Chapter 19 #2
“You were making these little sounds in your sleep,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky register. “Like you were having the best dream. I just wanted to make it real.”
Anger flares through me, cutting through the lingering pleasure. “That’s not your decision to make.”
Something shifts in his expression—not quite remorse, but a flicker of understanding. “You’re right. I should have woken you first.”
His admission catches me off guard. I expected him to argue, to justify his actions.
“Yes, you should have,” I say, clutching the sheet tighter around me. “Where are my pants?”
“On the floor.” He gestures toward the foot of the bed. “You kicked them off in your sleep.”
I narrow my eyes. “I did not.”
A grin spreads across his face, unrepentant. “No, you didn’t. I took them off. But you didn’t stop me.”
“Because I was asleep?”
“And begging for it.” He leans closer, a dark light in his eyes. “You’re in my bed, in a nest I made for you, and making these gorgeous little sighs and moans as you were grinding up against me. If you whisper my name in my sleep, then I’m going to respond in kind.”
I’m already shaking my head, refusing to believe it even as his words awaken a distant dream-like memory. “I didn’t do that.”
“You did.” He gestures to our position in the bed. A dent in the pillow is the only evidence that I’d started the night on the other side. “I woke up with you on top of me, with your thigh rubbing up and down on my dick like you were practically begging me to do something about it.”
“You’re lying.”
His jaw works, an expression that is equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Fine. I’ll prove it to you.”
Ares jumps out of bed with athletic grace. I immediately look away when I realize he’s completely naked, his muscular form on full display without a hint of modesty.
“What are you doing?” I clutch the sheet tighter around myself.
“Come on,” he says, gesturing toward the door as casually as if he were fully dressed. “I’ll show you.”
His complete lack of self-consciousness is almost as unsettling as his nudity. He stands there, perfectly at ease in his skin, waiting for me to follow.
“Put some clothes on first,” I hiss.
He shrugs. “Why? Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“Ares!”
“Fine, princess. Hold on.” He grabs a pair of sweatpants from a drawer and pulls them on, leaving his chest bare. “Better?”
Not really, but it’s an improvement. I wrap the sheet around myself like a makeshift dress before stumbling after him, my legs still unsteady from what just happened.
The apartment is quiet as we move through it. Early morning light filters through the windows, suggesting everyone else is still asleep. I’m grateful for that small mercy—I don’t need an audience for whatever this is.
Ares leads me to a room I haven’t seen before. It’s smaller than I expected, dominated by a large terminal with multiple screens arranged in a semicircle. The blue glow from the monitors casts eerie shadows across the walls.
“Sit,” he commands, pointing to the single chair in front of the terminal.
I hesitate, but curiosity wins out. As I settle into the chair, Ares looms behind me, reaching around to tap a passcode into the keypad.
His bare chest presses against my back, radiating heat through the thin sheet.
His scent—bourbon, chocolate, and something distinctly male—envelops me, making it hard to focus on anything else.
“Watch,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
The screens flicker to life, displaying various rooms of the apartment from different angles. I recognize Logan’s bedroom, the living area, the kitchen, and several hallways. My stomach drops as I realize what I’m seeing.
“You have cameras everywhere?” I ask, horrified and fascinated at once.
“Security system. Standard protocol. Only we have access to feeds from this apartment.” His fingers fly across the keyboard, pulling up a specific feed. “There we go.”
The timestamp in the corner is from a few hours ago. The image shows Ares’s bedroom—the same nest of blankets I’d been sleeping in. I watch myself toss and turn before gradually shifting across the bed until I’m pressed against Ares’s sleeping form.
My cheeks burn as I see myself throw a leg over his, my body seeking his warmth even in sleep. Worse, I can see my hips making small, rhythmic movements against his thigh.
“See?” Ares’s voice is smug in my ear. “You came to me.”
I want to deny it, but the evidence is right there on the screen. My unconscious body betraying me in the most humiliating way possible.
“That doesn’t give you permission to—“ I start, but my voice falters as the on-screen version of me nuzzles closer to him.
“Listen,” he says, turning up the volume.
A soft moan comes through the speakers—my voice, unmistakably, followed by a whispered word that makes my blood burn.
“ Ares , please.”
I stare at the screen, mortified as the evidence of my unconscious desire plays out before me. My throat tightens, making it hard to breathe as I watch myself seek out Ares’s warmth, my body acting on instincts I’ve been fighting since the moment I arrived at the palace.
“Turn it off,” I whisper, unable to watch anymore.
Ares reaches around me, his arm brushing mine as he taps a key. The screens go dark, but the image is burned into my memory.
“That still doesn’t make what you did okay,” I say, turning to face him. The sheet slips down my waist, and I clutch it tighter. “My body reacting while I’m unconscious doesn’t equal consent.”
Something shifts in his expression—a flicker of actual remorse. “You’re right.”
His admission catches me off guard. I expected more smugness, more justification.
“I am?”
“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his curls, suddenly looking less sure of himself. “I got carried away. I thought...” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I should have woken you up first.”
The sincerity in his voice throws me off balance. This version of Ares—vulnerable, admitting fault—is more dangerous than his usual cocky self. It makes him seem human, relatable. Someone I could actually care about.
I can’t afford that.
“Just don’t do it again,” I say, standing up. The movement brings me closer to him in the small room, our bodies nearly touching.
“I won’t.” His eyes darken as they travel down my sheet-covered form. “At least, not until you ask me to.”
The question hangs between us, heavy with possibility. Part of me—the traitorous, primal part—wants to say yes, to lean into the heat building between us. To let myself have this one thing that feels good, even if it’s wrong.
But I remember my purpose. I’m here to survive, to find a way out. Getting entangled with Ares would only complicate things further.
“Don’t hold your breath,” I say, stepping around him toward the door.
His low chuckle follows me. “I’m not like Logan. Taking more than you’re offering doesn’t really interest me at this point, not when all we have is time to make this work. I want you to actually want me.”
The slightly stricken note in his voice makes me turn to look at him. But by the time I see his face, whatever emotion he might have revealed is carefully hidden behind a sardonic smirk.
“Ares…” I trail off because I have no idea what to say.
“I’m willing to wait until you come to me,” he says softly. “Something tells me it won’t be as long as you think.”
I’m saved from responding as his attention returns to the terminal and he shuts down the monitors that still display video feeds from around the apartment.
The existence of the cameras doesn’t surprise me, even if the audio capability makes the invasion of privacy that much worse.
Of course, they would monitor every inch of this gilded cage, recording our most intimate moments without consent.
It’s exactly the kind of violation I’ve come to expect from this pack, this palace, this life.
They control everything—my heat, my body, my future—why not my privacy too?
But a warmth spreads through my chest at Ares’s words about waiting for me, about wanting me to want him. The sincerity in his voice was unexpected, almost believable. For a moment, I allow myself to feel the pleasure of being desired on my terms, not just claimed or taken.
I know that feeling is a weakness that Ares will eventually figure out how to exploit.
Which is why I do my best to ignore the heat of his skin where it meets my bare shoulders or the comforting sweet decadence of his scent surrounding me, as I watch him fiddle with the terminal.
I need to focus on something significantly more important.
Like committing his passcode to memory.