Chapter 58 Jasmine
I’m staring, have been for a while, because I’m surrounded by four powerful men who are all fast asleep.
Seeing them like this—in this undone, softened, vulnerable state—loosens something in my chest.
Sai’s slumped beside me, half-on, half-off the sofa, his markings faintly glowing with the steady pace of his breathing. Zeek’s on my other side, head tilted back, glasses askew, arms crossed like a shield over his chest.
Julien and Kane are slouched in chairs now pulled close, their knees nearly brushing the edge of the sofa. Julien’s head is angled to the side, lips slightly parted. Kane’s chin is tucked in on his chest, dark hair a little messy, his fingers curled in fists but twitching.
I admire them a little longer, before my gaze drops to the tablet in Ezekial’s lap. Carefully, I slide it free, pressing my finger against the scanner just as I remember this is Ezekial’s tablet, so it won’t recognise my—
It opens.
I stare at him—this important Council Member, a lord—and feel my pulse spike.
His tablet, all his secrets, and he’s given me access?
The screen lights up in my hands, and when I look down… I see myself. Not a reflection, but a photo, one I’ve never seen.
It’s me sitting beside the lake in the atrium, sunlight on my face, smiling as I feed the fish. The angle is high and zoomed in, a little grainy too, kinda like CCTV footage…
I glare at the sly Lord, trying to summon some anger at the fact he’s been watching me through cameras I didn’t even know existed… but I can’t.
Because all anger is overruled by the thought that this man has a picture of me as his background, on something he uses and sees every day. Multiple times.
He could’ve chosen anything. Nothing. A Council seal, or a pretty landscape. But it’s me, just me.
I clutch the tablet closer, easing myself off the sofa with careful steps as I tiptoe between the sleeping men, stealing little glances as I go.
When I finally reach the bedroom door, I open the camera app and snap a photo. The soft shutter sound explodes.
I freeze.
Wide-eyed, breath held, I scan the room full of sleeping men like predators that might pounce.
But they don’t stir. I let out my breath, slowly stepping backwards until I’m finally out of sight.
In the bathroom, I close the door with a quiet click. The cool floor stings against my bare feet, grounding me as I sit on the toilet lid with Zeek’s tablet in hand, staring at the image I’ve taken.
When the screen times out, I scan back in and this time apps appear, which reminds me of what I was doing before I gracefully passed out.
Then what I asked of them. Their favourites.
I find the app Ezekial made for me, which isn’t hard because it’s literally called Jasmine’s Wish List. When it opens, my soft laugh fills the silence.
They’ve done it. Four folders. I tap the first one.
Julien’s is full of luxurious items, fancy cars, decadent food, and countries washed in warm red hues. There are even little notes with French phrases I’m desperate to understand.
Sai’s is… chaotic. I smile. No theme, no order. Instead, endless—copious images of food, a dichotomy of countries, beautiful paintings… a motorbike? He’s even added what looks like a playlist too. Some notes, but mostly fragments, and lots of emojis.
I open Ezekial’s with a satisfied sigh—it’s perfectly ordered. Folders within folders, subheadings, multiple detailed notes. Some of the images even move, and I lose myself watching a waterfall between snowy mountains.
My fingers hesitate over the last folder, Kane’s, not quite believing he’s done this. I’m even more surprised when I open it.
His folder is small, no scrolling needed, and the images are… familiar. Actually, identical.
They’re all from my folder. I frown.
Was it an accident? Had he somehow copied mine by mistake? But the cold sensation creeping in suggests otherwise.
Maybe he thought this whole thing was beneath him. A little too childish. Silly. The cold turns to dread.
We’ve been so intimate… the things he’s said to me. The possessiveness… Yet, I’m always afraid Kane will just switch. He’s always unpredictable. Hot and then so very cold. The flicker of candlelight in a rainstorm.
No. Kane has been clear with his emotions. He’s been trying so hard for me, he doesn’t deserve my self-doubt over this.
It’s just a stupid folder.
I shake myself, locking the tablet and placing it on the edge of the sink as I stand in front of the mirror. I comb my fingers through the kinks and curls of my hair, meeting my gaze in the reflection. As I tilt my head, I notice subtle differences.
It’s like the few colours I have are deeper and more intense. The reds are richer, there’s a higher contrast against my skin. Somehow, I know it’s because of them, because the rune suppressing our bond is eroding, and with each crack it reveals more of me.
Who knows how I’ll feel or look when it’s fully gone. But right now… I feel like more, because I feel them.
My skin flushes. Beyond this flimsy door are four men who I’m bonded to. Even asleep, the calling pulls, tugging me back to them. The giddy, desperate joy it creates is so… unfamiliar.
I laugh softly, splashing water over my hot cheeks, before grabbing the tablet and opening the door—
“Shit!” I gasp, dropping it with a soft thud.
Kane’s right there, on the very threshold. His eyes are a bit too open, like I startled him.
“Kane,” I breathe, pressing a hand to my racing heart.
“You were gone,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, shirt rumpled, hair tousled. Soft.
His eyes flicker over me, searching, filled with sparks of grey and worry.
“I woke and… you weren’t there,” he says, quieter now. Slowly, his worry eases, like he’s just realising how quickly he’s reacted.
I wasn’t there, so he flitted, without question—to me.
Kane. Always so shadow-drenched and stone-faced. A flickering candle fighting a storm. Is standing here, faltering, looking at me like I might vanish.
But I won’t.
I step closer, rising onto my toes. “You’re so cute,” I whisper, gripping his shirt and pulling him down.
He doesn’t resist as I brush my lips against his. Slow and gentle, but so certain. I’ll shield him from the rain.
His lips are still at first, surprised, then they’re not. Kissing me hungrily, as his hands slip beneath my shirt and cool fingers curl around my waist—cold skin against my hot.
Kane’s always so intense, and his kisses are no different. It’s like every one is our first and last.
When I pull back to breathe, he follows, crowding me until my back hits the wall, and his forehead rests on mine.
“You copied my folder,” I whisper. Then wince. Why did I say that? Especially after that kiss.
“We like the same things,” he murmurs, leaning in to steal my breath again.
I tilt my head away, and he growls.
“Did you… did you just growl at me?” I ask, stunned, and even more aroused.
“I’m not done.” He brushes his mouth over mine—once, twice… on the third caress, his tongue grazes my lower lip and I shiver.
“Please,” he whispers.
The growl. The soft touches. The pleading.
This man.
“Tell me why you copied,” I press, our lips skimming.
“I don’t have favourites.” His fingers brush my ribs.
“Things that you like, then.”
Silence.
But I know he isn’t being stubborn for once. His silence is the answer. He doesn’t think he has any.
I frown. “But what about the whiskey, and Martha’s pastries? You like them, right? And the quiet, clarity, structure…”
He’s staring at me, saying nothing, and now I’m worried I’ve somehow offended him.
“I mean… I think you like those things.” My eyes fall to the fallen tablet. “I wouldn’t know for sure, because you didn’t make a folder. Which is fine, if you think it’s stupid or—”
His fingers find my chin, tilting it up. “I like you.”
Just that.
Simple. Small. Everything.
Because Kane doesn’t have favourites. But Kane likes me.
He sees how it lands, how I melt, and he uses it.
“I like kissing you,” he murmurs against my jaw. “I like touching you.” His fingers trail higher, thumb brushing the side of my breast and making me gasp. “I like the sounds you make.” I feel his soft smirk as he kisses my neck. “I like how you look at me.”
He pulls back, just enough to see his eyes burn with intensity, want—need.
“I like how you make me feel.” His fingers find my jaw again. “I drink whiskey because I’m cold. Always.” His thumb grazes my bottom lip. “It helps. But you…” He holds my gaze. “You take the cold away.”
I’m on him.
My legs wrap around his waist as my mouth collides with his. His hands grip my ass, hauling me higher as my back hits the wall again. I’m tearing at his shirt, trying to undo the tiny fucking buttons—I rip it open.
“Come to the house tonight.” I’m too drunk on him, his lips, his words, to understand what he’s saying.
My fingers tighten in his hair, and my other hand fumbles with his belt, until he stops kissing me, stops moving. I let out a sharp, frustrated sound.
“Did you growl at me?” he mimics with a smile and tone so sickly-sweet, it’s cruel.
I grip his opened shirt, trying to pull his mouth back to mine, but he doesn’t budge.
“Come to the house tonight,” he says again, studying me carefully. “Every Friday, we eat together—your words.” That smile is still there when he adds, “Please, immaru.”
This fucker.
The smile. The please. The sweet, stupid nickname. Never mind he’s hard and pressed right against me…
I move my hips, just a little, and his smile fades. So I do it again.
His head drops to my shoulder with a groan, slowly grinding himself into me as his lips drag along my throat.
“Do that again,” he murmurs, lips trailing my jaw, “and I won’t be gentle.”
He pulls back, just enough so our eyes meet, and his are pitch black. Darkness right there, staring at me, and all rational thoughts evaporate as I roll my hips up, grinding against him again.