Chapter 31 #2
"Positive," I whispered back, my heart still pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
The memory of that horrific day at the Spring Palace clawed at the edges of my mind, vivid and sharp—but I forced it down, locking it away.
I had no time for fear. Not now. I drew a steadying breath. "He’s a Radical."
"We need to isolate him and interrogate him." Caden’s commanding voice carried a low, deadly rumble.
"He won’t recognize me," I said firmly. I caught the flicker of doubt crossing his face, and added quickly, "I saw him from a distance—he never saw me. If you wait right outside the door, I’ll lead him straight to you."
Caden's gaze flicked to mine, a silent understanding passing between us. He gave me a curt nod, his decision made in an instant.
Without another word, he let go of my arm and disappeared into the shadows as I made my way toward the Radical.
CADEN
I’d never been a stranger to female beauty—hell, I’d spent years chasing it, tasting it, losing myself in it.
I liked women. Loved the way they moved, the way they sounded when I hit just the right spot.
Figuring out what made them melt, what made them beg, had become second nature to me.
A craft I’d honed with time, skill, and a whole lot of willing partners.
But it had been a long time since a woman’s raw sexuality had knocked me off my feet.
That was before Emma walked through the doors in that fucking dress.
Had I noticed she was attractive before? Sure. I clocked it the second we met back at Coastal. But it wasn’t until that night I saw her—really saw her. And then, she went and danced with fucking Petru.
The jealousy came out of nowhere—irrational, feral, and fast. It hit like a punch to the chest, hot and territorial, burning through logic before I could stop it.
For a split second, I wanted to rip him away from her, stake a claim I had no right to make.
I barely managed to shove it down, to wrestle it into submission and stretch the smooth, practiced grin across my face like it hadn't just cracked.
Yeah, female beauty had always been a constant in my life, an everyday reality, but it had never been my downfall. When Emma walked in that night, for the first time ever, I felt like it could be.
I forced my attention back to the conversation, nodding along like I gave a damn, but my ears were tuned to her voice—soft, laughing, speaking to him.
Until he started leading her toward a shadowed corner of the room, and that was it. I closed the distance in two seconds flat, not even thinking—only moving.
After dismissing almost everything I’d said, she couldn’t even find it within herself to stay in my company for longer than a fucking minute. Fine. Whatever.
I pretended to focus on Petru and our chat about his stupid library, but my eyes kept tracking Emma as she moved through the room with the kind of effortless grace that made my teeth clench.
The one that made her look like she belonged here, as if she were meant for this world of polished floors and whispered conversations.
She moved like a fucking swan, gliding through still waters, every step practiced, every shift of her body controlled.
Until she stopped.
The change was instant. Unmistakable.
Her entire body froze—stiff, unyielding—like she’d seen a ghost. She locked onto something—or someone—in the crowd, her breath visibly hitching, her posture snapping so tight she looked seconds from shattering.
What the fuck?
A bolt of unease shot through me, fast and vicious. My chest went tight, and my pulse hammered as I watched the color drain from her face. Whatever she’d seen—whoever she’d seen—it had hit her like a godsdamn freight train.
I scanned the room, cutting through the sea of bodies, searching for the threat. For whatever had shattered her composure so completely.
Nothing. Fucking nothing. Which only made it worse.
My instincts roared. Move.
I surged forward, shoving through the crowd without a second thought, not giving a fuck who I elbowed aside. Was someone here? Watching her? Targeting her? My mind couldn’t keep up with my body—all I knew was I had to reach her. Had to.
Get to her. Get between her and whatever the hell had cracked her open like that.
Fuck this. She was the most powerful maga in the world—she had no one to fear. No reason to need protection, not even mine.
And yet—
It felt like I had to be here.
Like I was the only one keeping her tethered to reality, keeping her from being swallowed whole by whatever had made her forget who the fuck she was.
And why the hell did it feel so right?
“You okay?” The words came out fast, impatient. I needed confirmation.
Then—before I even realized what was happening—she was in my arms, moving with me in a slow, instinctive rhythm.
Her body was still tense, every muscle coiled tight, but it didn’t stop the way her scent wrapped around me, fucking intoxicating.
Sweet, but not in some cheap, overpowering way.
More like fresh-cut pear, laced with something softer, something almost floral—like lilies.
It wasn’t loud, wasn’t begging for attention, but it lingered, subtle and undeniable, making me want to breathe her in.
Holding her this close was… unexpected. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to step back, to put some godsdamn distance between us. But my body—hell, my fucking instincts—betrayed me.
Instead of letting go, I pulled her closer, my hand sliding lower to grip the curve of her waist, fingers digging in just enough to feel her flinch—and then lean.
Her body pressed flush against mine, all soft heat and taut muscle.
She was soft in all the places that made my pulse jackhammer, tense in ways that made me want to strip her down, piece by piece, until she forgot how to hold herself together.
I should have stepped back. Should have created distance before this turned into something neither of us was ready for.
But I didn’t, because for the first time in a long, long time it felt like I wasn’t supposed to.
Like I was meant to hold her like this—close enough to feel the heat of her breath against my throat, close enough to know that if she tilted her chin a fraction higher, our lips would meet.
And fuck me, I wanted to know what it would feel like.
Now, I found myself standing outside the room, looking in, watching Emma flirt with a fucking Radical. She flashed him her stunning smile and gazed up at him through her lashes. I had to hand it to her though; she had him outside the door in under two minutes.
“I think this way we can talk a bit more privately.” I heard her giggle.
The guy followed her like a lost puppy.
As soon as she closed the door behind them, I was on him, emerging from the shadows. He gasped as I seized his throat and slammed him against the wall.
I wasted no time questioning him directly, holding him in place as I delved into his thoughts.
“Spring Palace,” I muttered, sifting through his memories.
He struggled to break free, but he was no match for me. I didn’t even need to use my haze to keep him restrained.
It took me exactly two minutes to extract the intel he had.
It wasn’t much. He was clearly a low-ranking officer sent on a recon mission to Slava.
He had no information on the location of the Amplifier or any other significant intel.
As I waded through his mind, I relayed my lack of findings to Emma.
Once I had everything I needed, I tightened my grip around his windpipe, feeling the pressure build. His eyes widened in terror as his breathing grew labored.
“Wait!” Emma's voice pierced the moment, commanding me without question.
I kept him in my hold but turned my head to look at her. Her face was a mix of determination and something softer—perhaps vulnerability.
She swallowed hard, her focus fixed on the man struggling against me. “He hasn’t wronged you,” she said, her words clear and edged with an intense resolve. “But him and his friends nearly killed me. He’s mine to finish.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. There was no hesitation, no fear in her voice—only cold, calculated intent.
“Do you need me to hold him?” I asked, my tone a mix of curiosity and readiness.
Emma shook her head, her focus locked on the man who was still gasping for air.
I released him, and he collapsed to the floor, clutching at his throat and coughing violently. I stepped back, giving her the space to handle her retribution.
Emma took my place, crouching in front of him with a commanding presence. She grabbed his chin, tilting his head up so he had no choice but to meet her gaze. He didn’t even attempt to flee—trapped in her stare.
I watched her with a mix of fascination and something darker. Her smile was both alluring and menacing, a dangerous curve of her lips promising sweet revenge.
“Do you know who I am?” she whispered, her voice a soft, lethal caress.
He shook his head, his expression wide and pleading for mercy.
Emma leaned in, her body pressing into his with a dangerous, almost seductive intimacy.
His eyes, unable to resist, flicked down toward her chest, and I nearly scratched them out.
But I held back—this was her game, her party.
So I stayed in the background, my jaw tight, unable to look away from her.
“I am your atonement,” she murmured, her breath hot against his ear. Then, with a provocative flick of her tongue, she traced the shell of his ear. He shivered, and a visible reaction betrayed his arousal, the outline of his erection becoming apparent through his pants.
Her hands slid to the back of his neck, her touch deceptively gentle, yet utterly in control. The Radical let out a shaky breath, his head tipping back slightly as his lids fluttered shut, lost in the unexpected pleasure of her touch.
Then, with one swift, decisive motion, she snapped his neck.
His body went slack, collapsing to the floor with a heavy thud.
"That’s for Jack and the other six kids you murdered, asshole,” she hissed, her tone ice-cold. She rose to her feet, and with a deliberate motion, she spat on him.
I was in fucking awe. Who the hell was this woman?
I cleared my throat, feigning boredom. “You done?”
She gave me a curt nod, and I made the body disappear.
A silent understanding settled between us.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
She snorted. “Please, don’t pretend to care.”
I clenched my jaw, my gaze landing on the Skindo tattoo etched into her skin—a stark reminder of who she was, what she had endured, and exactly why she had every right to hate me.
Best if I kept my distance.
"Then I won’t," I said tersely, motioning for her to head back inside, keeping my voice as neutral as I could manage.
Emma and I hardly acknowledged each other the rest of the night, but it didn’t stop me from watching her. Tracking her. Every glance, every subtle shift, every flicker of emotion she refused to show. It wasn’t even intentional—it was instinct.
And every damn time she laughed, every time she brushed against someone else, something in me coiled tight. My jaw clenched harder, the irritation simmering right beneath the surface.
People swarmed around me, drawn in like moths to a flame. They leaned in, eager for my attention, for a glance, for a moment of my time. My presence had always been magnetic. But none of it mattered.
Because she never looked back.
Not once.
It was like I didn’t exist. Like I was just another face in the crowd while she moved through the night, untouchable, unreadable.
And yet, despite everything, despite the way she shut me out so completely…I couldn’t stop watching her.
Couldn’t tear my damn eyes away.