The touch was agony—not just the alcohol on raw flesh, fire spreading through sensitive nerve endings—but it was also something else. Something that made Cass’s breath hitch for reasons that had nothing to do with pain. Riot’s fingers brushed above the wounds, higher than they needed to. It made him want to press his legs together to calm the fluttering low in his belly, but Riot was planted between his knees and he couldn’t close his legs.
“Can I have more of the alcohol?” He needed a distraction, even if that distraction tasted like bad fire. “Please?”
Riot handed him the bottle without looking up from his work. “Go slow.”
But slow was impossible. Cass drank deep, once, twice, three times, trying to chase the warm feeling that made the terror recede slightly. The alcohol hit his empty stomach and spread outward.
“Kid.” Riot pulled the bottle away after the fourth swallow, his fingers brushing Cass’s as he took it. “That’s going to hit you hard.”
Riot’s hand shifted, reaching for more antiseptic, and his knuckles brushed against the front of Cass’s underwear.
It was an accident. It had to be an accident. But Cass felt his whole body react—that swooping, dropping feeling in his lowerbelly paired with a heat under his skin. His body was doing something wrong, something the thigh wounds were supposed to prevent.
His eyes went wide with horror.
He could feel himself responding, twitching and hardening against the thin material of his undergarments. His hands flew down to cover himself, to hide what was happening, but it was too late—Riot’s eyes fixed on where Cass’s hands were pressed between his legs.
“Oh no,” Cass whispered, fresh panic cutting through the alcohol haze. “Don’t look. Please don’t look.”
“Cass—”
“I don’t think becoming enlightened is supposed to hurt this much,” he whispered. “I’m scared. I’m so scared, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Chapter thirteen
Breaking Point
Cass
“Icanfixthis,”he said. “I know Brother Matthias said the thigh treatments would help, but maybe I need more sessions. Maybe if I ask him to do additional release points, or if he increases the frequency, or—”
“Cass. Stop.”
I wish the Chrysalis program had worked on me.
The thought rose unbidden, and Cass felt his chest crack open. He’d resisted it for so long—the final treatment that would havemade him the partner Honey deserved. Brother Matthias said his mind was too resistant, too attached to earthly confusion, but maybe that was just another way of saying Cass was too broken to be fixed.
If the Chrysalis had worked, he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be sitting half-naked in front of a Berserker, covered in wounds and shame. He’d be home. He’d be happy. He’d be normal.
Why can’t I do anything right?
“I’m sorry,” Cass whispered again, voice breaking on a sob. “I know you’re angry with me. I know this is exactly the kind of earthly attachment that proves I’m not worthy—”
“Cass.” Riot’s voice dropped into quiet intensity. “Look at me.”
Cass looked up through his tears, bracing himself for disgust. For disappointment. For Riot to finally realize that Cass wasn’t worth the trouble and walk away.
“You’re not broken,” Riot said. The words came out rough, like they cost him something. “And I’m not angry with you.”
“But you look—”
Riot made a sound that wasn’t a laugh. “I look like I’m about to do something really fucking stupid.”
Before Cass could ask what that meant, Riot was moving, rising from his knees, his hands leaving Cass’s thighs to cup his face instead. And then Riot’s mouth was on his.
Cass’s brain became quiet.
The kiss was nothing like the gentle, spiritual connections described in partnership seminars. This was hard and demanding, Riot’s lips pressing against his with an urgency that stole the air from Cass’s lungs. One of Riot’s hands slid into his hair, gripping tight, tilting his head back at an angle that made his neck ache.
