Page 162 of The Devil May Care

I step toward him and this time it is me who kisses him. Softly. Briefly. A thank you. A goodbye, maybe. He tastes like warmth and sun and the ache I’ve been carrying since the moment we met. He kisses me back, deepening it, but not pushing. Not yet. When we pull away, I smile, shaky but sure.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

But just as I start to turn, his hand slides to my waist.

“Wait,” he murmurs, voice suddenly rough. “Just one more.”

His mouth finds mine again. And this time, it doesn’t stop. We crash together, lips and breath and hands in a blur of wanting. My back finds the bark of a pine tree, his body pressing into mine. My name is a prayer on his tongue.

“Caz,” I moan his name into his mouth, forgetting what I was going to say. His tongue strokes mine, one of his hands curling around the back of my neck. I press closer to the hard wall of his chest.

“Caz,” I say again, firmer. “We can’t— Not here.”

His voice is ragged. “Don’t care.”

“I do.” I press my palms to his chest. “Please, slow down.”

His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling my head back so he can press open-mouthed kisses to my throat.

“Caz,” I gasp. “Wait. The trial. We have to—”

“No. Not this time. Can’t,” he mutters, mouth hot on my neck.

I feel a scrape of teeth, and I shudder as heat pools in my belly. I don’t care either. What’s another moment? I finished right? Already beat the Viridian challenge. I can enjoy him another moment. Another second. Another press of lips and teeth and tongues. His hand grips my waist, fingers biting into my skin. I wonder if they’ll leave tiny bruises. Dark proof that this happened. Evidence I won’t use the bruise cream to cover up. I may even lie in my bunk and press my own fingers into them, feeling the residual ache. He cups my breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and I freeze. The pendant flares cold against my skin. I want this. I do. But not here. Not in the middle of a trial, surrounded by an audience of trees.

“Caz, stop.” But he doesn’t stop, he grips me tighter, and the truth douses me like a bucket of frigid water.

This isn’t him.

I shove at his shoulders, pushing him back, heart pounding. For a moment he pulls me closer and my stomach drops. I use both hands to shove again and this time he takes a heavy step back, his gaze dark and hot and trained on my chest.

“What?” The question is tired, sharp. An accusation. “You wanted this yesterday.”

And yesterday Caz—the real Caz—turned me down flat.

“You’re not him.”

He stills. Then smiles and it’s all wrong.

“Poor little thing,” he purrs, leaning over me. “Still begging to be loved.” His hand traces the line of my cheek and I flinch.

My throat burns. “You don’t get to do this.”

He laughs, the sound deep and cruel. “Do what? Want you? You’re right. Why would I?”

“Stop.”

“You’ve been a fun diversion.” His smile shows a row of sharp teeth. Sharper than I remember. Sharper than they felt just minutes ago, “It’s been interesting, seeing how fast the little human can fall.”

“That’s not true,” I say, shaking my head.

Shadow slides across his face, his eyes inky and churning, his pupils too big for the dark irises. I wrap my arms around my waist, ready for what’s coming next. His kill shot.

“You think your scraps of emotion matter? Isaeth was everything. A real woman. You’re nothing but a soft-bellied mistake in someone else’s war. You don’t matter.”

It stings. Worse because I let myself think it just minutes—or was it hours—ago in the cabin, but I stand my ground.

“I don’t want Caziel because he saved me, or because he’s an Ember Heir, or because I’m lonely. I see him. His silence. His scars. His fire. His grief. The way he watches the world and burns for it. That’s why I care. I like who he truly is, and you are not him.” My voice rises. “Even if he never wants me back, I’ll still mean it. Because my feelings are mine. They’re not weakness. They’re not currency. Not bait. And they’re not yours to twist.” I lean in, putting everything I can behind my words. “So. Fuck. Off.”