I don’t know why. I’m not a man who does things without something in return. It’s a rule I was taught at an early age.
All I know is that when the sun begins to rise, and I finally slip away into shadow, one truth is impossible to deny.
Cassia has already claimed something of mine.
I’m not certain I want it back. This has to be what Sibley meant when Aziz first found Jett to be his mate. The woman had recited something strong and spoke of the three of us finding our mates.
I wanted to scoff at her then. I still want to. I don’t have a mate.
Still, I find myself struggling with thoughts of Cassia as I don’t know what it is about her that draws me in.
Chapter
Six
Cassia
Waking up, I feel like my body doesn’t want to leave the one place it’s been safe in a long time.
The room is quiet. Not the kind of quiet that feels like you’re being watched. Not the kind that makes your skin crawl or your stomach knot.
Just quiet.
I blink up at the ceiling, waiting.
Waiting for my heart to start galloping. Waiting for the familiar aftertaste of panic to cling to my throat. Waiting for the images that always come, the ones that shove themselves into my morning like they own me.
They don’t.
Not today.
Today it’s just quietness.
My chest rises and falls steadily. My limbs feel heavy, but not in that exhausted, worn-down way. More like I actually slept.
I swallow and stare at the pale patch of ceiling above my bed.
When’s the last time that happened?
Weeks. Maybe months. Long enough that I can’t even pin it down without feeling the shame of how far I’ve slipped.
It’s almost peaceful, which makes me suspicious. Peace doesn’t usually stick around for me. It’s always been something I’m allowed to taste for a second before it gets ripped away.
I shift under the blanket, and that’s when heat flickers low in my stomach, warm and lingering like an ember that never died out.
My face gets hot.
Oh.
My dreams.
They come back to me all at once, not blurry like dreams usually are, but vivid. Like my mind filmed them, saved them, and decided to replay them in high definition to punish me.
Orpheus.
His voice, low and controlled, saying my name as if it belongs to him. His hands, firm and possessive, not asking, not hesitating. The way he looked at me was like he already decided what I was to him, and the rest of the world didn’t get a vote.
It wasn’t sweet.
