Jace opens the door, ushering Parker through first. I follow, keeping my body between her and McCoy, knife still loose in my hand.
Cal’s voice crackles in my ear: “That was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. I’m sending flowers.”
“Shut up, Cal,” I mutter.
In the hallway, away from McCoy’s office, Parker finally stops. Leans against the wall. Takes a breath.
Her hands are shaking when she presses them against her face.
“Why—Silas, you—that was?—”
Fuck it.
I cross the distance between us in two strides, one hand cupping the back of her neck, the other bracing against the wall beside her head. And I kiss her.
Hard.
Claiming.
Six years of wanting, hours of watching another man look at her like she’s available, seconds of her standing there trying to process what I just did—all of it combusts into this moment.
Her hands fly up to my chest—pushing or pulling, I can’t tell. But then she softens. Melts against me in all the right places, curves fitting against hard edges like she was made for this. For me.
A soft whimper escapes her throat, and it’s gasoline on an already raging fire.
I’m burning. Exploded the moment McCoy touched her, and now I’m burning for her—for the way she tastes, the way her fingers curl into my shirt, the way she’s letting the flames engulf her too.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless. She’s dazed, sea-glass eyes wide and pupils blown, lips swollen from my mouth.
I cup her face between my hands, gentler now, and press a soft kiss to those perfect lips. “You okay?”
“Why did you do that?” she whispers.
“Why did I do what? The stabbing or the kissing?”
“He—you—” She’s struggling for words, still processing. “He touched me.”
“Yeah. He did.”
“But Silas, he was just a?—”
“A misogynistic asshole who got exactly what he deserved,” Jace cuts in from where he’s standing watch at the elevator.
Parker’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “You didn’t need to stab him.”
“Do you think a melon baller to the eye would have been a more efficient way to deliver my message?”
“Youstabbedhim.”
“Through the hand. Non-lethal. He’ll heal.” I let my hands drop, cross my arms. “And he’ll think twice before touching you again.”
“Silas, you can’t just—” She stops herself, takes a breath. “We’re trying to build a different organization. One that doesn’t solve everything with violence.”
“Some things require violence,” I counter. “Some people only understand pain. McCoy is one of them.”
“He was testing me,” she argues, but there’s less conviction in her voice now. “Seeing if I’d react. If I’d back down. You intervening?—”
“Showed him you’re protected,” I finish. “Showed him that disrespecting you has immediate and painful consequences. That’s not weakness, firefly. That’s power.”
