Chapter 28 #2
“No need for a distraction?” Tristian asked. Was it longing in his voice? I stopped and turned slowly. He stared at me, hope and devastation playing out across his face.
“I didn’t realize you would have any further interest.”
Tristian tilted his head as he dropped his shirt. “Did you not enjoy the other night?” he asked, his voice hesitant, like he thought maybe I hadn’t. “Was it not good?”
Silence rang out. How could he think that? “I’m not the one who left.”
His eyes gutted as he moved closer to me. “I had to. You only wanted a distraction, right?”
The question was a trick. I knew that. I saw it before me clearly, as Tristian seemed to hold his breath, waiting for my response—for me to expose myself, to tell him what I harbored.
My eyes skated over him—over his muscled chest, up his neck that worked to swallow, to his face, framed by his damp hair, finally meeting his eyes.
I instantly wished I hadn’t seen what was waiting for me.
Alone, he didn’t dim or hide the emotions. Wildfire spread through my veins, sending the thing beneath my skin running while something coiled deep in my chest.
“Right.” A lie.
“Did you want something else?” Tristian asked me, his voice low.
Yes.
I wanted…my heart fluttered beneath my skin.
I wanted more. I wanted his hands on me.
His mouth. I wanted to feel every inch of his skin against mine.
I wanted to hear that groan against my lips as I answered it with my own.
I wanted to see what he was like when he didn’t stop.
I wanted…him. All of him. It set my skin on fire.
I wanted him.
Tristian took another step toward me. I was sure he saw it.
“Do you not want anything? You left before I could return the favor,” I said, attempting to throw water on the kindling before I went up in flames and my desire engulfed me.
He hesitated, my question filling the diminishing space between us. I fisted my hands to stop myself from grabbing for him once again. Tristian held his ground. “I don’t want a distraction.”
Undiluted need raced toward me. “Then what do you want?” I asked.
“You.” Tristian stepped into me fully. I let him. “Not as a favor. Not as a distraction. Just you.”
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t hurt him. “You don’t.”
His hand found my chin, gently tipping my face up. “I do.”
Tristian’s lips crashed into mine, steady arms wrapping around me until every inch of me aligned with his unyielding strength.
Everything from the last ten days fell away, until we were back in that bathroom, but he didn’t leave.
My hands plunged into his hair as the world consisted of only him.
Of the feel of his mouth against mine. Of the warmth of his skin.
For one wild moment I wished I could stay right there forever.
My lips parted at the first touch of his tongue, eliciting the groan I had longed for against my mouth.
I attempted to devour the sound as it reverberated along my bones, chasing all the things I couldn’t say.
My chest ached wildly. Tristian’s arms tightened around me.
I lost grip on the parts of me that had spent every moment in his presence, denying what I wanted, what I felt.
He held me, a tenderness there, so at odds with the ferociousness of his kiss. I moaned into his mouth, unraveling as the desperation gave way to something precious.
My hand left his hair, finding his chest, his heart clamoring beneath my touch. I pushed, just barely. He stopped instantly.
It destroyed me how he stopped at my request. His wild green eyes barreled into mine, and I tumbled into his gaze deeper than I had ever dared.
“I want this,” I whispered.
An honest confession.
Tristian paused, his dark gaze searching mine.
He nodded, not saying a word. Maybe he was too afraid of destroying the thing pulsing between us, that I’d bolt if the wrong words came out.
He released me like it pained him as he shrugged on his shirt and slipped on his boots. His hand intertwined with mine.
He opened his mouth like he might have something to say, but he stopped. Instead, his lips pressed lightly against mine once more. A kiss loaded with promise. I shivered against it.
“I was rather enjoying the show.” A sly voice filled the commanders’ locker room, and I jumped.
Kaleo leaned against a locker, smirking.
Tristian positioned himself in front of me, putting himself between Kaleo and me. He didn’t let go of my hand. Kaleo noted the positioning, his smirk growing.
“Shouldn’t you be in your cage?” Tristian loosed brutally, the gentleness gone.
Kaleo’s dark eyes flashed. “It’s only a cage when you don’t follow her…guidance.”
“No wonder she keeps you, Kaleo,” Tristian shot back.
“All this hostility, Hades, it wounds me,” Kaleo taunted, his hand finding his chest.
“It’s Hayes to you.” Tristian strode forward, his hand still in mine, leaving me no choice but to follow.
Kaleo blocked our path. “Now that you’ve found a new Angel, your old ones are—what was it you said that day? Dead to you? That you wouldn’t rest until we all fell?” Kaleo zeroed in on our intertwined hands. “Bet you regret that statement now.”
“You were dead to me the day you pulled that knife on Levi,” Tristian growled.
“So your promise stands?”
“Until my last breath or yours.”
“How disappointing. At least you’re consistent.”
Tristian’s hold on my hand loosened, his shoulders tense, as if those words found some old wound.
Kaleo’s smirk grew into a grin as he locked eyes with me. “Did you know, I thought you were just a long revenge game, a way for Hades to piss off Burdon. You see, he was with her back when he was always Hades.”
I had assumed as much, but having it confirmed…I didn’t understand how he had been with someone so horrible. It wasn’t judgment for the decision. I had made plenty of terrible choices. I just couldn’t envision what had drawn them together.
“Did you not know?” Kaleo leered. Tristian’s hand became heavy in my hand but I held on to him. “I thought you were just a game to get back at her for destroying his other Angels.”
What did he mean, destroying his other Angels? My confusion must have shown because Kaleo continued, “Don’t tell me you’ve been keeping history lessons to yourself, Hades. Afraid they’ll scare her away? Ruin the game?”
Tristian’s hand began to slip through my grip. I held on tighter, refusing to let go. “Only you would think I’d risk our mission for some revenge,” Tristian said. “Haven is depending on us. She’s a medic, not some game.”
“Burdon doesn’t see it that way. It seems to be all she cares about these days.”
Tristian pushed past Kaleo toward the door, and I followed.
“Jaxon’s sick,” Kaleo called. “He was escorted to the Ward on his way out for patrol. Thought you’d want to know.”
Tristian stopped, not bothering to look back. “Must suck to lose your spy.”
I turned to see Kaleo opening a locker and stashing something within. “I have no tolerance for failure, and I have better spies.”
Kaleo smiled at me as Tristian pulled me through the door and into the Gym, his hand leaving mine the moment we passed the threshold.
The Gym was empty, curfew underway. The witching hour patrols had already moved out.
Tristian strode across the Gym, anger leaking from him and something else—something heavy.
“You said people only use call signs when they’re in the same unit?” I asked.
“Kaleo and I used to be in the same unit.” Tristian paused, turning down a tunnel. “He and Lyssa saw to the end of it.” A finality in his voice.
He stopped again, looking down a tunnel to our right, then down the tunnel that would lead to our living quarters.
“You and Burdon?” I asked, my voice impossibly small. I had no right to know, no room to judge.
He refused to look at me, his jaw flexing. “You aren’t the only one who’s made terrible decisions, Sasha.” Pain laced every word as he carried on toward our living quarters.
We walked silently, each step making the air heavy. He stopped before our door, but he still refused to look at me. I had never seen him like this.
“Hayes,” I whispered. Damien’s laughter filled the room beyond, but I only had eyes for Tristian as my hand found his chest.
His throat bobbed before he finally met my gaze. The torment in his eyes stirred the beast.
Another laugh echoed from the room, this time from Patrick, the sounds so at odds with the state of Haven.
“We should go somewhere—” I began, but he cut me off, stepping out of my reach.
“You should head in; I forgot the paperwork,” Tristian said. My hand fell to my side as Tristian headed down the tunnel, away from me and his family.
“Tristian,” I called. Confusion pelted me, erasing the feel of his lips on mine but moments ago.
He stopped abruptly, turning toward me, his shoulders tense. The brokenness lacing his features leveled me. “I have to go, Sasha.”
“I don’t understand,” I admitted, moving toward him.
“You want this,” Tristian said gesturing between us. “What exactly is this to you?”
“Tristian, don’t,” I pleaded. The sounds beyond the door drowned out. All I heard was the pounding of my own heart.
“I need to know, Sasha.”
“A distraction, something enjoyable to pass the time.” It was all I could offer. I couldn’t tell him what I wanted.
“You don’t mean that. You’re afraid.”
“You’re the one who walked out,” I said, anger racing to mask the hurt.
“I had to. You asked if I wanted something. I do. I want you, all of you,” he said, putting distance between us.
“I won’t lie to you just to sleep with you.
You aren’t a distraction to me. You aren’t something to pass the time.
Time is running out. I’m not going to spend the end pretending. I refuse to meet the end scared.”
I drew back. He noted it. Nodding, he retreated as well, his stance widening. The beast slunk into my chest, shredding everything as I let him go.
“Good night, Sasha,” Tristian said before he left.
He didn’t look back.
I ripped open the door. Forced laughter filled the air—too timed to be anything but a cover.
Isla, Patrick, and Damien sat playing cards with a bottle between them.
Damien’s ankle was elevated on someone’s pack as he lay on his side, propped on his elbow.
Isla was perched in the chair while Patrick sat on the opposite couch, running his cross along its chain.
Levi sat on the far end of the sofa, rubbing his scar. He didn’t say a word as he scooted toward Patrick, patting the spot next to him. Ingrid would be with Bretta. Rumi was on patrol.
“I have to go,” I started. I should go to the Ward. I should do something, everything leaking out. I’d taint them too.
“Ingrid told me to tell you Bretta is stable and sleeping. Said your obnoxious doctor friend already ran vitals. They’re good for the night,” Isla informed me, drawing a card, her eyes not meeting mine.
Levi left the spot open, not pushing as I stood, my skin too tight. “The Ward can manage without you for one night,” he said.
“Plus, I need a medic more. Busted ankle and everything,” Damien insisted.
“Wanna play?” Patrick offered.
I shook my head but sat beside Levi, whose hurt shoulder leaned gently against mine. I shuddered at the contact as my throat became too tight. My eyes stung in a threatening way.
Patrick grabbed the bottle with his free hand. He held it out to me.
I reached out, taking it. Levi stiffened next to me as I took a sip. I instantly hated it. No amount of numbness was worth that. I placed it back on the table. “It’s horrible.”
Patrick smiled, dropping his cross. “Yeah, it is.” He reached for the bottle, taking a long drink. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, passing the bottle to Isla. “So is life.”
Isla watched him, a sadness there. Levi sighed next to me.
All I could see was Tristian walking away from me.
“Yeah, it is,” I said.
No one mentioned what they did or didn’t overhear, and no one filled the space with forced humor.
They just stayed.