"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 of the sentries.
The two guards who accompanied them bow and begin the quiet 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 in his father's arms.
"They might be," Rhett replies.
The two guards standing at the door bow low—familiar faces from last night's detail, still on duty despite the ambush. One of them, the one who fainted during the attack, bears a fresh bruise near his temple, but nothing serious. He had insisted on returning to duty.
Neva gives them a slight bow in return, eyes warm with quiet gratitude.
"Everything good?" Rhett asks, shifting his weight as he reaches for the door handle with his free hand, still holding Rhean securely in the other.
The entrance had been repaired just this morning—new hinges, reinforced wood—after being broken down only yesterday.
"Yes, Boss," the guards reply in unison.
Rhett lifts a brow, half-amused.
They've clearly 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. Her voice is light, expectant. "Naya? Isaiah? Where are you?"
Rhett shuts the door behind them with a low thud, final and protective, sealing out the night.
Neva walks ahead toward the parlor—where the faint scent of curry still lingers, and the dim golden lamplight spills across the wooden floor in soft waves.
The house is quiet—too quiet—but not for long.
Tiny footsteps come storming from the living room.
"Mumma!" Inaya cries, rushing toward her.
"Mumma," Isaiah echoes, close behind her—Ace trailing after them with sleepy steps.
Neva sets down the basket and kneels, gathering the children into her arms.
"Did you miss me?" she murmurs, clutching them close—melting into their warmth, breathing in the faint scent of lavender still tangled 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 break," Rhett says, brushing past him, carrying a still-sleeping Rhean into the room across from Ace's.
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 gently wipe the tears from her daughter's cheeks.
"You said you will come back soon," Isaiah mutters, his voice quivering.
Neva smiles gently, brushing his face with her fingers. "But I'm back, aren't I?"
"Why didn't you take us?" Isaiah presses, blinking back the tears welling in his eyes.
Her expression softens. "It wasn't safe to take both of you with us, Isaiah."
He shakes his head, voice breaking. "But you took Rhean..."
"You... you don't love us anymore."
Neva's heart aches. "Of course I love you," she whispers, cupping his face and wiping his tears with her thumbs.
"You left us," Isaiah sobs, throwing his arms around her.
"I want to go home, Mumma. I—I don't like being here."
"We'll go home soon. I promise," she murmurs, kissing the crown of his head before drawing them close—
holding both him and Inaya, who weeps silently against her chest.
"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—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 still.
Only the whisper of the chilly November breeze moves through the forest, blending with the soft song of orthopteras.
It's almost midnight now.
The children are warm and fast asleep on the bed, while Neva sits on the mattress she's laid out on the floor beside them, smoothing the soft bedsheets and plumping the pillows.
She looks up as Rhett appears in the doorway. He's changed into comfortable clothes, a towel draped loosely around his neck.
"Are we sleeping on the floor tonight?" he asks, softly closing the door behind him as he steps inside.
"Yup," Neva replies, rising to open the wooden cupboard.
Rhett tilts his head, rubbing the towel through his damp hair as she retrieves a folded quilt and nudges the cupboard shut 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 limbs and whispered dreams.
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, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.
"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 leans in and kisses her—slow, tender, reverent.
"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 rough along his jaw—
before she softly presses her lips to his.
The kiss starts slow, then it deepens—passionate, unhurried, and aching as tongues entwine, breaths tangle, their hearts hammering against ribs.
He snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him—
the air between them thickening, heated with hunger and longing.
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.
The quilt slips beneath them as Rhett lowers her gently, his weight pressing her into the mattress.
His lips never leave hers for long—each kiss deepening, pulling breath after breath from her until she's softly gasping into his mouth.
A low groan rumbles in his chest as he finally pulls back, just enough to whisper, desire and devotion threaded together. "You're just planning to kill me tonight, aren't you?"
"Exactly," Neva breathes, wrapping her arms around his neck, fingers threading through his cold and damp hair.
"But after we resurrect… we'll be more alive than ever."
She pauses, then adds in a tender whisper, "You've waited long enough."
He chuckles, low and breathless as he rests his forehead against hers. "Are you sure you want this? Because if you're forcing yourself—for me—"
"I'm not," she says, brushing her lips against his—soft, lingering, enough to make him tremble with desire.
"I love you. I'm your wife. It's only right we celebrate that."
Her voice falls to a whisper. "I'm all yours tonight."
"Just tonight?" Rhett teases, a wicked grin rising through the tenderness.
Neva chuckles softly.
"I'm yours for eternity," she says, her glowing eyes meeting the shimmer of raw passion in his.
"Now that's more like it," he rasps, his restraint shattering as his sweet lips claim hers in another heated, breath–stealing kiss that thaws her core.
His calloused hands move with reverence—tracing the curve of her waist, gliding upward to tug gently at the strings of her nightgown, loosening them with tender care.
His lips trail warm, moist kisses from her jaw along the graceful curve of her racing pulse as his hand eases the soft fabric from her shoulder, baring her pale skin to the lantern's golden hush.
She shivers beneath his fevered touch, eyes fluttering shut, cheeks flushed crimson as she clings to him—his warmth pressed against her, igniting a slow fire that ripples through the deepest chambers of her soul.
The light goes out—leaving only the warm, golden glow of a single lantern casting flickers across the room.
Silence settles.
Only the quiet sounds of love remain: tender kisses… soft exhales… the gentle rustle of crinkling sheets.
Feverish, consumed, hearts thudding fast, they lose themselves in each other—stripped of shame, of pretense, of every veil they've ever worn.
They are bare—utterly, achingly bare—before each other's weakness, each other's longing.
And in that nakedness, they find a fierce fire and drizzle of rain: the passion and unconditional love of two halves finally, wholly made one.
"I love you," he rasps into the crook of her neck, his words muffled by fevered kisses against her warm skin.
"I love you too..." she whispers on a soft gasp, clutching him as if to anchor herself against the storm of him,
the bliss... the eternal heaven of him.
Their whispered words are a sacred vow slipping their lips...
A covenant spoken in the most beautiful dying,
the rawest living, sealed in the fire of love.
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.