Chapter 47
FORTY-SEVEN
EMMA
Stepping into Caden’s room, I stopped short.
The bed had been pushed all the way to the far wall, replaced by two large Chesterfield chairs facing the fire. The fireplace crackled quietly, casting warm light across the room.
On the table between the chairs sat a bottle of Scotch, two glasses, his book…and another book I hadn’t seen since my first stay with him at Crown.
A glossy, modern-day “why choose” retelling of Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet with vampires.
The exact copy I’d lost back then. Vanished between one chaotic night and the next. I’d assumed it was gone forever.
But apparently it wasn’t.
Still, it wasn’t even what grabbed me hardest.
No, that was the small box placed dead center between the books. White. Perfectly square. Tied with a black ribbon.
I turned to him; brows raised in surprise. “You…got me a present?”
He shrugged, playing it casual. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” I repeated, stepping closer. “So this could be, what, a decoy box? A bomb?”
His mouth quirked. “You’ll have to open it to find out.”
“That’s reassuring,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes at him. “Why?”
Caden tilted his head, studying me like I’d missed something obvious. “Because today’s your twenty-fifth birthday.”
I stared at him for a beat, then blinked.
“How did you find out?” I whispered, the words coming out smaller than I meant them to.
His expression softened, a hint of something wistful in his expression. “When Stephen sent me out to find the origin of your translation, I learned everything I could. Your birthday was the easiest thing to find.”
I smiled up at him. “And of course, you remembered.”
He closed the distance between us, close enough I could feel the warmth of him. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear before his hand lingered at the side of my face, thumb tracing the edge of my jaw. “I remember everything about you, Nightcrawler,” he murmured.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. His gaze flicked to the small box on the table, then back to me. “But I understand if you don’t want to celebrate,” he said gently. “It’s the first one without your parents, after all.”
I shut my lids, willing the sting behind them to fade. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face to his chest. His arms came around me immediately, steady and warm, his hand sliding up to the back of my head in slow, soothing circles.
“Thank you, Caden,” I whispered against him. “This means a lot.”
He bent his head and pressed a quiet kiss to my hair. “You mean a lot,” he said simply.
When I finally looked up, I managed a smile. “You’re right, I’m not exactly in a party mood. But…” My attention darted to the box. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want my present.”
Caden’s grin was instant. “Didn’t think you would.” He gestured toward one of the chairs. “Come on, birthday girl.”
I eyed the furniture suspiciously as I sat down. “Wait a second. Are these from your study at Crown?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Figured, what better way to relax than to recreate our little routine?”
My lips curved. “And this way, Rocco can’t ruin them anymore with spilled Scotch he steals from your collection.”
“Accurate,” he said, pouring the perfectly peated Ardbeg into two glasses.
I took mine from him, fingers brushing his, and smiled. “I love it.”
Grabbing the box from the table, I leaned back into the chair across from him. “So, what do you think? Should I open it now?”
“You might want to be alone when you do.”
I arched a brow, a wider smile tugging at my lips. “Why, is it a sex toy?”
Caden let out a startled laugh. “Fuck, no. Though now I kind of wish it was.” He settled in his chair, eyes glinting. “For the record, I’d never tell you to open that alone.”
I grinned, shaking my head. “No, you probably wouldn’t.”
Curiosity finally got the better of me. I slid my thumb under the edge of the ribbon and lifted the lid.
My breath caught hard in my throat.
Inside lay a delicate silver chain, the single sapphire pendant catching the light in an overfamiliar way: deep blue at the center, lighter at the edges, like a storm rolling open.
My mother’s necklace.
The one she wore every day of my life. The one I used to fall asleep holding when nightmares kept me up. The one I thought had been lost to the wreckage forever.
My fingers hovered, trembling, before brushing the cool metal. My chest tightened so sharply it felt like something folding inward.
“Where…” My voice cracked, useless. I swallowed and tried again. “Where did you find this?”
Caden’s expression softened into something careful. “When I went looking for that asshole Dave,” he said quietly, “I went by your home. I wanted to see it for myself.” He nodded toward the necklace. “It was on her nightstand.”
I curled my fingers around the pendant, holding it like a lifeline, afraid if I let go it might disappear all over again.
“Thank you,” I whispered. The word felt too small, too thin, useless against the weight of what he’d given back to me. “I—I don’t even know what to say…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Caden replied in the kind of tone meant to hold someone together when they’re starting to come apart.
I blinked hard, forcing back the tears threatening to spill, and lifted my chin to meet his gaze. His eyes were already on me—searching, and strangely soft—as if he was memorizing every shift in my expression.
My fingers tightened around the necklace. “Will you…help me put it on?”
Caden inhaled slowly, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then he nodded once, almost solemnly, as if I’d asked him for something sacred. “It would be my honor.”
I turned slightly, sweeping my hair to one side with trembling hands, and felt the warmth of him behind me, close enough that his breath ghosted over the back of my shoulder as his fingertips brushed lightly against my skin.
He lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the clasp clicking shut with a quiet finality.
“You wear it beautifully,” he murmured, as he turned back to face me.
I smiled at him, eager to lighten the mood. “Careful Colt. I’ll start thinking you’re sweet on me.”
He huffed a laugh. “Let’s not get carried away.”
I shook my head as I reached for my book, then curled up in my chair.
Across from me, Caden watched—quiet, unreadable—until I finally met his gaze.
He winked, the smug bastard, before he reached for his own book and flipped it open with that effortless carelessness only he could make look charming.
For a few blissful minutes, the room fell into an easy silence, exactly like we used to have at Crown. The fire crackled, the Scotch in our glasses waved softly, and I could almost pretend we were simply two people killing time instead of soldiers with an expiration date.
However, as I turned a page, something didn’t add up.
The words weren’t familiar.
The handwriting in the margin definitely wasn’t mine.
I frowned, glancing at the spine.
Of course. I’d grabbed his book.
Oh no. Which meant…
My head snapped up, and I found him staring at me, my book open in his lap, his brow raised. “This is porn.”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the heat in my cheeks. “It’s called smut, Caden. Have some culture.”
He cleared his throat. “Do you read this ‘smut’ often?”
“Define often,” I mumbled under my breath, unwilling to meet his eye.
He tilted his head, studying me with a dark, assessing intensity, like he’d caught me in a lie. “Often would be every time you and I got together to read. At Crown, here at Kanata C.” His gaze flicked pointedly to the book. “Tell me, Thompson. Is this the kind of content you are always devouring?”
“Not always,” I muttered, cheeks still burning, wishing he’d found literally any other book.
His voice dropped lower. “Does this…” his gaze flicked to the book before snapping back to me “Does this affect you?”
“Affect me?” I repeated, frowning.
He shut the book with a quiet snap, laid it on the table, and prowled toward me. His hands gripped the arms of my chair, boxing me in. My back hit the cushion, no room to retreat.
His breath ghosted over my cheek. “You can play dense all you want, but all it does is fry my patience.”
My lungs stuttered, betraying me.
His mouth curved into something dark, and dangerous. “Let me spell it out. While reading your precious smut, while being in the same room as me—all this fucking time—were you aroused?”
The weight of his stare was almost unbearable. He wasn’t asking, he was hunting.
But if pretty boy thought he could out-intimidate me, he’d forgotten who he was dealing with.
I leaned in until my lips brushed his ear and whispered, “Every. Damn. Time.”
He let out a low, primal growl that rumbled through his chest. The sound alone sent a shiver down my spine.
“You really shouldn’t have told me that.”
I blinked a few times, feigning innocence even as my pulse hammered. “Why not?”
His jaw clenched, gaze burning like he was holding himself together by sheer will. He leaned in even closer, the faintest brush of his lips at the edge of my ear.
“Because now,” he said, voice a rasp, “all I can think about is testing just how true that is.”
He pulled back so suddenly I almost gasped. For a heartbeat, I thought he’d walk away altogether. Instead, he turned, picked the book back up from the table, and flipped it open like he was consulting evidence.
His demand was quiet but edged in steel. “Take off your clothes.”
His eyes lifted, pinning me in place. Hunger and challenge burned in them, daring me to call his bluff.
I swallowed hard, pulse ricocheting in my throat. Then, with hands that trembled only slightly, I gripped the hem of my top and pulled it over my head.
He tracked every movement. Slowly. Possessively.
He didn’t reach for me. Didn’t touch. Just stood there, gaze searing into my bare skin until I felt hotter than fire. Then, with maddening calm, he spoke.
“Take your pants off.”