“Your place suits you,” I say, nodding at the view.
“How so?”
“Controlled. Beautiful. Cold.”
He shoots me a look that’s half amusement, half warning. “Thanks. It’s too quiet sometimes.”
“I can help with that.” I lean closer, my arm already around his shoulders. “I’ve always been labeled as too loud. Too much. Always breaking things I don’t mean to.”
He studies me for a long moment, the kind of look that feels like it weighs more than it should. “You’re not as loud as people think.”
I laugh quietly. “Don’t ruin my reputation.”
His smile is small, secret. “Wouldn’t dare.”
The wine hums pleasantly under my skin, dulling edges that are usually sharp. For the first time in months, I feel still. No need to perform. No need to prove. Just sitting in this ridiculous penthouse with the man who’s supposed to be my rival, who somehow feels like gravity.
He shifts closer, resting his glass on the coffee table.
“Do you always do that?” he asks suddenly.
“Do what?”
“Make people think you’re dangerous, then turn out to be… this.”
“This?”
“Sweet,” he says, teasing but soft.
I meet his gaze, a slow grin spreading before I can stop it. “No,” I admit, voice low. “Just for you.”
That earns me a quiet laugh, genuine this time. He shakes his head, half disbelieving. “Is that just a line?”
“No,” I say. “I mean it.”
He looks down, embarrassed by his own expression. “You’re infuriating,” he mutters.
“I get that a lot.”
The air between us changes again, the edges blurring into something warm. He’s close enough now that I can see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the soft line of his mouth. My hand moves before I think, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear. He doesn’t pull away.
“Magnus…” he warns, but it’s not really a warning.
“I know,” I whisper. “We can’t be doing this.”
The kiss is slow this time. No sharp edges, no battle for control. Just quiet warmth and the faint taste of wine. His lips move against mine with surprising tenderness, like he’s relearning what gentleness feels like. I match his pace, no rush, no fight, just the soft hum of something that might be peace.
When we break apart, he keeps his eyes closed, resting his forehead against mine.
“This shouldn’t work,” he says softly.
“Maybe not,” I reply. “But it feels good trying.”
The last of the warmth from our quiet laughter fades, replaced by something hotter, electric. Alaric’s gaze fixes on me—steady, bold, almost daring. For once, he isn’t hiding behind sarcasm or control.
I lean in, still trying to play it careful, still trying to hold onto the version of myself that doesn’t scare him. But he doesn’t move away.
He presses his mouth against mine. I grunt against him, pinning my hands to his sides before I can tear into him. Before I can wrap my hands around his neck or slide them into his pants.
