Page 74 of Infamous

For years I’ve dreamed of this - of her - but I never imagined she’d be the one reaching for me again.

And as her lips hover a breath away, all I can think is this:

She doesn’t know who I am. But some part of her must. The part that remembers me from before I died. And if this is the sin that finally damns me, then so be it.

45

NADIA

He’s put a spell on me.

That’s the only explanation I have for this insanity - this heat under my skin, this restless, magnetic pull that drags me up off my seat before my brain has even caught up.

One moment I’m staring at him across the room. The next, I’m standing. Walking. Closing the distance.

Each step feels heavier than it should, deliberate and inevitable, like I’m crossing a line I won’t be able to uncross. The air between us hums - thick, electric, wrong and right all at once.

He doesn’t move when I reach the sofa. He’s too still, too composed, and yet I can see the storm gathering behind those eyes. I sit beside him. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that the few inches of space between us feel like a living, breathing thing.

He’s massive - broad shoulders, thick arms, the kind of frame that makes the sofa look smaller than it is. When I shift slightly, my knee brushes his thigh, and he goes absolutely still.

His hands - those big, veined hands that had been smoothing down the space between his thighs and his knees -freeze mid-motion. The muscles in his forearms tighten; his shoulders lock. His head tilts just a fraction, and then his eyes slide toward me.

He’s holding his breath. I can feel it.

The realization hits me like a sucker punch. He’snervous.

For some unfathomable reason, this man - this giant of a man who could crush a grown man with a single hand - is holding himself back. Not because he’s afraid of me. But because he’s afraidforme.

My chest tightens. It’s been so long since someone gave a damn and put my needs before their own.

Without thinking, my hands move - hesitant at first, then deliberate - and I lay them over his.

It’s instinct. Stupid, reckless instinct.

But the moment my skin meets his, the world shifts.

His hands are warm. Calloused. Solid. The kind of hands that could destroy, yet right now, they feel like they’re holding something sacred just by existing in my space.

A strange sense of recognition curls through me - sharp, haunting, impossible.

I know these hands.

It’s crazy, but I do. Every nerve ending in my body is screaming it.

I know the way they’d cup my face. The weight of them on my waist. The feel of his thumb tracing lazy circles against my palm.

It’s there, somewhere, beneath the skin. A memory I can’t recall but feel all the same.

My throat goes dry.

This is absurd. I don’t believe in past lives, or reincarnation, or souls finding each other across timelines. And yet… here I am. Sitting beside a man who shouldn’t feel familiar, shouldn’t feel like he’s been here before, yet every fiber of my being insists otherwise.

Maybe we did meet in another life. Maybe we were something there - something unfinished that’s clawed its way back through time, demanding closure.

How else can I explain this tether between us? This pull that makes everything else fade into static when he’s near?

When Jude Mercer is in my airspace, the world stops spinning. The lights dim. The noise dulls. All that exists is him.