. "The least you could do," she spat, "is be here for our kid. Spiritually. Since you're sure as hell not doing it in person."
Her hand opened. The object flashed once in the pale light—white plastic, a tiny window marked by a single unmistakable pink cross—before she flung it into the open grave.
For a moment, the world seemed to freeze.
Then—uproar.
"What the hell—!"
"Get her out of here!"
"She's lying!"
Men surged forward, shoving past chairs and headstones, reaching for her arms. Ever stumbled back, only to be caught in rough grips, fingers digging into her bare skin.
"Let me go!" she screamed, twisting, boots scraping on the gravel. "I'm not lying! You think I wanted to be here?!"
"Drag her out," a voice barked from somewhere behind the crowd. "Now."
The hands yanked her, forcing her backward down the slope, her heels catching in the dirt. The priest looked pale, clutching his book to his chest.
Solar stepped forward.
The crowd parted for her without a word. Her stride was precise, her expression unreadable but for the storm gathering in her eyes. The holster at her hip glinted beneath the fall of her jacket.
When she reached Ever, she didn't speak right away—she just looked at her. From the mud smeared across her silk dress to the flush of her cheeks and the raw defiance blazing in her eyes.
Then Solar's hand came up. The slap cracked through the cemetery like a gunshot.
Ever's head snapped to the side, a strand of hair catching in her lip gloss. The men holding her stiffened.
Solar gripped her jaw in one strong hand, forcing her face up until their eyes locked. "Do you have any idea," she said, voice low and sharp as broken glass, "what you've just done?"
"I was talking to my fiancé," Ever shot back, her voice trembling but not breaking. "And telling him—we are with child."
The words hung in the air.
Something flickered in Solar's gaze—something quick, unreadable, gone almost as soon as it appeared. Slowly, she released Ever's face and straightened.
"Let her go," Solar said.
The men hesitated.
"Now."
Hands dropped from Ever's arms. She rubbed at her wrists, glaring at them all.
Solar's eyes flicked from Ever's flat stomach back to her face. Then, without looking away, she jerked her chin toward the grave. "Bring me the kit."