Chapter 39 #2
Saoirse nodded; her eyes distant as she reminisced. “With good reason. If sex were a marketable talent, he’d be the richest man alive. I still imagine his hands on my body when I play with myself at night.”
Rocco’s jaw dropped. “Can I please volunteer as tribute again?”
Sean gave him another playful punch.
I smiled, arching a brow as I looked back at Saoirse. “So, if he’s that amazing in bed, why are you talking about him in the past tense? Did he run out of tricks, or something?”
Saoirse’s smile faltered. “I tried to hook up with him a few times these past few months, but he turned me down every single time.”
“No way!” I said, genuinely surprised. Turning to Sean, I jabbed a finger in his direction. “Why on earth would he pass up someone as awesome and hot as Saoirse? Is he clinically insane?”
Sean shrugged, clearly a little uncomfortable. “Hell if I know.”
I turned back to Saoirse, curiosity tugging at me. “Any clue why he’s suddenly gone total monk-mode?”
Saoirse sighed, then ran a hand through her hair. “Not really. It’s like he’s built this invisible wall around himself. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not just with me. As far as I’ve heard, he hasn’t been with anyone in almost six months.”
Rocco swirled his drink lazily. “Maybe he thinks if he ignores everyone long enough, he’ll evolve into a tragic antihero,” he mused. “We should check if he’s narrating his own life in third person.”
I chuckled. “Or he tried to process his emotions and accidentally opened a black hole.”
Saoirse and the others laughed, and the conversation drifted to other topics. But Caden’s sudden distance lingered in my mind, and I made a mental note to ask him about it next time we were alone.
It was after midnight when Emile and Enya returned from their joint mission to the Manor.
By then, Saoirse and I were stupid drunk, while Sean and Rocco had switched to water. Which she and I should’ve done as well but didn’t.
At quarter to one, Saoirse and I were laughing hysterically with some lame-ass joke over a Russian leprechaun, when Caden’s sense of urgency overflooded our Nexuses. Nexi? This Latin shit was tripping me up.
“Shit,” Sean grumbled, “Caden needs us at the command center. We need to go.”
Rocco tried to help Saoirse and I to our feet but gravity was not working in our favor.
Then, Saoirse burped so loud it echoed all the way through the Highlands, and I doubled over with laughter.
She grabbed my arm and linked it with hers, trying to keep me upright. Staring at her, I noticed her mascara had smudged and was hanging in droopy streaks. While attempting to fix it, I accidentally poked her in the eye.
Which was the last straw. We rolled onto the ground laughing, grabbing our stomachs as we did.
Rocco sighed in comical defeat.
“Stay with them,” Sean instructed, his tone firm but tinged with amusement, “I’ll go find out if they’re really needed.”
Time was nothing but a big blur. I had absolutely no idea how much of it had passed between Caden’s nex and Sean’s departure, when out of nowhere, a green portal appeared with a very angry Caden storming through.
By then, Saoirse and I were sprawled on the ground, the laughter from earlier giving way to a more subdued, yet deeply educational discussion on the “anatomy of stars.”
“No, that’s not a bear,” I slurred, squinting up at the sky. “That’s a Pooh bear.”
Saoirse frowned, tilting her head. “I think you’re confusing it with the poo star.”
“You mean the pole star?” I asked, trying to focus.
“Pole?” Saoirse raised a brow. “Why is it called a pole star? That’s so weird. There are no poles in the sky.”
“But there is poo?” I asked, utterly confused.
“What?” Saoirse looked at me, puzzled.
“Never mind,” I said with a grin, as the stars continued their silent dance above us. So pretty.
“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” a deep voice suddenly boomed over us.
“Oh my gods,” I yelled, completely oblivious to the seriousness in his demeanor. “Saoirse, look! It’s Caden! Caden’s here!”
I tried to push myself up from the ground, but again, gravity was not my friend.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Caden grumbled. Before I could react, his strong arms swept beneath me, lifting me effortlessly off the ground.
The world tilted as my feet left the floor, and then, I was pressed firmly against his chest. “Rocco, grab Saoirse. Bring her to her quarters and for the love of all the gods, get some water in her.”
With Caden holding me so close, the subtle scent of blackcurrant, smoke, and Scotch filled my senses, mingling with something unmistakably Caden—raw, masculine, and achingly familiar.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and stared at his face.
“You know, you are kind of beautiful,” I purred, then giggled before planting a kiss on his cheek.
Caden’s eyes darkened to a smoldering shade, and a shiver ran through me as I realized I might have been treading on thin ice.
But then again, I was never much for ice-skating.
Caden shook his head as he carried me through his portal, landing us right outside my room. I gazed up at him, feeling his heart thundering against his chest, then nuzzled my face in his neck.
“Saoirse told me you are a beast in bed,” I said dreamily against his ear, blissfully unaware of how much I would regret these words once I sobered up.
His body went rigid, his muscles tightening under my touch. “Emma,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through me. “Open the door to your room and shut the fuck up, please.”
I giggled again, then extended my haze to open the door. “Did you know,” I continued, ignoring his request, “you have to curl your fingers inside when you finger a woman?”
Caden’s jaw clenched so hard it almost popped, the muscle working under his skin as he guided us to the center of the room.
“I didn’t know that. Saoirse taught me that,” I added cheerfully, my words slurring slightly as I leaned into him.
With a possessive grip, Caden laid me down onto the bed, his fingers firm against my skin. Then he slowly stepped away, gaze locked on mine—dark, intense, and edged with something almost predatory. The kind that made my pulse spike.
I could hear his breath coming in rough, uneven pulls. Every inch of him radiated restraint, his chest rising and falling with the weight of it.
“What do you mean, Saoirse taught you that?” he asked, voice low and frayed at the edges. There was no mistaking the hunger in his tone—or the way it made my skin light up.
I pushed myself up on my elbows, eyes fixed on him. Gods, he was gorgeous. And right now, completely wrecked by whatever fire I’d stirred in him.
I giggled again, feeling the rush of adrenaline and alcohol mixing together. “You like that idea? The whole girl-on-girl thing? And Saoirse’s pretty too. I wouldn’t mind trying it with her…”
My voice drifted off, the words trailing into haze as the room tilted gently, intoxication pulling me somewhere soft and slippery.
Caden’s entire body tensed, muscles flexing like a loaded trap. But then—restraint. He forced a breath, jaw tight, knuckles whitening at his sides. “You’re drunk,” he muttered, almost like he needed to say it out loud to stop himself.
I rose to my feet, slow and unsteady, stepping into his space. “Only catching on now, huh? Well, you might be hot, but you’re not that quick…”
He moved.
So fast I couldn’t register it—only air and motion and then wall. My back slammed against it, his body pinning me in place. Hard, overwhelming, deliberate.
Heat surged through me. Not the hazy kind—this was sharp, electric, breath-stealing. His hips ground into mine, anchoring me there like he was daring me to push back.
I couldn’t.
His arms caged me in, his body pressing so close it felt like we shared a heartbeat. His breath hit my skin in hot, ragged bursts. His lips hovered a whisper from my own, not touching—tormenting.
His eyes were almost black with need. Not playful. Not safe. Consuming.
“Call me hot. One. More. Fucking. Time,” he growled, each word low and lethal, like it came from somewhere deep in his chest. The sound of it hit me lower than I wanted to admit.
A shiver raced down my spine.
I swallowed, hard. The fog of alcohol evaporated under the weight of him. “I… I’m sorry,” I whispered, suddenly unsure where the line was—where we were.
Something flickered in his features—something softer. Almost regret. But it vanished before I could name it.
He inhaled slowly, a long breath through clenched teeth, then stepped back. The loss of his body against mine felt like a slap. Cold air rushed in where his heat had been.
Without another word, he turned his back to me, the air between us still charged, like the silent hush before lightning strikes.
I sat back down on the bed, feeling a wave of disorientation and regret. My head spun from both the alcohol and the emotional rollercoaster we’d just been through. I rubbed my lids, trying to clear the fog clinging to my mind.
“I didn’t mean to make things awkward,” I said, struggling to articulate my thoughts. “I guess I didn’t think things through.”
There was no response from him.
“Caden?” I whispered, reaching out to catch his attention.
He turned back around, his eyes now their usual warm color, but his stare was as cold as ice.
I shivered at the stark contrast. The Caden I had known these past few weeks—kind, supportive, and unexpectedly friendly—seemed to have vanished, replaced by the First Offensive I had first encountered, capable of torturing maga’s like me for the good of his people.
I swallowed hard again, as I tried to steady my racing heart.
“Can you heal yourself sober?” he asked, the words dry and clipped.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. My throat was tight with apprehension. “I can try.”
“Then try,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.
I nodded and focused, pushing aside the lingering haze of intoxication. I envisioned my body as clear and sober, my mind sharp and alert. It took a few minutes of concentrated effort, but gradually, I felt the alcohol’s grip on my senses begin to dissolve.
Fun fact about healing drunkenness: you get to keep every single memory.
Caden’s next words were swift and authoritative. “I need you in the command center. Now. You’ve made us late. I’ll give you two minutes to fix yourself up, but I expect you fully dressed in Offensive attire.”
Before I could even react or gather my thoughts, he portaled out, leaving me alone in the room. The abruptness of his departure was like a slap to the face, leaving me with a mix of confusion, guilt, and a rush of urgency. And fear.
Fear I’d irrevocably broken something which, as it turned out, I desperately needed.