Chapter 39 Mila
Mila
Location: Abandoned Fishing Shelter — Adriatic Coast
By the time we reach the structure, I’m done pretending it doesn’t hurt.
The small fishing shelter sits tucked between jagged rock and brush, half-hidden from the ridge above. Weathered wood. Rusted hinges. Probably hasn’t seen a soul in years.
Perfect.
“Inside,” Jase says, already scanning the perimeter.
“I can walk,” I mutter.
“You are walking,” he shoots back. “You’re just doing it slower than you were twenty minutes ago.”
I glare at him.
He doesn’t even look remotely concerned about it.
Which is… annoying.
And also—
Not entirely true.
Because I can see it.
In the tightness of his jaw.
In the way his eyes keep cutting back to me.
He’s worried.
He just doesn’t want to show it.
Too bad.
I already know.
We step inside.
It’s small. One room. Broken table. Old nets in the corner. The faint smell of salt and wood rot lingers in the air.
Through the cracks in the boards, the Adriatic flashes beyond—blue, endless, and completely useless to us right now.
“Clear,” Ronan’s voice comes over comms. “Perimeter’s holding. For now.”
“For now works,” Jase replies.
Then his attention shifts—fully—to me.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mila.”
That tone.
Low. Controlled. Not asking.
I sigh and drop onto the edge of the table.
“Happy?”
“No.”
That… catches me off guard.
He moves closer, already pulling a med kit from his pack.
“Shirt,” he says.
I blink at him.
“You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
I glance down at the blood soaking into the side of my shirt.
Okay.
Fair.
Still—
I cross my arms. “You could at least pretend to be polite.”
“I could,” he says calmly. “Or I could make sure you don’t bleed out.”
I roll my eyes.
“Grazed,” I say. “Not dying.”
“Good,” he replies. “Then this will be easier.”
There’s no winning this.
And honestly?
I don’t try.
I lift the hem of my shirt just enough to expose the wound.
His hand stills.
Just for a second.
Then—
Focus.
Professional.
Careful.
But I feel it.
That shift.
The same one I felt earlier.
His fingers brush my skin as he cleans the wound, and I suck in a breath before I can stop it.
“Still fine?” he murmurs.
“Shut up.”
That earns the faintest hint of a smirk.
But his touch stays steady.
Gentle.
Way more gentle than I expected from someone who just took down half a team like it was nothing.
“You should’ve told me sooner,” he says quietly.
“I was busy not dying.”
“Mila.”
I look at him.
Really look this time.
“You got hit,” he says. “That matters.”
Something in my chest tightens.
I’m not used to that.
To someone making it… matter.
“I’ve had worse,” I say.
“I don’t care.”
The words come out immediate.
Unfiltered.
And they hit harder than anything else he’s said.
Silence settles between us.
Heavy.
Different.
His hands slow as he finishes dressing the wound, securing the bandage in place.
“You’re good,” he says, but his voice is lower now.
Closer.
I realize—
He hasn’t stepped back.
Not even a little.
Neither have I.
The space between us is… gone.
“You always like being in control?” I ask softly.
His eyes lift to mine.
Dark.
Focused.
“Only when I have to be.”
“And right now?”
A beat.
Then—
“Right now,” he says quietly, “I’m trying not to lose it.”
My pulse spikes.
“Why would you?”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“Because you got hurt.”
That simple.
That honest.
And suddenly—
Everything shifts again.
I reach for him before I can stop myself.
My hand finds his shirt, gripping lightly.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
His hand comes up—mirroring mine from earlier—fingers brushing my jaw.
“Not the point.”
My breath catches.
“Then what is?”
His thumb traces just slightly along my skin, and I feel it everywhere.
“You,” he says.
That’s it.
That’s all it takes.
I lean into him.
He doesn’t hesitate.
This time, the kiss is different.
Slower.
Deeper.
Less about urgency—
More about knowing.
Like we’ve already crossed the line and there’s no going back.
His hand slides to my waist—careful of the bandage, but firm enough to pull me closer.
I shift slightly, and yeah—okay—that hurts.
He feels it instantly.
His hand tightens, steadying me.
“Careful,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“You’re the one distracting me,” I breathe.
That low sound he makes?
Yeah.
That does things to me.
Fast.
He pulls back just enough to look at me.
Really look.
“You should rest.”
I raise a brow.
“Or?”
His eyes darken.
“Or I forget you’re injured.”
Heat floods through me.
“Maybe I don’t mind.”
A dangerous silence falls.
Then—
He leans in again.
This time, there’s no holding back.
His kiss turns deeper, rougher, like all that control he’s been holding onto is slipping—just enough.
My hands slide up his chest, gripping, grounding, needing him closer.
And he’s right there.
Every second of it.
Every breath.
Every touch.
Outside, the world is still dangerous.
They’re still being hunted.
Nothing about this situation is safe.
But right here?
Right now?
With him?
I don’t feel afraid.
I feel—
Certain.
And when he finally pulls back, resting his forehead against mine again, his voice is rough.
“We’re not done talking about this.”
I smile slightly.
“About what?”
His eyes lock onto mine.
“This. Us.”
My heart stumbles.
Yeah.
We’re definitely not done.