Page 33 of Alien Assassin's Heir

Gods,I want to say yes. Want to run, hide, retreat behind my walls and remind myself that he used me. That I built this life without him. That I don’t need this.

But instead, when he leans in again, I let him kiss me.

And this time, I don’t pretend it doesn’t burn.

We don’t talkon the walk back. The silence stretches, not awkward but heavy, like the ground knows something we don’t. When we reach my building, I pause outside the door. The code pad blinks blue. I hesitate.

“You coming in?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

He looksat me like he’s afraid to breathe.

“If you want me to.”

I type the code.

The door hisses open.

Solie’swith Grinna for the night. I told her I needed some quiet, some time to think. Gods help me, I didn’t think it’d lead to this.

But here we are.

Inside,I don’t turn on the lights. Moonlight filters through the blinds, casting slatted silver bars across the floor. Kraj steps in behind me, careful, like he’s entering a shrine. He looks around, noting the layout, the little touches I added to make the place feel less like exile and more like a home.

I take his jacket before I can second-guess myself. Hang it on the hook.

We standin the living room like ghosts.

“I can go,” he says.

“No,” I say too quickly. “Stay.”

He watches me.His eyes do that softening thing again, the one that always undid me back then. That still undoes me now.

“You sure?”

“I invited you in.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I confess, stepping closer. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about you since yesterday. Since I saw your face at that window. And it pisses me off.”

He gives a short, breathy laugh. “Same.”

Then I kiss him again.

And this time, there’s no hesitation. No caution.

Only fire.

It’s not rushed.

He touches me like I’m fragile, even though we both know I’m not. His hands are slow, reverent. My shirt slips over my head, and he cups the back of my neck like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my spine. His mouth finds the curve ofmy shoulder, then the hollow of my throat, and I arch into him, gasping.

He whispersmy name like a prayer, like an apology.

I pull him toward the bedroom.

The bed’s small—narrowand creaky—but it doesn’t matter. We’re all limbs and heat, mouths reacquainting themselves with old territory. His body still fits against mine like a second skin, hot and coiled and powerful. His claws rake down the outside of my thighs, careful not to break skin. I wrap my legs around his waist, pull him in closer.