90. Alden
Alden
S carlett didn’t say much—just reached for her half-full glass, drained it like water, then muttered, “I need air.”
The curve of her mouth didn’t match the words. It was too sly. Too sharp.
She didn’t wait for a reaction. Just turned and walked off into the shadows beyond the torches, her hips swaying like she knew damn well I’d follow.
I hesitated maybe three seconds.
Long enough for Kane to lift his brows and shoot me a look that screamed seriously?
Long enough for Trace to glance down the path, gripping his drink like it physically hurt not to go after her.
Long enough for Brielle to smirk and whisper something under her breath.
Then I stood.
Didn’t say a word.
Didn’t need to.
Rhett huffed. “And here we go.”
I followed.
The night was warm—too warm. The path dipped and narrowed, crushed shell and gravel crunching beneath my boots. I spotted her ahead, just past a bend, lit only by slats of moonlight slicing through palm leaves overhead. She wasn’t walking fast. Just fast enough to make me work for it.
I caught up to her near a clearing.
“You want company or am I just the poor bastard you hoped would take the hint?”
Scarlett didn’t stop walking, but her tone was pure tease. “Took you long enough.”
“I was trying to be polite.”
She glanced back over her shoulder, hair falling like a golden curtain against her bare back. “You’re terrible at polite.”
“Yeah?” I stepped closer, my hand brushing hers. “You knew I’d follow.”
“I was counting on it.”
We were off the path now, deep enough that the firelight from the villas barely touched the clearing. The only sound was the rustle of trees and the faint crash of waves on the shore below.
She finally stopped, spun to face me. “You ever feel like your blood’s not yours?”
The question hit harder than it should’ve. Her voice had dropped, suddenly serious, but her eyes were burning.
I took a step closer. “Every day since I met you.”
Scarlett tilted her head. “You gonna kiss me, Alden?”
“You planning on letting me?”
Her answer was a single step backward—her spine met the bark of a tree, and her chin lifted in a silent dare.
I didn’t answer with words.
I closed the distance in a blink, my hands bracing on either side of her head, body flush against hers. Her breath hitched. Mine was gone.
Scarlett kissed like she was claiming me.
I let her.
She tangled her fingers in my shirt, dragging me closer until there was nothing between us but friction and memory and need.
She broke the kiss only long enough to gasp, “Don’t you dare hold back.”
Her back hit the bark, and she pulled me in like gravity—hands in my hair, nails scraping my neck. She kissed like she was angry, like I’d made her wait too long.
Maybe I had.
I dragged my hand down her thigh, lifting until she hitched her leg around my waist. She didn't falter—just gripped tighter, mouth parting against mine as I pressed her harder into the tree. The rough bark scraped against her spine, and still, she didn’t flinch.
Scarlett didn’t break. She demanded.
Her other leg wrapped around me, and I caught her weight without hesitation. She was already pulling at my shirt, shoving it up like it was in the way—and it was. Everything was.
I yanked her dress up, not caring if it tore.
“Tell me you want this,” I breathed against her jaw.
She bit down on my shoulder and whispered, “I fucking need this.”
That was all it took.
I unzipped my pants, not stopping for breath, for thought, for any of the rules I used to live by. She was fire and thunder and the taste of something I’d craved longer than I admitted, and I was already gone.
When I pushed into her, her head fell back against the tree with a gasp—loud, unfiltered, mine.
I stilled, just for a second, forehead pressed to hers.
Her voice was ragged. “Don’t stop.”
I didn’t.
We moved like we’d done this before in another life—clothes half-on, her fingers locked behind my neck, my hands bruising her thighs. Each thrust deeper, rougher. Every noise she made pulled one out of me.
And when she clenched around me, biting my shoulder to keep from screaming, I came undone—buried inside her, throat raw from her name.
We stayed there, breathless, tangled, skin damp with sweat and sea air and something else—something ancient.
The bond flared again.
Hot. Real.
Scarlett trembled against me.
“You felt that,” I said quietly.
She didn’t answer, just nodded once and kept her face hidden in my neck.
I didn’t let go of her right away.
Her cheek pressed to mine, chest still rising fast. Her thighs gripped my hips like she didn’t want the space either.
“You okay?” I asked.
Scarlett exhaled through her nose. “Do I look okay?”
I waited.
Then she huffed and nudged her head against mine, softer now. “That’s not a no.”
I pulled back just enough to see her face—flushed, messy, beautiful. She brushed her hair behind her ear like it mattered, like I hadn’t just watched her come apart under the moonlight.
Her voice was quieter. “I needed that.”
I kissed her forehead, the top of her cheekbone. “I know.”
“No, I mean—” She looked down, adjusting her dress. “—not just that. I needed to feel something that wasn’t… chaos. Just for a second.”
I stepped back, letting her slide down my body until her feet hit the dirt again. She winced, smoothing her dress back over her hips.
“I don’t know what the hell is happening to me,” she muttered. “The bracelet, the bond. The dreams. All of it. And now Brielle waltzes in like we’re in some kind of spy novel and none of you have a straight answer.”
I didn’t defend us. Couldn’t.
She ran a hand through her hair again, frustrated. “So if we’re bonded—if this is real, whatever this is—we might as well start figuring out how to live with it.”
“Live with it?” I echoed, raising a brow.
She smirked, biting her bottom lip. “Share.”
I blinked.
Scarlett tilted her head, watching my face. “You gonna pretend you’re not obsessed with me?”
I tensed—but not the way I used to. I stepped closer, brushing her hair off her shoulder again.
“No. I’m not pretending anything.”
Her voice turned quieter. “You think Trace will lose his mind?”
“He already has.”
That got a laugh out of her.
And for a second, just a second, it felt normal again.
She glanced toward the villa, then back at the glow of the dinner table in the distance. “We should probably go back before someone sends a search party.”
“They definitely heard you,” I said.
“Good.”
She started walking, then turned over her shoulder. “Coming?”
I followed without hesitation.
Because whatever this was—chaos, curse, bond—I was already in it.
And I wasn’t letting her go.