Chapter 10 #2
He was so focused on the documents that he didn't notice me at first. The fire chief's report, I realized. He was studying it like if he just looked hard enough, he could find the person who'd done this and make them pay.
"Where's Teddy?" I asked.
Cristox glanced up, and I saw the exhaustion etched into every line of his face, the shadows under his eyes, the tightness around his mouth. Even tired and covered in soot, he was beautiful in that dangerous, otherworldly way that made my heart stutter. "At Mei's. Playing with her kids."
A spike of anxiety shot through me. "Is he...?"
"He's safe," Cristox said quickly, reading my panic. "I walked him over myself. Mei said she'd keep him as long as we needed." He rubbed a hand over his face, leaving another smudge of soot across his cheek. "Being with the other kids helps take his mind off what happened."
I nodded slowly, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. He was right. Teddy needed normalcy right now. He needed to be around other children, to play and laugh and forget, even for a little while, that someone had tried to hurt us.
"You should shower," I said softly, moving closer to the table. "Get cleaned up."
Cristox glanced down at himself as if just remembering the state he was in. "Yeah." But he didn't move. His eyes went back to the report, his jaw tight with determination.
"Cristox."
He looked at me again, and something in his expression made my chest ache—a vulnerability I rarely saw in him, a weariness that went soul-deep.
"Shower," I repeated, gentler this time. "The report will still be here."
Finally, he nodded and pushed back from the table, his movements stiff like he'd been sitting too long.
While the water ran in the bathroom, I moved around the kitchen, trying to keep my hands busy.
People had been bringing food for days—casseroles in disposable pans, pasta dishes, baked goods wrapped in foil.
The kind of thing neighbors did when tragedy struck.
I pulled out what I could easily assemble: cheese, crackers, fruit, sliced meat, olives from a jar.
I arranged it all on a wooden cutting board, making it look halfway decent. At least it was something. Neither of us had eaten properly since the fire, despite Mei’s attempts.
The water shut off and a couple of minutes later I heard the bathroom door open. I was still fussing with the arrangement, trying to make the crackers fan out just right, when Cristox emerged, and the sight of him made me freeze.
He wore nothing but a pair of loose gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, his chest bare and still slightly damp.
Water droplets clung to his pelt, tracing paths down the defined planes of his torso, catching the light.
God, he was beautiful. All lean muscle and that otherworldly grace that made him move like something wild and untamed.
But then I saw the rest of it.
The ends of his mane were singed and uneven, the tips blackened and brittle. Angry red welts marked his arms and chest—burns that were already healing but still visible. A vivid reminder of what he'd done. What he'd risked.
He'd run into a burning building for our son.
"Ruby?" His voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I realized I was staring. Heat crept up my neck. "Your hair," I said quietly, setting down a handful of crackers. "And your arms."
He glanced down at himself, then back at me, something unreadable in those honey-brown eyes that seemed to glow in the fading light. "It's nothing. Already healing."
"It's not nothing." I moved closer without thinking, my fingers hovering near one of the welts on his forearm. "You could have been killed."
"But I wasn't." His voice was soft, steady, absolute. "And neither was Teddy."
My throat tightened. I looked at the damaged ends of his mane again, at the way the fire had stolen its usual luster. "Let me fix your hair," I said. "Please. I can at least do that much."
He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "You don't have to."
"I want to." The words came out forcefully, almost desperately. "Just... let me help. Okay?"
Something shifted in his expression, softening around the edges. "Okay."
I grabbed a chair from the dining table and positioned it in the middle of the kitchen, then retrieved the scissors from the desk drawer. My hands were steadier than I expected as I gestured for him to sit.
Cristox settled into the chair, his broad shoulders filling the space, and I moved behind him. Up close, the damage was worse than I'd thought. The fire had eaten away at least three inches in some places, leaving the ends ragged and brittle.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, running my fingers gently through the unburned sections. His mane was softer than it looked, silky despite the trauma, sliding through my fingers like warm water.
"For what?" His voice rumbled, low and calm, vibrating through his chest in a way that made me want to press my palm against his back just to feel it.
"That you got hurt. That you had to—" I swallowed hard, positioning the scissors. "You could have died in there, Cristox."
"I had to get to Teddy." Simple. Matter-of-fact. Like there had never been another option.
I made the first cut, watching the singed ends fall away. "I know. But still..."
"There is nothing—nothing—worth more than protecting you and Teddy." His voice carried absolute certainty. "My mane will grow back. Burns heal. But if something had happened to you or him..."
I had to blink back the sudden sting in my eyes. I kept cutting, trying to even out the damage, but I was taking off so much more than I wanted to. Inches of his beautiful mane falling to the floor.
"I'm sorry," I said again. "I have to cut so much."
"Ruby." He said my name like a benediction. "I don't care about my mane."
My fingers brushed against his neck as I worked, and I felt him go still beneath my touch, every muscle tensing. His tail twitched, curling slightly toward me. The silence stretched between us, heavy with something I didn't want to name.
"Your touch," he said quietly, his voice rougher now. "It feels good."
I froze, scissors hovering mid-cut. My heart hammered against my ribs. Heat pooled low in my belly. "Cristox..."
He turned in the chair, looking up at me, and the intensity in his eyes stole my breath. Heat and hunger and something softer. Something that terrified me. "Ruby."
I should have stepped back. Should have put distance between us. Instead, I found myself moving closer, my hand still tangled in his shortened mane, drawn by something I couldn't resist.
His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "Tell me to stop."
I couldn't. God help me, I couldn't.
When his lips met mine, it was like coming home and falling apart all at once.
The kiss was gentle at first, questioning, giving me every chance to pull away.
But when I didn't—when I leaned into him instead—it deepened into something that made my toes curl.
His other hand found my waist, pulling me closer, and I let the scissors clatter to the floor as I gripped his shoulders.
He tasted like mint toothpaste and something uniquely Cristox, something I remembered from that night, and every nerve ending in my body came alive.
His hands were warm against my skin, careful despite the obvious hunger in the way he kissed me.
Like he was holding himself back. Like he was afraid I might shatter.
Or disappear.
I kissed him harder, my fingers threading through his mane—shorter now, but still soft, still him.
A low sound rumbled in his chest, and it sent a shiver of pure desire racing down my spine.
He stood, lifting me slightly as he did, never breaking the kiss.
My back hit the counter, and his body pressed against mine, solid and warm and right in a way that terrified me.
His tail wrapped around my thigh, a warm, gentle pressure that felt impossibly intimate.
Because this was dangerous. This was the kind of thing that could destroy me.
But I couldn't stop. Not when his mouth moved to my jaw, trailing heat down to my neck, his breath hot against my skin.
Not when his hands slid under my shirt, fingers splaying across my ribs, leaving trails of fire.
Not when every touch sent memories flooding back.
His body over mine, the weight of him, the way he'd made me feel things I'd never felt before, the way he'd worshipped me with his hands and mouth until I'd forgotten my own name.
And that was exactly the problem.
I pulled back abruptly, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my body screaming at me to stop being stupid and let him continue. "I can't—we can't—"
His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, his chest heaving. His tail reluctantly unwound from my leg, the loss of contact making me feel suddenly cold. "Ruby—"
"I'm sorry." I ducked under his arm, putting distance between us before I could change my mind. Before I could let myself fall into him and forget all the reasons this was a terrible idea. "I need to—Teddy. I should get Teddy."
"Ruby, wait—"
But I was already moving toward the door, my whole body humming with want.
I felt the phantom pressure of his hands on my skin, the heat of his lips, the warm weight of his tail around my leg.
I remembered the way he'd looked at me that night, the way he'd touched me like I was something precious.
The way he'd made me come apart with a skill that should've been illegal.
God, I wanted him. I wanted to drag him to the bedroom and let him do all those things again. I wanted to feel that connection, that intensity, that perfect rightness of our bodies moving together.
But he was leaving. Going back to his ship, his mission, his whole other life light-years away from here.
And Teddy was already attached. Already calling him "Uncle Cristox" and drawing pictures of the three of us together like we were a family, like this was permanent.
If I let this happen—if I let myself fall, it wouldn't just be Teddy's heart that shattered when Cristox left.
It would be mine, too.
And I'd barely survived putting myself back together the first time.