But she’s gone.
All I’ve got is the shadow of her mouth on my temple and the memory of her hand burning mine.
The war presses closer.
A man gasps his last three beds down. Someone else coughs blood into a pan. I smell it—raw, hot, metallic—too close to what poured out of me in the sand.
And I can’t block it out.
I can’t stop it.
My mind starts dragging me under. Back to the blast. Back to Mason’s silence. Back to Torres dragging me by the vest while I left a trail of red.
My lips move without sound. Mantras. Names. Hers.
Butterfly. Butterfly. Butterfly.
It’s all I’ve got.
The word that keeps the teeth from closing.
The word that stitches me to the here, even when the war’s prying me apart.
I’m trapped.
Pinned between the ghosts and the beeping machine and the only thing I can do is whisper her name and pray she comes back before I drown in it.
The war fades.
One blink and the tent dissolves—the groans, the blood, the sting of antiseptic. The beeping monitor cuts out like someone yanked the cord, and all that’s left is heat, darkness, and her.
Cass.
She’s standing over me, hair loose, lips swollen like I’ve just kissed her raw. She leans down, her breath brushing my mouth, and my body jerks like it remembers before my mind does.
“Miss me?”
Her voice is silk and razor wire, the one I dream about, the one I’d bleed twice for.
I reach for her—my hand doesn’t shake now, doesn’t fail me. My fingers fist in her shirt, dragging her down. Her body collides with mine, and she’s warm, too warm, straddling my hips like she was made for it.
“You left me,” she whispers, but her eyes burn like she’s daring me to do it again.
“Never again.”
My voice is gravel, but the words are clear. “I’ll chain you to me if I have to.”
Her laugh is soft, broken, sinful. She shifts her hips, presses herself down, and fuck—heat sears through me, sharper than any wound. My cock throbs, alive, desperate, like it’s been waiting just for this.
“You’re hard,” she breathes, and her fingers trail down my stomach, slow, taunting. “Even now. Even bleeding out.”
I groan, head slamming back. “Always for you, Butterfly.”
Her lips crash to mine, savage, wet, claiming. I taste salt, smoke, her tears, her tongue. I bite, she moans, grinding harder, dragging me deeper into the fire I can’t crawl out of.
“I hate you,” she whispers against my mouth.
“Then ride me while you do,” I growl, hands gripping her hips, forcing her down, harder, faster. “Make me pay for it.”
