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Karina
I jolt awake, the sheets tangled around me. My heart beats a frantic rhythm against my ribcage. I don't know what woke me, but fear clings to me like a second skin, refusing to be silenced.
Where am I?
Blinking rapidly, I try to orient myself in the dimly lit room but it isn't familiar. I glance around, desperate for something recognizable, anything to anchor me back to reality. The walls are shadows, the air thick with the scent of rain and amber. It's a familiar mix, one that teases vague memories from the corners of my mind.
A body curled around mine shifts, and I freeze, my mind completely blank for a moment.
Coda. His arms are a fortress around me, his breath a steady rhythm against the nape of my neck.
Relief courses through me in a rush. Of course. I'm in his bed. As if that reminder set them free, memories flood in like a breached dam—images of my father with his square jaw set in determination, his gray eyes cold and calculating as he clenches his cell in his hand. Me, hiding in the closet in his office, listening to every word.
He wears his badge like a shield, but it's tarnished, corrupted by the crimes he's committed. How many have there been? How many has he called justice? Everyone else sees the good guy, the charming cop who has served his city for decades. But it's a lie.
I'm tangled in a web of his making, loyalty to my only family juxtaposed against what's just and right. Each thread is a suffocating reminder that blood can be as poisonous as it is binding.
My world crumbled today, in ways I never expected. And the one who shattered it is the one who was supposed to protect me.
The one who put it back together is the one steeped in darkness. He wears it like a cloak. Or perhaps it wears him. And yet, right now, I trust him more than my own father.
"No," Coda mumbles, jolting beside me. His breath comes in shallow bursts, his forehead furrowed with lines of unease. His strong arm, the one not draped around me as if he intends to protect me even in his sleep, twitches, the muscle flexing beneath his shirt. Even in the dim light filtering through the windows, I see the tension gripping him, the silent battle he wages.
A nightmare.
Coda, the formidable, sleeping giant beside me, is caught in the throes of a nightmare.
My heart clenches for him. Even asleep his world is dark, full of things that haunt his mind. But even now, with distress carving grooves between his brows, he's beautiful. So fierce, so untamed.
I shift closer to him, my hand trembling slightly as I extend it toward his arm. The muscles beneath his skin twitch again, a choked groan vibrating behind his clenched teeth.
My fingers brush his arm, the contact light but deliberate.
"Coda," I call softly, aching to draw him out of the darkness and remind him that he's not alone—not anymore. Whatever haunts his mind, he doesn't have to carry it alone now.
His eyes snap open, a feral glint in their depths. For a moment, he looks through me, still caught in the clinging shadows of his nightmares.
"Cazzo," he rasps, his voice a broken crack of sound that claws at my heart. The vulnerability etched into his features is jarring—a stark contrast to the unyielding man I've come to know. In this moment, he's stripped of all defenses, laid bare by whatever ravaged his sleeping mind.
I lean closer, my own problems swallowed by a piercing desire to comfort him. "I'm here, Coda. You're safe." My hand finds his stubbled cheek. "Talk to me. Are you okay?"
His breath hitches, and for a second, I think he might shove me away, unseeing. But something shifts in his gaze. The wildness doesn't disappear—it never could from a man like him—but it recedes enough for him to recognize me, to realize where he is.
"Karina…" He pulls away with the desperation of a man on the brink. His eyes flicker with torment, darting around as if to locate an escape that doesn't exist.
"Coda," I say softly, refusing to let him go that easily. He clearly needs comfort. I think he's just afraid to let himself take it, to let himself need it.
I don't think he's a man who needs much. He doesn't allow himself that luxury. He's an island, self-possessed and self-contained, any hint of vulnerability quickly and ruthlessly smothered.
It's a devastating way to live.
I place my hand on his broad back, feeling the tension in his coiled muscles. "It's okay. I'm here." I scramble to my knees, pressing myself up against him from behind. "You're safe."
Before I can even process how it happened, I'm on my back with him on top of me, my hands pinned beside me.
He stares down at me, wildness still glinting in his eyes. "Karina," he growls, his voice gravelly and raw. "you're playing with fire, little girl."
I don't flinch. I'm not afraid. His weight is a paradox—exhilarating yet comforting, overwhelming yet not nearly enough. His hard lines press against the soft curves of my body, and I feel every ounce of his turmoil.
