15. Eliza
ELIZA
The tension finally snaps somewhere between the front door and the kitchen.
I don’t even remember deciding to come here.
One minute I’m outside, walking off the frustration that’s been building for days, and the next I’m inside Cade’s cabin, the door slamming shut behind me hard enough to rattle the walls.
He’s right behind me. Of course he is. He’s always right behind me.
“That’s enough,” I say, turning on him before he can speak. “We need to talk.”
Cade doesn’t look surprised. If anything, he looks like he’s been expecting this.
He closes the door with deliberate calm, the quiet click of the latch somehow louder than the slam that came before it. For a second, neither of us moves. The air between us is tight, charged, like the moment before a storm finally breaks.
“Then talk,” he says.
The restraint in his voice only makes something in me flare hotter.
“I can’t breathe like this,” I snap, pacing past him into the middle of the room. “Everywhere I go, you’re there. Every conversation, every step—someone’s watching me, reporting back, making decisions for me like I don’t get a say in my own life.”
“That’s not—”
“It is,” I cut in, spinning back toward him. “You don’t ask. You don’t explain. You just decide what’s best and expect me to fall in line.”
His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking along the edge.
“I’m keeping you alive.”
“I didn’t ask you to control me.”
The words land hard. For a moment, he just looks at me, and there’s something in his expression—something deeper than anger. Something closer to strain.
“You think this is about control?” he asks quietly.
“What else would you call it?” I shoot back. “You don’t trust me to walk through town without an escort.”
“I don’t trust what’s out there not to take you from me.”
The words hit differently.
Not louder. Not sharper. But heavier. I hesitate, and he sees it. Of course he does.
“That’s not the same thing,” I say, but there’s less certainty in it now.
“It is to me.”
He takes a step closer, and I hold my ground even though my pulse kicks up.
“You think I like this?” he continues. “Watching every door, every shadow, every movement because I know something is hunting you?”
“I didn’t ask to be hunted either,” I fire back.
“I know.”
That stops me. Because there’s no argument in his voice. No defensiveness. Just truth. Silence stretches between us, thinner now, but still tight.
“I had a life before this,” I say, quieter this time. “I made my own choices. I took risks, yeah, but they were mine. Now I feel like…” I shake my head, searching for the words. “Like I’m being managed.”
His gaze sharpens.
“You’re being protected.”
“At the cost of everything else.”
Another step closer. Too close now.
“I’m not taking your choices away,” he says.
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
A beat. Then his voice drops, rougher now.
“Because you’re only looking at what you’re losing.”
“And you’re not?” I challenge.
Something flickers in his expression—quick, raw, gone almost as soon as it appears.
“I don’t have that luxury.”
The words settle heavy in the space between us.
I frown slightly. “What does that mean?”
He exhales slowly, like he’s holding something back and deciding, in real time, whether to let it go.
“It means,” he says, “the second I realized what you are to me, everything else stopped mattering.”
My breath catches.
“That’s not—”
“It’s not normal,” he cuts in, a faint edge of frustration breaking through. “I know that. I know how it sounds. But it’s real.”
I shake my head, trying to push back against the pull of his words, the way they settle somewhere deep whether I want them to or not.
“You don’t even know me,” I say. “Not really.”
His gaze doesn’t waver.
“I know enough.”
“That’s not how this works,” I insist. “You don’t just meet someone and suddenly they’re—what?—the center of your entire world?”
“For me, it is.”
The certainty in his voice steals whatever argument I was about to make. I stare at him.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No doubt. Just that same unwavering conviction that’s been driving me crazy since the moment I met him. And now— Now it’s terrifying in a completely different way.
“Cade,” I say, softer now, “that’s not healthy.”
A ghost of something—almost a humorless smile—touches his mouth.
“It’s not optional.”
I huff out a breath, dragging a hand through my hair as I turn away from him.
“This is insane,” I say, almost under my breath.
“Maybe.”
I glance back at him.
“You’re just okay with that?”
“I don’t have to be okay with it,” he says. “I just have to accept it.”
“And what about me?” I demand. “Where do I fit into this… this thing that’s already decided what I am to you?”
That lands. I see it. He goes still for a moment, like the question matters. Then he steps closer again, slower this time. More careful.
“You’re not just something that happened to me,” he says quietly. “You’re someone I choose to protect.”
“That doesn’t feel like a choice when you won’t let me do anything on my own.”
“You can do whatever you want,” he says. “I’ll just be there to make sure you survive it.”
I stare at him.
“That’s not better.”
“It’s honest.”
The frustration is still there, simmering just under the surface—but something else is pushing in now too. Something more complicated. Because beneath all of this— The control.
The intensity. The way he watches me like I might disappear if he looks away— There’s something else. Something steady. Something real.
“You really believe that, don’t you?” I say.
“Yes.”
“And you don’t see how overwhelming that is?”
His gaze softens—just slightly.
“I do.”
“Then why—”
“Because it’s stronger than anything I’ve ever felt,” he interrupts, his voice rough now. “And I don’t know how to turn it off.”
The honesty in that hits harder than anything else he’s said. No control. No dominance.
Just truth. And suddenly— I understand it a little better. Not all of it. But enough. I exhale slowly, the fight draining out of me in pieces.
“I feel it too,” I admit, the words quieter than I expect.
He stills completely.
“What?”
I swallow.
“This… pull,” I say, gesturing vaguely between us. “The way I notice when you’re close. The way I—” I stop, shaking my head slightly. “It doesn’t make sense, but it’s there.”
His eyes darken, something deeper rising to the surface.
“You feel it.”
“Yes.”
The word barely leaves my mouth before the space between us shifts. Changes. Tightens.
The air feels heavier somehow, charged in a completely different way now. I don’t step back when he moves closer this time. I don’t tell him to stop. Because part of me— A part I’m still trying to understand— Doesn’t want him to.
“You’ve been fighting it,” he says quietly.
“So have you.”
“Not the same way.”
I let out a small, shaky breath.
“No,” I admit. “Probably not.”
His hand lifts slightly, like he’s about to touch me—then stops.
Waiting. The fact that he’s waiting— That he’s giving me that choice— It matters more than I expected.
So I close the distance. Just a step. But it’s enough.
His hand settles against my arm, warm and steady, and the contact sends a sharp, unexpected jolt through me. Not fear. Not exactly.
Something deeper. Stronger. My breath catches. His grip tightens just slightly, like he feels it too.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
I should. I know I should. Everything about this is complicated, intense, wrapped up in things I don’t fully understand yet. But instead—
“I don’t want you to.”
That’s all it takes. He moves like something held back too long finally snapping free, closing the rest of the distance between us as his other hand comes up to frame my face.
And then he kisses me. It’s not tentative.
Not hesitant. But it’s not rough either.
It’s controlled intensity—like everything he is, everything he’s been holding back, focused into this one moment.
I grip the front of his shirt, steadying myself as the world tilts slightly off balance. Because this— This feels inevitable. Like something that was always going to happen, no matter how hard we both tried to fight it.
His mouth moves against mine, slower now, deeper, and I respond without thinking, without analyzing, without questioning.
For once— I don’t think. I just feel. And what I feel is overwhelming in the best possible way.
When he pulls back, it’s only just enough for us to breathe, his forehead resting lightly against mine.
“This doesn’t change the danger,” I whisper.
“No,” he agrees.
“It doesn’t fix anything.”
“No.”
I swallow.
“But we still have to deal with what’s coming.”
His thumb brushes lightly along my jaw.
“We will.”
Together. He doesn’t say it. But it’s there. In the way he holds me like letting go isn’t an option anymore. I exhale slowly, the last of my resistance slipping away.
“Then we face it together,” I say.
And this time— When he kisses me again— There’s no hesitation at all.
It's a raw, desperate claiming that steals the air from my lungs.
I can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel.
The constant, buzzing anxiety that has been my companion since I moved to this town finally quiets, replaced by a roaring wave of pure, unadulterated want.
My hands, which had been pushing at his chest moments ago, are now fisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer instead of away.
"Eliza," he groans against my lips, his voice a low, rough vibration that I feel all the way down to my toes.
He breaks the kiss just enough to look at me, his eyes burning with an intensity that should scare me but doesn't. It feels like coming home.
"I've wanted to do that since the moment I saw you. "