He saved my life. Twice. Three times. More.
But he won’t let me save him back.
Won’t let me choose him the way he chose me.
The fire burns low. Predawn lightens the windows. And the distance between us feels like miles instead of feet.
Chapter 20
Luke
Gray light filters through frost-rimed windows. Weak. Uncertain. The kind of dawn that promises nothing but more cold.
I sit with my back against the wall by the dying fire, handgun resting on my thigh, eyes on the door. Haven’t moved from this position in hours. I can’t make myself leave this spot despite the stiffness settling into my shoulders, the ache in my ribs from the beating I took from the Syndicate.
The flames burned down to ash sometime around 0400. I didn’t bother rebuilding them. Cold keeps me sharp. Focused. Less likely to think about what happened last night.
Less likely to stare at the woman sleeping across the room and remember exactly how she felt under my hands.
Ember shifts on the cot, and my attention snaps to her. The blanket’s slipped down to her waist. She’s still wearing the flannel shirt, too big on her frame, gaping open at the collar toexpose the hollow of her throat. The place I had my mouth six hours ago.
I force my eyes back to the door. Run through every possible point of attack. Catalog exit routes I’ve already memorized twice.
Anything except thinking about the taste of her skin. The sound she made when I touched her. The trust in her eyes right before I shattered it.
Three hundred years of discipline. Three days with her and it’s all shot to hell.
I told myself it was protection. Professionalism. The right thing. That stopping before we went too far was what any decent man would do, what she deserved from someone charged with keeping her alive.
But watching her pull away—seeing the pain I put in her eyes—that didn’t feel right at all.
My thoughts spiral through the night before on an endless loop. The feel of her skin—warm and impossibly soft despite everything we’d been through. The way she responded to my touch, no hesitation, no fear. Just want and trust and an honesty that cracked something open in my chest I’d kept locked down for decades.
The way she straddled my lap. The heat of her through thin fabric. Her fingers gripping my shoulders while I traced the curve of her ribs, the underside of her breast, every sound she made burning into my memory.
Then the moment I stopped. Pulled away when every instinct screamed to keep going. To claim what she was offering and damn the consequences.
The confusion and hurt that flooded her face. The bitterness in her voice when she accused me of treating her like a child.
She’s not wrong.
I run through justifications for the hundredth time, trying to make them stick. She’s twenty-one. Vanya’s daughter. Undermy protection. Too young to know what she’s choosing. Too inexperienced to understand what she’s asking for. The adrenaline, the life-or-death situation—it’s not real, it’s just survival instinct manifesting as something else.
But none of this holds weight against the memory of her voice: “I’m not a child. Stop treating me like one.”
The real problem sits heavier in my gut. I’ve spent too long keeping everyone at bay. Refusing connection because loss is easier when you don’t care. Using “protection” as an excuse for cowardice.
Mara. The thought surfaces. Our partnership was reluctant, but I grew to respect her in those few, chaotic weeks. She was a good woman, in her own eccentric way. And I failed her when it mattered.
I didn’t fail her. I made a logical choice.
Which would have been easier if I’d stuck to my old system. Clean professional relationships only. Mission parameters. Extraction protocols. No complications.
Now Ember Arrowvane has walked into my life with her hybrid powers and her stubborn courage. Sweet. Naive. And so damned beautiful.
Across the room, she stirs again. Her hair falls across her face in pale waves. The morning light catches in it, makes her look younger and older at the same time. Vulnerable. Lovely in a way that has nothing to do with makeup or styling and everything to do with the raw honesty she can’t seem to hide.
I want to go to her. Cross this room and finish what we started. Show her with my hands and mouth exactly how much I meant every touch last night.
