But the urge to comply, the heat conjured by that singlemore, curls low in my stomach… And it has very little to do with the temperature of this soup.
I do drink more.
And the warmth it brings, the ache it soothes… Before I realise, the cup is empty. When Kane finally allows himself to glance at me again, his eyes are even brighter.
Softer.
“Your turn.” I even add a small, smug smile as I slide the cup back to him.
What I don’t expect, after he refills it, is for him to turn the cup so his mouth lands precisely where mine was.
My lips part, his eyes never leaving mine as he drinks, then swallows.
Did he… do that on purpose?
No. Not Kane.
I look away. I can’t keep staring into his gaze, not while I’m imagining what his lips might be feeling.
No, it’s just a coincidence.
There’s no way he planned that. No way he wanted to feel the echo of my lips, to taste the remnants of my warmth...
Just like how I don’t want to slip my hands into the large, front pocket of that ridiculously soft hoodie. Just like how I wouldn’t want to keep going, sliding my fingers further until they brush the hard ridge of his stomach—
“Julien made it.”
The softness is immediately shattered.
“What?” I snap out the single word, my darkness bristling in alert.
Kane slowly places the cup down, gaze hardening as his lips tilt downwards.
He either doesn’t understand my sudden anger or doesn’t want to acknowledge my discovery.
I snatch the thermos, rush over to the sink and pour the remaining soup out with a hard shake. My eyes scan the contents, analysing the colours, the textures, the smell. When I realise it’s no use, I deliver my furious glare at Kane.
“Was his blood in that?” I snarl the question, pointing aggressively at the spilled liquid.
Immediately, Kane’s features shift into one of understanding. He takes a step closer. “No.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” I yell, vines of darkness slipping around me. Do I suddenly feel hot? Is that hisblood? Is it taking over my body? Infecting my blood stream? “Did you watch him make it? How do you know? How can I even trust what you say!”
My heart is racing, my vines thicken, tighten. My chest aches. Didn’t it do this last time? Before Julien appeared in that hotel room and I lost control?
I stare frantically at the shadows lining the room, the ones now growing, pulsing, just waiting for him to step out.
“Jasmine.” Kane begins to slowly approach me, his voice low and calm, his own darkness spreading around him like acloak. “He wouldn’t. He hasn’t. I would know from drinking it. I have no reason to lie to you—I won’t lie to you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he made it first.”
I’m panting, when did I begin panting? I swallow, study his words, the tone.
Genuine. Everything.
His words, his body language, his… feelings. I can feel it—him. His emotions so strong and clear for someone who always buries them so deeply.
“I didn’t think.” He’s closer, leaning against the sink with me, glancing down at the steam billowing up.
The pounding of my heart lessens, the imaginary heat cools and my shoulders loosen.
