Chapter 7
SEVEN
CADEN
I was going out of my fucking mind.
For twelve hours straight, that asshole James wouldn’t let me inside her room to check up on her. And I might’ve just killed him for it, had he not been her godsdamn boyfriend.
Call me crazy, but I had a feeling, me ripping off James’s head, wouldn’t go over too well with Emma once she woke up.
So I tried to be respectful, and settled for the updates I got from Hillary Hugh, Kanata C’s resident Healer, but when I got the intel on what had happened at Boston, I nearly lost it.
How I managed to knock on the door instead of breaking the whole damn thing down, I’ll never know.
After Jackson—thanks to some not-so-subtle nudging from my brother Sean—convinced the possessive prick to let me in, I barged into the room less than a minute later.
The room was empty, aside from the beautiful creature laying on the bed in the center of it. My heart was pounding as I took in the woman who’d invaded my every thought for the last few months, and I swallowed at the sight of her so lifeless.
My legs carried me to her bed without thinking.
“Emma,” I whispered, drinking her in. “Fuck, baby… What the hell happened to you?”
She didn’t stir. Didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound.
I sat down on the bed beside her, the mattress dipping under my weight. I let my gaze drift over her face, pale, fragile, but still so damn beautiful it hurt to look at her.
“I would’ve come sooner, but your boyfriend’s one hell of a possessive ass,” I muttered, the frustration seeping through my words. “I hope you appreciate me not killing him, because right now, you’re the only reason that motherfucker is still breathing.”
Shifting slightly, I dropped my tone, my gaze still fixed on her. “So you gotta wake up, Nightcrawler, and stop me from doing something we’ll both regret.”
Nothing.
I couldn’t stop my eyes from tracing her features.
Her skin, her lips, her hair. Even now, she stunned me to my core.
The urge to sweep the stray hairs off her forehead and kiss her was so overwhelming, I almost did.
The fact James could touch her like that, sent a jolt of jealousy through me so sharp, it was physically painful.
But I forced myself to stay still, keeping that distance. It wasn’t my place to close.
Hillary had assured me Emma was essentially fine. She’d healed her from all the physical damage, but nothing could touch the psychological scars of what she’d endured.
After learning about what happened at her parents’ house, it made sense why Emma wouldn’t want to wake up.
I leaned in a little closer, lowering my voice again.
“I know you don’t want to feel. Every time emotions get too heavy, you shut down and hide behind that icy mask of yours.
I’m guessing right now, you’re choosing to stay asleep, afraid of feeling whatever’s waiting for you on the other side.
But, Emma,” I murmured softly, “I promise, you can handle this.”
Still nothing. What the hell did I expect? She’d hear me and magically wake up? That shit only happened in those sappy human movies she’d made me watch.
I turned to the window as a familiar ache twisted deep inside me. She’d just lost her parents. I knew exactly how trauma could change a person.
“You’re probably terrified of the grief waiting for you,” I continued in barely more than a whisper. “It feels like too much, as if you won’t survive it. As if it’ll swallow you whole if you let it in. But I’ve never met anyone as strong as you, and I swear on my life, Emma, you will survive this.”
My attention flicked back to her still form, willing her to hear me. “You just have to choose to survive it. Choose to live. Choose to…”
The words trailed off, and I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump in my throat, as I waited, hoping for some sign she’d heard me, that she was still in there fighting.
But there was nothing. No flicker of her eyelids, no movement of her hand. Only the steady rise and fall of her chest.
Unable to stop myself, I softly brought her hand to my mouth, brushing my lips over her knuckles. The warmth of her skin grounded me in a way I didn’t deserve. The need to be close to her despite everything was almost crushing.
I stood abruptly, then crossed the room in quick strides, and stopped at the window, before my hands gripped the sill so tight my knuckles turned white. I could feel it, the slip. The tight control I’d been holding on to was fraying fast.
Distance. I needed more distance. And I needed to remember she wasn’t mine to care for. She belonged to that asshole, who I’d gladly tear apart if he turned out to be anything less than worthy of her.
The memory of my lips on hers, breathing life back into her lungs at Hunza, ripped through me so violently I nearly turned around to do it all over again.
My hands tightened even more around the windowsill. Every muscle in my body was strung tight, ready to snap.
And then I heard it: a soft sound, barely more than a whisper.
I spun around, my eyes snapping to the bed, hardly able to believe what I was seeing.
She stirred.
Her fingers twitched, the smallest movement, and then, slowly, her eyelids fluttered open.
My heart hammered against my chest. Before I even realized it, I was at her side, my pulse racing.
“Emma,” I whispered trembling with barely contained urgency. She blinked sluggishly, unfocused, her lips parting as though she was struggling to remember how to breathe.
I sat down next to her. “Thompson,” I said again, more insistent, my hand steady as I reached out, grabbing hers. She was here, she was waking up, and I had to keep her with me.
My haze shot out and I quickly translated a glass of water on her bedstand.
Her brow furrowed, her eyelids still fluttering like she was fighting her way through a fog, every small movement costing her. I tightened my grip on her hand, desperate to ground her, desperate to keep her tethered to the moment.
Her focus finally locked on me, confusion clouding her expression, pain lingering beneath the surface. She swallowed, her throat working to form words that wouldn’t come, lips parting with only a faint, raspy breath escaping. I could see the effort, the struggle in every labored motion.
I squeezed her hand harder, needing her to feel me there, to know she wasn’t alone. “You’re safe,” I murmured, the words rushing out.
Her eyes flickered with recognition, the tension in her body easing, but only slightly. Then she took a breath, deeper this time, her chest rising as if gathering the strength to speak.
“Caden?” My name was a broken whisper, but hearing it on her lips, nearly undid me.
“I’m here,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “I’m right here.” Her soft fingers curled weakly around mine, the grip fragile, but it was enough to send a surge of hope through me.
Which is exactly how James found us when he came bursting through the door.
His attention snapped to me immediately, fury and confusion written all over his face. I knew I should’ve let go of her hand, but I didn’t. Instead, I rose to my feet, challenging him to dare say something about it.
Fuck being respectful, I was done. I wasn’t letting her go, not for anything. If James wanted me out of there, he was going to have to physically try (and fail).
Right as James opened his mouth, his gaze dropped to Emma’s face, and everything shifted. The rage vanished, replaced by shock as he realized she was awake. Without a second thought, he rushed to her side, taking her other hand in his, completely forgetting I was even there.
Emma’s eyes flicked from me to him, and the way she looked at him made my stomach twist painfully. I clenched my jaw, fighting the sudden urge to hurl.
Before any of us could say a word, the door swung open again, and Hillary strode in, instantly assessing the room. “All right, that’s too many people in here,” she said briskly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I need to check on Emma, and you two are in the way.”
James shot me a glare but reluctantly let go of Emma’s hand.
I, however, hesitated. Hillary’s attention shifted to me, her brows arching in warning.
“Out. Now.”
With nostrils flared, I finally released Emma’s hand and followed James out of the room, feelings of relief and jealousy battling inside me like living things.
JAMES
I was going to kill him.
The second we stepped out of the room, I slammed the door behind us, barely able to keep it together. My blood was boiling, and I could hardly breathe through the rage clouding my vision.
“What the hell was that, Colt?” I snapped, rounding on him, fists clenched at my sides. “You holding her hand like she’s yours to hold?”
Caden didn’t flinch, his whole demeanor cold and unreadable. “She needed someone to ground her,” he said flatly, calmly in a way that only pissed me off more.
“She doesn’t need you!” I growled, stepping closer, my pulse roaring in my ears. “She’s mine. You hear me? Emma is mine. You need to back the hell off.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he still didn’t back down. Instead, he let out a low chuckle, sounding almost amused, while he crossed his arms, standing firm.
“You sure about that, James?” His gaze sharpened. “Because last I checked, you were the one who screwed up so much she fled from your Collective to mine.”
I clenched my fists, every part of me itching to hit him. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not going to let you weasel your way in again, just because she’s vulnerable. I’ll strangle you with your own ball sack before you do.”
Caden’s face hardened, and he stepped forward, his tone dropping to a dangerous growl. “Let’s get one thing perfectly clear. If I wanted to take her, you couldn’t stop me, only she could. Don’t ever fucking forget that.”