Chapter 9
Mara
Something pulls me from sleep—words, harsh and guttural, nothing like English or Romanian or anything I’ve heard before.
I’m wrapped around K like a vine, face pressed against his chest, one leg hooked over his. Somewhere in the night, survival cuddling turned into full-body contact, and now I’m basically draped across him like a blanket.
Heat floods my cheeks even before I’m fully conscious.
His voice comes again. Raw. Broken. Urgent syllables scraping from his throat like they hurt.
I push back slightly, enough to see his face in the dying firelight.
His whole body is rigid. Tense. Pain written across his features—brow furrowed, jaw tight, mouth forming words in that impossible language.
He’s dreaming. Trapped in something dark.
I should let him work through it. Should untangle myself and retreat to my side of the fire, let whatever nightmare has hold of him run its course.
But watching him suffer… I can’t.
“K.” I touch his shoulder gently. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”
Nothing.
“K,” I say again.
His hand snaps around my wrist.
The grip is firm but not painful. Controlled even in sleep. His eyes open—molten, almost luminous in the firelight.
He’s looking at me.
But not seeing me.
His gaze is unfocused, locked on something—or someone—I can’t see. The words continue spilling from his lips in that ancient-sounding language. Desperate. Pleading.
“K, it’s me. It’s Mara. You’re—”
He pulls.
No warning. No hesitation.
One second, I’m propped on my elbow. The next, I’m against his chest, his hand in my hair, mouth on mine.
The kiss is fierce. Hungry. Full of desperate need that steals the breath from my lungs.
I should pull away. Should shake him awake. Tell him this isn’t real, that he doesn’t know what he’s—
His tongue slides against mine, and thought evaporates.
Heat floods through me like wildfire. Every nerve ending lights up. My hands move without permission, fingers grasping his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing away.
Stop. Stop this.
But I don’t want to stop. God help me, I don’t want to stop.
He makes a sound low in his throat—half-growl, half-groan—and the vibration goes straight through me, settles low in my belly, makes my thighs press together. My body arches into him, shameless, desperate.
This is wrong. He’s not fully conscious. He doesn’t know it’s me, doesn’t know what he’s doing—
His hand cups my face, thumb tracing my jaw with unexpected tenderness, and the contrast between gentle touch and demanding mouth undoes me.
The linen of his shirt is warm from his skin, thin enough that I feel the hard planes of muscle beneath. His heart pounds against my palm—too fast, too hard, like he’s running.
He’s asleep. He doesn’t know. This isn’t for you.
The thought should stop me. Should make me pull away, should inject some sense into the situation.
Instead, I kiss him back.
God help me, I kiss him back like I’m trying to inhale him. Like I’ve been waiting for this without knowing it. Like every lonely night, every time I told myself I didn’t need anyone, every wall I built… all of it was just waiting for someone to break through.
Even if that someone doesn’t realize what he’s doing.
His mouth moves over mine with simple certainty—someone who knows exactly how to kiss, how to make every nerve flare up. Heat radiates from him, sinking into my skin.
I’m melting. Coming apart. Every rational thought scattering under the weight of want and need and—
He goes completely still.
The shift is instant. Absolute.
One second, he’s kissing me like I’m everything. The next, he’s frozen, mouth still pressed to mine, but motionless.
Then he pulls back.
Just far enough to look at me. To see me.
Recognition floods his eyes. Awareness sharpening from dream-haze to terrible clarity.
I watch it happen. Watch the exact moment he realizes what he’s doing. Who he’s holding.
Me. Mara Jones. Random woman he pulled from a helicopter crash. Not someone he chose. Not someone he wants.
Just someone who happened to be there when he woke up confused.
Shock follows—raw and absolute, like I’m something monstrous he’s just discovered in his arms.
“No.” The word tears from him, guttural and wrecked. He releases me like I burned him, scrambling back until his shoulders hit stone. “No, I—”
I’m on my knees, breathing hard, lips burning. Watching him recoil from me like I’m poison.
The rejection lands like a slap.
“K—”
“I thought—” His voice is wrecked. Raw. He won’t look at me. “You are not—” He stops. Jaw works. “Forgive me.”
The words land flat. Formal. Like he’s apologizing for stepping on my foot instead of kissing me senseless.
Like I’m a mistake he needs to correct.
He’s on his feet before I can respond. Across the shelter, back to me, breathing hard.
The warmth from moments ago… gone. Replaced by walls so high I can’t see over them.
I stay where I am, heart thumping, trying to make sense of it all.
He kissed me. Or… No. He kissed me while half-asleep, confused, probably thinking I was—
Actually, I don’t know what he was thinking. Just that whatever it was, it wasn’t me. Wasn’t this mess of a woman with zero survival skills who he’s been babysitting for three days.
Of course it wasn’t you. Look at you.
“K—”
“We leave.” His voice is clipped. Cold. Each word precise. “Now.”
“It’s barely dawn—”
“The operatives may expand their search.” He’s already moving, gathering supplies. Not looking at me. Not acknowledging what just happened. “We cannot afford to remain stationary.”
I push to my feet, arms wrapped around myself. The vest he gave me suddenly feels too thin. Too exposed.
“K, you were dreaming. You didn’t—”
“I am aware of what I did.” Each word is clipped. Precise. “It will not happen again.”
The professionalism in his tone is somehow worse than anger would be.
The dismissal stings more than it should. More than it has any right to.
He kissed me because he was confused. Half-asleep. Disoriented. That’s not personal. That’s not about me being inadequate or wrong or not the kind of woman someone like him would—
Except it is. Because for thirty seconds, I let myself believe that heat was real. That someone was choosing me, wanting me, seeing me as something worth holding onto.
And then he woke up.
Story of my life, really. Temporary. Placeholder. Wrong girl.
The one who makes jokes when things get too real.
My throat tightens. Eyes burn.
Don’t you dare cry.
I won’t. I’ve gotten good at this part—the swallowing down, the building back up, the pretending it doesn’t matter.
I pull my walls up. The ones I’ve built through years of being temporary, unwanted, left behind. Familiar armor that fits like a second skin.
“Fine,” I say, matching his cold tone. “Let’s go.”
If he notices the shift in my voice, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
We pack in silence. The easy companionship from yesterday gone. Replaced by tension thick enough to choke on.
I pull on my boots, yanking laces tight enough to hurt. Check my phone and cracked iPad in my messenger bag to check they’re still there. The zipper catches. I force it. It catches again.
“Goddammit,” I mutter under my breath.
K’s movements stop. I feel his attention shift toward me even though he doesn’t speak.
I yank the zipper hard enough that the fabric tears slightly. Don’t care. Just need to get out of this shelter, away from the space where he kissed me and then looked at me like I was something he needed to scrape off.
I roll up the cloak he lent me—still warm from my body—and cross to where he’s standing. Hold it out without meeting his eyes.
“Keep it. You will need it,” he says, brushing it away. Our fingers don’t touch.
I don’t answer. Don’t argue either. Just jam the garment into my bag and curse the fact that he’s probably right.
The fire dies while we work. Gray light bleeds through the shelter entrance, making everything feel cold and unwelcoming.
Perfect metaphor.
K finishes first. Stands at the entrance, back rigid, waiting.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and follow him out into the morning.
The wind bites immediately. I hunch into the oversized vest, wishing for the warmth I had when he was carrying me. When things were simple, and I could pretend the heat in my chest was just gratitude.
Before he kissed me and ruined everything.
Before I kissed him back like I had the right to.