He shakes his head once, like he’s warning both of us. Then, finally, he leans in. The kiss isn’t angry or claiming. It’s the kind that feels like a secret neither of us meant to share—slow, inevitable, undoing every line we drew between right and wrong.
When he pulls back, it’s only by an inch, his forehead resting against mine. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he murmurs.
“Maybe I do,” I counter, smirking softly.
He laughs, though, there’s no humor in it. “Then you’re worse for me than I thought.”
“Maybe you deserve worse,” I say, and it earns me the faintest smile.
The tension doesn’t break—it lingers, thick and humming, a promise neither of us is ready to make.
In the end, it’smethat breaks.
I move, kissing him—quick, hard—grabbing him by the back of the neck and fusing my mouth to his like my life depends on it. It’s like a lightning bolt has struck, or shifting sands in the hourglass of time. I’m not sure which, but it doesn’t fucking matter.
All that’s left is him and me—the scent of smoke, and something darker, like whiskey. I taste it with every stroke of his tongue against mine, feel the way his body tightens as he pulls me closer, like he’s struggling to get enough of me, too.
It’s maddening.Suffocating. I shouldn’t want it, but God, I fucking do.
His hands wind in my hair, jerking my head back. Rook leans in close, teeth grazing the sensitive skin at my neck. The sensation is too much, not enough. It’s everything I shouldn’t want—but do.
He pulls back, crystalline gaze locked onto mine, both of us breathless.
“We should stop…” he says, trailing off—leaving it open, in case I want to continue.
God, I fucking do. But I need to say something first. “I want to help you figure out who betrayed you. Because they not only betrayed you—they betrayed my brother,andme. I don’t give a fuck if you want my help. I don’t give a fuck if you think this is going to go any other way than how I want. Because it’snot. You’re going to let me help you. And in exchange… I’m going to be honest. About everything. Even if it scares me.”
For a second, he just stares at me—like he’s not sure if I’m serious or if this is another game I’m playing. His chest rises and falls, slow but uneven, and I can see the pulse at his throat hammering against the collar of his shirt.
“Ember,” he says finally, my name rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “You don’t get to make demands.”
“I just did.”
His jaw tightens. I can see him fighting himself—command against curiosity, the soldier versus the man. It’s strange watching him come apart so quietly.
“You think this is that simple?” he asks. “You tell me what I want to hear and suddenly you’re part of this?”
“No,” I say, steady. “I think you’ve been chasing ghosts so long you forgot what trust feels like. You don’t have to give me all of it, just enough.”
He exhales, long and slow, like he’s bleeding out patience. “You’re asking me to gamble with everything I’ve built.”
“I’m not asking.”
That gets to him. I can tell by the flicker in his eyes—like I’ve struck something raw beneath all that control. He takes a step closer, and the air changes. I can feel it vibrate between us, heat curling through the space that should be safe but isn’t. “You have no idea what kind of men you’re dealing with,” he says quietly.
“I knowexactlywhat kind of man you are.”
The words hang there, and he doesn’t move for a long time. I can see the thoughts racing behind his eyes—anger, suspicion, something dangerously close to admiration. Then, softer—like he hates to admit it. “You shouldn’twantto help me.”
“Maybe not,” I whisper. “But I do.”
Rook’s hand lifts, almost involuntary, like he’s reaching for me before he realizes it. He stops short, fingers curling into a fist. “You’re going to get yourself killed, Red.”
“Then I’ll take a few devils down with me.”
He laughs once—quiet, disbelieving. “You really don’t scare easily, do you?”
“Should I?” I ask, arching a brow.
