Chapter 6
AEBON REXX
She flinches.
It’s subtle—barely a hitch in the corner of her mouth, a flicker of her lashes as I walk in. But I catch it. I smell it. Pheromones, thick and tart like ripe citrus just beneath the polished facade of civility she wears like war paint.
And gods, how it feeds me.
The silk shirt I chose this morning is black as sin and just slightly too open. I’d tell her I didn’t do it on purpose, but that would be a lie. She needs to see what she’s fighting. Needs to feel it pressing against her will like a storm tide against a dam.
“Counselor,” I purr, sliding into the chair across from her like it belongs to me. “Miss me?”
Her mouth tightens. “We’re starting with testimony regarding the Varaxx incident. Stick to the facts.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I am the facts.”
She exhales sharply, taps her compad like it’s a weapon. “Let’s not do this.”
I smirk. “Do what?”
“Play whatever game you think this is.”
Her voice is brittle, sharp. But her pupils dilate. Her pulse, just there at the hollow of her throat, betrays her. I lean back, letting the chair creak.
“You’re trembling,” I say softly.
“I’m restraining myself,” she shoots back.
“From arresting me or…” I let the silence stretch, voice silk-wrapped steel, “from touching me?”
She stands abruptly, arms crossed tight. “You think this is some kind of seduction? You’re a thug, Rexx. A brute with delusions of sophistication.”
I grin, slow and easy. “And you’re a prude with a law degree, hiding behind regulations so you don’t have to admit what you want.”
That hits. Her cheeks flush, green eyes blazing like plasma coils about to breach.
“You don’t know me.”
“Don’t I?”
She slams the compad shut. “We’re done.”
I rise too, not chasing, just pacing her shadow as she storms toward the elevator. She punches the call panel like it insulted her personally.
I follow her inside.
We descend five floors before the lights flicker, then die.
The elevator halts.
“Perfect,” she mutters.
Emergency lights kick in—dim, red-hued, flickering like the afterglow of a dying star. I lean against the wall, arms crossed, gaze steady. I don’t speak. Just watch.
She avoids my eyes, fists clenched at her sides. The hum of the emergency systems buzzes like insects.
Then I break the silence.
“Why haven’t you reported me?”
She stiffens.
“For harassment,” I clarify.
Her breath stutters, just a fraction.
I step forward—not close enough to touch, but close enough she can feel the heat of me. My presence. The weight of it.
“You could’ve had me reassigned,” I murmur. “You could’ve filed a dozen complaints.”
She says nothing.
I lower my voice, letting the gravel edge of it scrape through the charged air between us.
“But you didn’t.”
Another step.
“Because you like it.”
Her breath catches.
I see it in her eyes—the war, the denial, the hunger.
And I know.
She’s mine.
The lift shudders. Lights flicker to a steadier hue—still dim, but no longer the devil’s blush. A moment later, the mechanical groan of gears sets in, and we lurch downward again.
Aria doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t even breathe loud enough for me to track anymore. Every molecule of her is clenched tight, wrapped around the agony of her self-denial. She’s practically vibrating with it.
The doors slide open.
And she bolts. Heels clicking rapid-fire, hair bouncing loose from its tight coil. She doesn’t look back. Doesn’t need to. I can feel the heat of her retreat like a meteor slicing through cold orbit.
I don’t follow. I want this to simmer.
I want her to sit in that fire.
I step out leisurely, adjusting my cuffs, ignoring the stares of two security guards at the end of the hall. My expression is pure calm. But inside? Inside I’m all teeth.
She cracked. Just a hairline. But I saw it.
Felt it.
Heard the trembling thread in her breath when I said the words she couldn’t refute. She likes it. The way I loom. The way I smell. The way I speak to her like she’s not made of glass but of coiled lightning just waiting to detonate.
And maybe I don’t just want her in my bed.
Maybe I want her at my side.
I stride through the Ministry halls like I own them. Because one day, I just might. Not through violence. Not through power grabs or vendettas.
Through her.
She doesn’t know it yet. But I’m seducing more than her body. I’m seducing her sense of justice. Her precious law. Her ironclad moral compass. I’ll twist it until she doesn’t know which way it points—until it only spins in my orbit.
She’ll hate me for it.
Then she’ll beg for more.
The scent of her lingers on my jacket. Something floral and maddening beneath the faintest edge of sweat. She tries so hard to hide her humanity behind protocol and precedent. But I see it. I see her.
And it’s beautiful.
Not the polished mask. The chaos underneath.
That’s what I want. That’s what I’ll take.
Slowly. Carefully. One rule at a time.
Until there’s nothing left but mine.