Page 47

The pain in my shoulder bites deep, sharp enough to drag me from whatever restless sleep I managed to claw. My vision is still adjusting to the dark, shadows moving like smoke across the ceiling. I shift slightly, jaw tight, trying not to let the groan escape.

That’s when I feel her.

Jordyn.

She’s curled beside me, one hand resting against my bare chest, her breathing soft and even. Her hair spills across the pillow, strands brushing my skin with every rise and fall of her breath. And for a second, just a second, I let myself lie still and watch her.

She looks so goddamn peaceful. Like the world hasn’t touched her. Like she doesn’t know she’s lying in bed next to a man who’s bathed in blood more times than he’s bathed in sunlight.

Her fingers twitch faintly in her sleep, grazing the edge of my ribs. I flinch. Not from the pain, no, this kind of touch is its own agony.

She murmurs something in her sleep, soft and incoherent, but it hits me anyway. Right in the place I’ve spent years trying to cauterise.

I shouldn’t have let her stay. Should’ve kicked her out the second her stubborn little feet crossed my threshold wearing that goddamn red satin nightdress and matching robe like she just stepped right out of my dreams. But she did that thing, where she looked at me like I was worth something, like I was still human.

And fuck, maybe I wanted to believe in that for one night.

So I lie there. Still and quiet, letting her warmth seep into my bones while I count the ways I’m going to burn for this come morning.

Because whatever this is, whatever it’s becoming, it can’t end any way but ruin. And I’ll be damned if I let it ruin her first.

She stirs beside me, her warmth still pressed into the curve of my side, her hand resting lightly over my ribs. The soft flutter of her breath against my skin, the subtle shift of her fingers as her consciousness begins to stir.

And then, slowly, her eyes blink open.

Blue.

Sleepy and disoriented, until they find mine.

“You sleep like a kitten,” I murmur, my voice low and husky, rough from sleep.

She blinks up at me, eyes still cloudy with dreams. “And you watch people sleep like a stalker.”

A faint smile tugs at my mouth. “Only when they sneak into my bed in the middle of the night.”

“You were bleeding out,” she says softly.

“You still shouldn’t have stayed.”

“And yet,” she whispers, “I’m still here.”

There’s a pause. A long one. My eyes flick down to her mouth, then back up.

“You shouldn’t be,” I say finally, but the words lack bite. They sound like a plea more than a warning.

“You said that last night,” she murmurs. “Didn’t work then either.”

My eyes close for a second. I’m fighting something. A thought. A truth I don’t want to say out loud.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit, the words barely audible.

“Do what?”

My hand lifts, slow, tentative, and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Let someone stay.”

She lets out a quivering breath.

“I’m not asking for forever,” she whispers, her hand brushing over mine. “Just the morning, so I know you’re okay, then I’ll go.”

I don’t move. Don’t breathe. Because somehow, this moment feels fragile. Like one wrong move on my part will send me retreating behind those impenetrable walls again.

Her fingers lift before her voice does. She reaches out, and I expect her to draw away, but instead, she touches me. Lightly. Hesitantly . Her fingertips graze my jaw, skimming along the stubble and down the side of my throat. I feel everything in me tense beneath that gentle contact.

She brushes the pad of her thumb across the corner of my mouth.

And I can’t help it, I reach up and catch her hand, holding her wrist between my fingers. Not to stop her. Not really. Just to feel her.

We stare at each other. No distance or shadows. Just breath and heat, and the tremble of something unspoken curling between us.

“You never let anyone get close, do you?” she whispers.

I don’t answer. I just look at her mouth as she speaks, the way her lips part around the words. My body aches with the need to close the space, to taste her again.

It’s like she reads my mind because she leans in, only slightly, but enough that her breath grazes mine. Her lashes flutter, her eyes are wide and uncertain.

“But you let me?” she asks, so quietly I nearly miss it.

I close my eyes. Just for a second. Because I don’t know how not to when she touches me like that.

When I open them again, she’s still there, still burning holes through me with that gaze that feels like salvation and damnation wrapped in one. And now every part of me that’s supposed to be cold... is starting to burn.

“Ogni parte di me ti cerca, anche quando non voglio, bambina.” I murmur back, barely audible. I know she doesn’t understand me, but she looks at me like she does.

Every part of me reaches for you, even when I don’t want it to, baby girl.

I hear her breath catch and her fingers tighten around mine.

And I know neither of us need to say anything else. I close my eyes for a breath.

Fuck. I’m slipping.

My hand finds her cheek. Her skin is warm, soft. She draws in a quiet breath as I stroke the side of her face, my fingers skimming down to trace the curve of her jaw. Her touch follows, light as air, her fingertips dancing along my face. One drifts lightly across my lips, and I stop breathing.

She leans in. I do too. Our lips are less than a breath apart.

And then, a loud crash. Metal on stone, sharp and final.

Jordyn flinches.

I sit up, pain flaring like lightning through my shoulder, but my focus is already on the hallway.

“Stay here,” I order, voice low and firm.

Jordyn’s hand catches mine. “Ares?—”

“I’ll handle it.” My tone leaves no room for argument. “Stay here.” My hand reaches under the nightstand, fingers closing around cold steel. I draw the Glock out and chamber a round with a clean, practised snap.

I hear Jordyn’s gasp catch like she tries to smother it but fails, and she goes still. Completely and utterly still with fear.

Those blue eyes, wide and startled, flick from my face to the weapon in my hand. Her fingers twitch against the bedsheets.

“You carry a gun,” she says quietly, more observation than accusation. Her eyes are locked on the weapon, but her voice is softer now, like she’s trying to reconcile it with everything else she knows about me.

I don’t answer right away.

After a beat, I say. “Always.”

She shifts, like she’s not sure what to do with that answer. “Why?”

I glance at her, and something sharp twists in my chest.

“Because, bambina, peace is a luxury I don’t get to have.”

She frowns. “That’s not an answer.”

I meet her eyes, steady but cold and honest.

“It is when you are the thing people run from.”

The silence between us stretches, tight as a live wire.

Then I push off the bed, the weight of the moment settling back over my shoulders like armour. Whatever softness we had, it slips between the cracks again.

I give her one last look, then I’m moving, barefoot, shirtless, and armed, with blood still staining my skin.

Because if someone’s stupid enough to cause a disturbance in my house while I’m still bleeding? Then they’re about to learn exactly what kind of monster I keep caged.

I step into the hallway, gun raised, senses on high alert. Every sound is amplified. The creak of the floorboards, the soft shift of air. My bare feet move silently across the stone floor, eyes sweeping the shadows.

Another soft clatter. It comes from the end of the hall, near the window.

I round the corner, pulse steady but tight… and then I see it.

A kitten.

Tiny, grey and white with a little pink nose. Probably no older than a few weeks. It’s perched by the tipped-over vase near the open window, wide blue eyes blinking up at me like it’s trying to decide whether to flee or purr.

For a moment, I just stare. The gun lowers, and I sigh, dragging a hand down my face before crouching.

The little thing hisses, then tries to scramble, but I’m faster.

I hook two fingers around the scruff of its neck and lift it up.

It dangles from my grip, paws splayed, meowing like it’s ready to fight me.

I frown. “You got a death wish, little stronzo?”

It blinks once. Then opens its mouth and meows louder.

Despite my murderous mood a moment ago, my lips twitch.

The kitten lets out a soft mewl, a tiny, indignant sound that echoes far louder than it should in the silence of the hallway. I’m still holding the little ball of fluff in one hand, its pink paws dangling over my fingers, when I hear the sound of soft footsteps behind me.

“Ares?” I hear Jordyn call out.

“I thought I told you to stay in the room?”

“Seriously? You pulled a gun on a kitten?”

Jordyn’s voice floats to me like silk laced with amusement and judgment.

I turn my head just enough to see her standing in the doorway, clad in red satin, arms folded, hair tousled from sleep, one brow cocked in disbelief.

There’s a ghost of a smile playing on her lips, the kind that makes something stir low in my gut.

I glance back at the kitten in my grip, its wide baby blue eyes that resemble Jordyn’s staring up at me with a mix of defiance and stupidity. “He broke into my house,” I mutter, deadpan. “I was defending myself.”

Jordyn snorts, stepping closer, bare feet whispering against the floor. “You were ready to shoot a poor, defenceless kitten.”

I arch a brow. “I was ready to shoot an intruder. He turned out to be… underwhelming.”

She stops in front of me and gently reaches for the kitten. “Poor thing. He’s shaking.”

“So was I,” I say dryly, releasing my hold.

“Aww, did the big mean man scare you, little one...” Jordyn cradles the little beast to her chest, cooing under her breath as it burrows into the crook of her arm.

Her voice softens, drops into that gentle register she uses when she forgets I’m watching.

The kitten starts to purr. I hate that I envy the damn thing.