Chapter 22 #3
She didn’t speak for a moment. Then, another slow nod.
“You can sleep on the sofa. It’s . . . surprisingly comfortable.”
He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his mouth. “Fall asleep there often, do you?”
Cassia pursed her lips, a flush blooming across her cheekbones. “Only sometimes.”
He inclined his head. “Then I’ll consider it an honour to spend the night on your sofa.”
She wet her lower lip—barely a flick of movement—but it was enough to drag his gaze.
The memory of her kiss ghosted back with sudden clarity.
Not just the press of her mouth, but also the way she’d touched him.
The tentative, curious glide of fingers along the base of his horns.
The way her breath had caught—like she hadn’t meant to want him quite so much.
And gods help him—he’d wanted her. He still did.
She cleared her throat, and the tension cracked just enough to let the air move again.
“Right,” she said. “There are clean towels in the guest bathroom. New toothbrushes under the sink. You’ll find everything you need. I’ll get you something to wear.”
Before he could respond, she turned and slipped down the hallway. When she returned, she held a neatly folded set of dark blue pajamas.
“These should fit,” she murmured. “My mother sewed these for my father. He’d been ill. But he—” He watched her throat worked. “He never got the chance to wear them.”
She didn’t look at him as she held them out, like the gesture alone had already cost her something. His hand hovered inches from hers. “Are you certain?”
Cassia nodded, finally meeting his eyes. “They’re brand new. And warm. I know my parents would rather they be used than folded away forever.”
Ark took them, letting his fingertips brush hers. “Thank you.”
She gave a tight nod and curled into the armchair by the hearth, the green cushions swallowing her. She was still there when he emerged from the bathroom, the borrowed pajamas a little short but otherwise perfect.
“Your father and I were of a similar size, it seems.”
She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze flicked to him—trailing from collar to hem—then settled somewhere past his shoulder.
“He was—” Her voice caught. “He was of a lighter build, actually. But toward the end, the fluid retention was so bad, his own clothes hurt him.” She shook her head, as though to rid herself of the memory.
Ark stood still, the air thickening around him. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “That must’ve been difficult to watch.”
She only nodded, her eyes distant—somewhere he couldn’t follow. He didn’t press her. The pajama fabric was soft against his skin, stitched by a woman trying to comfort the man she loved when nothing else helped.
Cassia rose from her chair. “I’ll leave the kitchen light on, in case you need anything.”
Ark nodded. “Thank you. For . . . all this.”
She went to the corridor and paused halfway, glancing back. A little smile curved on her lips. “I should be the one thanking you.” Then, after a pause: “I’m usually up around four to head to the bakery before first light.”
Ark nodded. “Rhodes and Caius will arrive around that time. If I’m not up already, give me a nudge.”
Her lips curved, just barely. “Are you a light sleeper?”
“Moderate. But I respond well to the smell of pastries.”
Cassia let out a quiet laugh—small, but real—and the tightness inside him eased. He hadn’t realized he’d needed that. To hear her laugh. To see the shadows leave her eyes, just for a second.
“I’ll try wafting a raisin bun under your nose,” she added.
“Truly, the most dignified wake-up call I could ask for.”
She smiled. “Good night, Ark.”
“Good night, Cassia.”
She turned and disappeared into her bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. He made his way back to the living room. The fire had burned low, embers pulsing gently in the grate.
As he reached for the blanket draped over the couch, he sensed a quiet presence behind him. Anuck sat on the floor between the living room and the kitchen, unblinking eyes gleaming gold in the firelight.
Ark arched a brow. “No need to get your tail all knotted. I’m only here for one night.”
The cat’s eyes narrowed briefly before he opened his mouth in a slow, luxurious yawn. He sauntered toward the hallway and slipped neatly through the narrow opening of Cassia’s door, tail flicking like he was giving Ark one last taunt: he was allowed inside her bedroom.
Ark stared after him, one brow still lifted.
Jealousy flickered—because the cat got to sleep in her arms all night. Which was absurd.
He lay on the couch and dragged a hand through his hair. The silence brought back the memory of the kiss. He closed his eyes to chase it away, but the absence of sight only amplified the ghost of her touch.
This was supposed to be a convenient arrangement. But being in her house, wrapped in clothes meant for her father, and outranked by her damn cat—nothing about this felt pretend anymore.
Ark pressed his forearm over his eyes and let out a long, slow breath.
He was in so much trouble.
And still, he’d rather be here than anywhere else.