Chapter 27 #2
At some point in the night, he pulled me close. At some point, the careful distance collapsed. His body curves around mine now, one leg tangled with mine, his arm tight across my stomach like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe. The stillness feels too precious to break.
His hand is splayed across my belly, fingers spread wide. Through the thin fabric of my shirt, I can feel the heat of his palm, the rough calluses on his fingertips. Each slow breath he takes presses his chest more firmly against my back.
I turn carefully, mindful of my aching muscles, and freeze.
He’s asleep. Actually asleep.
His shirt is gone—discarded at some point in the night.
The morning light catches the scars mapping his chest and shoulders, silver lines against bronze skin telling stories of battles I don’t know.
His face has softened in sleep, the perpetual tension in his jaw released, the furrow between his brows smoothed away.
His lashes are darker than I expected, long against his cheeks.
I’ve never seen him like this. Guard down. Defenses lowered. Vulnerable.
Something dangerous twists in my chest. Something that feels too much like longing.
I let my gaze trace the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle across his abdomen. The scars—so many scars. A thick one curves around his ribs. Another slashes across his collarbone. Evidence of a life spent fighting, protecting, bleeding for others.
My fingers itch to touch. To trace those silver lines and learn their stories.
His eyes open.
No drowsy transition. No confusion. Just Dane, instantly alert, steel-gray eyes locked on mine. Watching me watch him.
“You’re staring,” he says, voice rough with sleep. The sound of it—low, graveled—does something to my insides.
“You’re shirtless.”
“It’s my bed.”
“Fair point.”
Neither of us moves to create distance. His arm is still around my waist, my body still pressed against his. I can feel his heartbeat against my palm where my hand rests on his chest. Steady. Strong. Faster than it should be.
The silence stretches, thick with everything unsaid. I should move. Go back to my cabin. Rebuild the walls between us.
I don’t.
“You stayed,” I say instead.
His jaw tightens. “You needed watching.”
“Is that all?”
His eyes search my face, dark and unreadable. “What do you want me to tell you, Nova?”
“The truth.”
“The truth.” He laughs, soft and humorless. “The truth is I couldn’t leave. Couldn’t make myself walk out that door. Couldn’t stop touching you long enough to—“ He cuts himself off, looks away.
My hand slides up his chest, over his shoulder, to the side of his neck. I feel his pulse jump beneath my fingers. “Long enough to what?”
He looks back at me, and the heat in his eyes makes my breath catch. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Maybe I want to burn.”
Something snaps.
His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back, and then his mouth is on mine. The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s every moment of tension between us breaking in a single, devastating collision. He kisses me like he’s starving for it, like he’s been holding himself back by a thread that finally frayed.
Pain flares through my battered body—and I don’t care. I match him beat for beat, my hands sliding over his bare shoulders, down his back, feeling the muscles flex beneath my palms. Every movement costs me, and I pay it gladly.
The weight of him presses me into the mattress. Solid. Real. Right. His hips settle between my thighs, and I feel exactly how much he wants this—hard length pressed against my core, even through layers of fabric.
“Dane.” His name comes out breathless.
His mouth trails down my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear. “Tell me to stop.”
“No.”
He groans against my skin, hips rolling against mine in a motion that makes me gasp. My back arches, pressing closer, needing more.
My shirt rides up as his hands explore—calloused fingers tracing fire along my ribs, my waist, the curve of my hip. Each touch sends sparks cascading through my body, pooling low in my belly.
“Off,” I manage, tugging at my shirt. “I need—“
He helps me pull it over my head, then goes still. His eyes sweep over me—bare skin, heaving chest, the violet shimmer of magic still pulsing faintly beneath my flesh. The hunger in his gaze makes me feel powerful. Wanted.
“God, Nova.” The words come out reverent. Wrecked.
He lowers his head, mouth tracing a path from my collarbone to the swell of my breast. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him closer as sensation spirals through me. His hand slides up my thigh, and I shift restlessly beneath him, aching for more contact.
“Please,” I whisper.
He freezes.
Then pulls back, breathing hard, expression torn.
“We can’t,” he says, voice wrecked. “Not while you’re—“
“I’m fine.” I reach for him, trying to pull him back down. “I’m more than fine, I’m—“
“You’re still healing.” He catches my wrists, pins them gently to the pillow above my head. The position should feel restraining. Instead, it makes heat coil tighter in my belly. “Your magic isn’t stable. If you lose control during—“ He closes his eyes, jaw tight. “I won’t risk hurting you.”
“You won’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know that.” He opens his eyes, and the raw concern there cuts through my frustration. “I felt your magic surge just now. Felt it sparking under your skin. If that destabilizes while we’re—“ He shakes his head. “I’m not taking that chance. Not with you.”
I want to argue. Want to tell him I’ve never felt more alive, more present in my body, than I do right now with his weight pressing me into the mattress. But the concern in his eyes stops me. He’s not rejecting me. He’s protecting me—even from himself.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He releases my wrists, rolls onto his back beside me. Both of us stare at the ceiling, breathing hard. The distance between us feels like miles now, cold air rushing into the space his body left behind.
“Dane.”
“Yeah?” His voice is still rough.
“Stay anyway.”
He turns his head to look at me. I shift closer, pressing my back against his side. After a moment, his arm wraps around me, pulling me close. I settle against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath my ear.
We lie there as the light strengthens, letting our breathing slow. Not the end of something. Not quite the beginning. Just a moment, suspended.
Finally, I turn in his arms to face him. His eyes track every shift in my expression, still dark with banked heat.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
His brow furrows. “For?”
“Knowing when to stop. Even when I didn’t want you to.” I trace a scar on his chest, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch. “Even when I still don’t want you to.”
Something flickers in his gaze—surprise, maybe. Understanding. His arm tightens around my waist, one brief squeeze, then releases.
“When you’re healed,” he says, voice low. A promise.
Heat curls through me. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“I’m counting on it.”
I start to slide from the bed, legs unsteady for entirely different reasons now.
His hand catches my wrist. Not pulling. Just holding.
“Stay,” he says. “We’ll face them together.”
I look at him—morning stubble darkening his jaw, hair rumpled, scars silver in the pale light. Still shirtless. Still looking at me like he wants to drag me back down and finish what we started.
“The pack—“
“Can wait five more minutes.” His thumb traces circles on my pulse point. “Get dressed. We walk out together.”
Not a request. A statement.
I hold his gaze for a moment longer, letting him see everything I’m feeling—the want, the gratitude, the something deeper I’m not ready to name.
“Okay. Together,” I agree.