Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
EMMA
“I need to get laid.”
It had been three days since I’d seen Caden.
Three days of silence while he’d vanished off the face of the earth, after mentioning something to Rachel about leaving on some personal business. He didn’t tell anyone what that meant, but I knew he’d gone after Dave.
And the thought of Caden alone beneath the bubble had twisted me so tight with anxiety I’d practically been marinating myself in alcohol ever since he left.
Especially since the US and Canada had reached a cease-fire thirty-six hours ago, on the condition that American soldiers stayed out of Canadian territory and Kanata C magi stayed out of US territory.
More specifically: “Emma Thompson, or anyone affiliated with her.”
So yeah. I was anxious about Caden still being there, beneath the bubble, for whatever reckless, infuriating reason he decided was worth it.
Didn’t exactly help that I’d been thinking about him non-stop.
Thinking about the way he’d held me during my weakest moment, his arms iron-strong around me, his body a furnace of heat and steadiness I’d wanted to melt into even when I shouldn’t have.
Thinking about him telling me what he’d do if I were his, every word laced with a possessiveness he had no right to claim.
And then, when I couldn’t sleep, my mind filled in the rest.
His hands—broad, calloused, devastatingly sure—would find me in the dark like they were made for it.
I could almost feel them: one sliding up to the base of my throat, fingers wrapping around enough to remind me who was in control; the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise, dragging me closer, his thumb tracing slow, possessive circles against my skin.
Every touch would be measured, a perfect balance of restraint and hunger, steady enough to make me trust him, rough enough to make me tremble.
I’d imagine the look he’d give me before that first touch, the kind that burned straight through my defenses. His eyes would darken, heavy-lidded, molten with want and warning all at once.
It would say everything his mouth didn’t: You’re mine.
Then his fingers would start their descent, dragging over the swell of my breast, down my ribs, the flat of my stomach, until they hovered at the waistband of whatever flimsy barrier I still had left.
Each stroke would be slower than the last, meant to torture, to make me arch into his hand before he’d even given me what I was begging for.
And his mouth—Gods, his mouth—would follow, leaving heat and ruin in its wake.
His breath would fan over my skin, a warning before the first graze of his lips.
He’d kiss the hollow of my throat, the curve of my shoulder, the soft underside of my breast, lingering there until I was shaking from the effort of holding back a sound.
Then lower—his tongue tracing every shiver he caused, his teeth grazing, his lips catching, sucking, marking until I could no longer tell where I ended and he began.
He wouldn’t just touch me; he’d consume me. Every sigh, every moan, every desperate plea. I could see him taking it all like it was owed to him, like my body was a secret he’d spent his whole life waiting to uncover.
And I knew beyond reason or doubt: that man would ruin me for all others.
Which is exactly what I couldn’t allow to happen.
I had to get that man out of my head. Out of my blood. Out of the places he hadn’t even touched yet but somehow already owned.
For fuck’s sake, I had less than a year to figure out how the hell to escape the deal I’d made with the Chiefs, and instead of focusing on survival, all I could think about was this one dark First Offensive with whiskey eyes.
I needed to get over him.
I had to kill the pull between us before the Chiefs decided to do it for me.
Which is why those infamous words slipped out of my mouth. I need to get laid.
Sean and Jackson froze in sync, like two malfunctioning robots, their glasses of Scotch hovering mid-air, amber liquid glinting dangerously close to spilling.
“Yes! That is a great idea!” Saoirse’s voice rang out, too loud and too gleeful through the Nexus. She was sprawled across her bed at Crown, clearly enjoying herself while eavesdropping on our Scotch night in.
Sean blinked at me, then at Jackson, then back again, before muttering, “I think I speak for the both of us,” he gestured between himself and Jackson like a man making a doomed presentation, “when I ask ye who ye’d consider to be…laid with?”
“Considering she left you and my Leader stranded in the woods without so much as an explanation the other day—only to portal out alone with Caden—I’d say she’s aiming for your First Offensive.”
Sean shot him a look. “Or maybe she was simply trying to not get killed after being shot at.”
“Still doesn’t explain the vanishing act,” Jackson muttered, crossing his arms. His frustration from that last mission obviously still clung to him.
I downed the rest of my drink, the burn easier to face than the truth. I wasn’t about to tell them about my moment of weakness, and I was beyond grateful Caden clearly hadn’t told them about my panic attack. “I already told you. Something came up.”
I refilled my glass with Scotch. Again.
“And luckily,” Jackson drawled, “that explanation isn’t vague at all.” He softened the sarcasm with a wink, making sure I knew he wasn’t really pissed.
“James told me you and Caden went after some human that shot at you,” he pressed. “Then you two vanish without a word, leaving him and Sean to clean up. What the hell happened?”
My attention was suddenly very fixed on counting the absent ice cubes from my glass of Scotch. “I don’t feel like talking about it. But I am sorry I screwed up the mission.”
When I looked back up, Sean and Jackson were staring at each other. Sean spoke first. “You didn’t screw anything up. We confirmed human activity in that area; that was the whole point.” His voice was softer than usual, understanding what I wasn’t saying.
Jackson gave a short nod. “Yeah. They’re both big boys. It doesn’t matter.”
Sean leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Right, so coming back to the question of who yer about to lay with… Colt or Walker—”
“I’m not doing either of them,” I cut in, setting my glass down a little too hard.
Sean frowned. “Then whom?”
I shrugged, and leaned back against the couch cushions, swirling my drink lazily. “At this point, I don’t even care anymore. Do you have any idea how long it’s been? I’m pretty sure my pussy needs a full reboot before I can even get it to work.”
Jackson made a face like I’d described open-heart surgery. “Not the best visual, Em.”
I chuckled and tossed back another Scotch, the burn chasing away his disapproval.
“Seriously, it’s Friday night, guys,” Saoirse interjected, like she was leading some remote intervention. “Can’t you two take my girl out?”
I jabbed a finger toward the Nexus image of my sister in agreement. “Yes. Take her girl out. Let’s do something other than tracking down humans, analyzing warrants, and strategizing how to take out Chiefs.”
Jackson pretended to examine the label on his bottle, which was an obvious attempt at avoiding eye contact.
“I could use the distraction,” I added, softer now. No jokes. No punchlines. Just the thin, honest sound of someone trying to bargain with the world so sleep will stop being a battlefield.
Sean looked up. “We could take her to the cages. There’s a fight tonight, and I’m pretty sure Levi’s organizing an afterparty.”
I sat up straighter, sudden interest sharpening the edges of my voice. “Who’s Levi? Is he hot?”
“Excellent question,” Saoirse said, nodding so enthusiastically she nearly bounced.
Jackson’s gaze snagged Sean like a leash. “Are you trying to get us killed?” His tone was half incredulous, half fond, the way you sound when your idiot friend suggests holding a raccoon under the moonlight.
Sean shrugged, impossibly casual. “Levi’s a Defensive here in Kanata C.
He runs the fighting cages, right outside the Metasphere.
No use of magic allowed, illegal in twenty-three Collectives and somehow adored in twenty-two of those.
He keeps the fights messy and the drinks cheaper than Crown’s supply closet. ”
“Nex him.” My tone left no room for argument. “And make sure Saoirse can see him clearly. I’ll need an expert opinion.”
Jackson muttered something under his breath about ‘terrible ideas,’ but Sean lifted his hand.
A shimmer cut through the air, and seconds later a tall blond with ridiculously blue eyes appeared. He reminded me of Jude Law in his twenties, smug, pretty, and well aware of it.
“Lords Lau and McGrath.” Levi’s grin was slow and knowing. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“Levi.” Sean’s tone was clipped. “We heard you’ve got one of your rings going tonight. That still on?”
The new guy’s smile widened. “Of course. And you’re more than welcome to join the bets. I’ll nex you the details.”
“Is there a dress code?” I asked, half-teasing.
Levi pivoted at my question, focus landing on me for the first time. “You’re Emma Thompson.”
I deadpanned, lifting a brow. “Thank you. Wasn’t sure myself till just now.”
Sean snorted into his glass. Saoirse’s laugh crackled through my own Nexus.
Levi chuckled, but there was no edge of nerves in it. “I heard you dumped Cyclos’s Leader.”
“I heard you were interesting enough to provide an entertaining Friday-night,” I shot back.
Levi’s grin turned broad, dazzling in a way that probably worked on most people. “Oh I am. And it would be my honor to prove that to you.”
Jackson muttered under his breath, “Smooth.”
“Sure,” I said, though it came out tighter than I wanted. “As long as you don’t get any ideas.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” the obvious player replied brightly, as though I’d agreed to marry him. “I’ll send the coordinates. Dress code: shoes that can withstand a little blood.”
“Charming,” I mumbled, one corner of my mouth twitching.