Chapter 16 #3
“Chase it?” Sava shakes her head. “He was raised in it, created because of it. One decision, and there was no other fate for him.” Sava studies me like she’s weighing something.
“I’m sure to an extent he’s trying to protect you from the rotten he knows exists in this fucked up world.
But more than that, he’s trying to let you keep your free will. ”
“My free will?”
“The choice to stay. If you learn too much, that choice will be taken from you.”
“I want to know anyway.”
She comes around to sit across from me, close enough that I catch the thin scar near her jaw. She doesn’t blink when she speaks. “Cassius loves his knife. He cuts what the law can’t touch. They feed him intel, and he turns it into blood.”
“He works for the police?”
“No,” she says, her tone suddenly sharp. “This is much deeper than any one thing. Plus, Cassius doesn’t answer to anyone, except his brothers.” Her gaze flicks to my left hand. “And, well, you.”
Goosebumps rise on my arms. “And you?”
She leans back, expression unreadable. “I’m not part of this war.”
“You’re lying.”
Sava smiles, but it’s the saddest thing I’ve seen all day. “Yes. But my story is one for another day.”
I turn the mug between my palms. “Can I ask you something that isn’t about Spiderweb?”
She nods.
“I understand more than he thinks I do,” I say, choosing each word like a stepping stone. “Not everything. But enough. I don’t know how to tell him that without making it worse. He’s a man who hates not already knowing.”
Sava’s mouth tips, not quite a smile. “That isn’t a question.”
“You’re impossible.”
“He was raised to anticipate,” she says. “Unknowns read as threats to him.”
“I’m not a threat.”
“No,” she says. “You’re more dangerous to him than a threat.”
A draft slides under the door; the curtain lifts and settles.
I keep my eyes on the mug. I want to ask her how I could possibly be more dangerous to him than an actual threat, but my desire to tell Cassius the truth takes priority.
“How do you share a secret with someone who will see it as a weapon? As a lie.”
“The longer you don’t tell him,” Sava says. “The more he’ll have to be angry about.”
I look up.
“Tell him there’s a part of you he hasn’t met yet,” she goes on. Bolo-hat tips his brim, voting yes. “Name what you need from him to hear it—no fixing, no hunting, no turning it into a mission, or whatever. Just listening.” She taps the rim of her cup.
“And the timing?”
“Not when he’s bloody,” she laughs and I stick my tongue out at this absolutely infuriating woman. “Tell him you’re going to say a thing that doesn’t change how you feel about him, but might change how he moves around you.”
“And if he doesn’t believe me?”
“Give him time,” she says. “People like us don’t do well with change. It’s never been kind. He may need a bit to swallow whatever this secret is, that I assume you aren’t going to share with me. But, he will come around.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that man would end the world to keep you breathing,” Sava says softly. “Cassius,” A beat. “He loves you.”
Her words make me think about when I was a kid and would step out of a cold shower, wrapped in a fluffy towel and have to fight Nathan to stand in front of the gas heater.
That first flicker of warmth, normal breath returns, and the world snaps back into color.
The jealousy I was clutching slips through my fingers.
I want her beside me, but Sava is steel and I’m still learning not to shake.
Women like her don’t choose women like me.
But I’m going to try anyway. Believe, for once, that not everyone walks away like Mila.
I nod once, a vow she didn’t ask me to make.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll tell him.”
Sava lifts her mug in a small, solemn toast. “Good.”
But the word echoes, and doubt threads in after it.
I believe Cassius is obsessed with me. Feral, relentless.
Is that love? And what about this ache under my ribs, the way my bones tilt toward him like they’ve been magnetized—does that count as love?
I ache for him like I’ve swallowed a shooting star.
Fire is warm until it eats your house. Can a thing that starts this wild keep living when it has to be quiet?
When it’s breakfasts and bad days, and his knife is sheathed and the lights are on?
I want to think yes. I want to think we’re the kind that lasts.
But wanting and knowing aren’t the same, and I don’t know yet.
I cup the heat of my mug and make two promises I can keep: tell him the truth, and keep saying yes—until the feeling either steadies into something that survives daylight, or it doesn’t.
And if it doesn’t, I’m not sure there’ll be enough of me left to crawl out of the ash.
Hours and egg rolls later, we’re half-asleep at opposite ends of the couch, the X-Files theme buzzing low from the TV.
It’s a perfect Saturday night. I don’t know when babysitter officially became friend.
Somewhere between her die hard Mulder and Scully commentary and her giving me the last crab rangoon without me asking, her eyes changed, and we crossed into friendship territory.
A hard, insistent pounding snaps both of us upright. Sava lifts her lit phone to show six in the morning. I will have Cassius kill whoever visits this early on a Sunday.
Sava is already moving, silent, efficient, palming the remote to kill the sound, sliding to her feet. Her eyes cut to me, then down the hall.
“You don’t want to be seen?” I whisper.
“Not by them.” She jogs toward the guest room and the latch clicks once. I wipe sleep from my face and open the door. Three men stand on the threshold like a gang of fallen angels who forgot their halos.
Adrian—tall, broad, and stiller than death. A scent of leather and citrus. He tilts his head the moment I open the door. He steps inside first, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, nostrils flaring like a freaking bloodhound.
“There’s a smell,” he murmurs.
Caleb steps up beside him, lightly touching his elbow. “It’s probably her shampoo or perfume or something. You're just adjusting to it not smelling like it usually does.”
Adrian ignores him. “Familiar. Not recent…” He trails off, brow furrowing, lips parting like he’s about to say something more, but he doesn’t. He shakes his head and moves toward the couch.
Adrian speaks again, quieter this time. “The scent’s in the cushions.”
“What?” I ask, heart thudding.
He shakes his head again, brows pulled together. “Nothing. Just reminds me of someone.”
“Well, it’s just me here,” I lie, too quickly. The house holds its breath. Somewhere down the hall, a floorboard doesn’t dare creak.
Caleb grins at me like I’m a puzzle he’s already halfway solved. Golden-boy charm, with a mouth that was probably born smirking. And Atlas… God help me. He’s holding a coffee in one hand and a box of donuts in the other.
“We brought bribes.”
I deflect. “Cassius isn’t back yet.”
“We know,” Caleb says, plopping onto the couch like he lives here. “We came for you.”
“Me?”
“You’re Cassius’s,” Atlas says with a wink. “And he’s like talking to a wet blanket so maybe we’ll get more fun out of you.”
“She’d know better than to tell us anything Cassius hasn’t,” Adrian adds, his voice lower now. “Wouldn’t you, Melinda?”
I don’t know what to say to that. The reverence in Adrian’s voice steals the breath from my throat.
“Ignore him,” Caleb says, biting into a powdered donut. “We just want to get to know you better.”
I laugh, nervous. “I'm not sure what you expected.”
“We never expected you,” Caleb answers, easy smile not quite hiding the worry.
Adrian’s thumb taps his cane. “He’s always been a lone wolf.”
“He keeps us safe, keeps our hands clean,” Atlas adds, stealing my remote and setting the volume to barely audible.
I wrap my fingers around my mug. “And that’s bad?”
“He looks at you like you’re responsible for his every breath,” Caleb says. “Without you, there’s no oxygen. We’re adjusting.”
Adrian’s face doesn’t move, but his voice softens a fraction. “We’re protective of him, Melinda. If you break his heart, he won’t sulk. He’ll eviscerate.”
“Or worse,” Caleb mutters.
My stomach tightens. I’m suddenly aware of every word, every breath. “I didn’t ask for this,” I say, steady as I can. “If it were up to me, we might’ve met slower and without all the blood. But I’m not sorry it happened. And I don’t have plans to walk away.”
Caleb studies me, nods like he’s filing that somewhere important. “Good.”
Adrian inclines his head. “Then we’ll do everything we can on our end to keep you safe.”
Atlas flicks a glance at the hallway. “And keep him from slicing anyone who looks at you into tiny bits.”
Despite myself, I laugh. The room loosens by degrees. The donut box migrates toward me. Somewhere between Caleb showing me photos of his newest furniture creations and my third donut hole, my shoulders unknot.
Monday morning, when I come downstairs, they’re still here.
Adrian at the stove like a statue that learned to scramble eggs, Caleb buttering toast and stealing bites, and Atlas flipping through channels with the sound off.
It’s strange, walking out of a bedroom that’s mine, sort of mine, and finding these men using a kitchen that’s also supposed to be mine.
The dead keep to the doorway. Bolo-Hat tips his brim and studies their profiles with a look I read as pride. The others hover behind him, unsure whether to fear heaven or hell, because the jury is still out on what kind of angels the Ashenhearts are.
“Good morning,” I say, pouring coffee.
“Good morning, Melinda,” they answer, almost in unison.
“Does Logan have the day off?”
“No. He’ll be here to drive you to work,” Adrian answers. “We thought we’d keep you company until then.”
I dare to hope. “Will Cassius actually be home today?”