I remembered the days in the cage, the way his presence had been both my torment and my shield. We’d survived together, feral and raw, and the memory lived in my bones.
I remembered the way his body had shielded mine from the cold, the way his breathing steadied mine when I thought I wouldn’t last another minute.
The hours where we existed in a fevered, shared consciousness, closer than I ever wanted anyone to be. The way I’d hated him, admired him, felt affection for him, and feared what I would become if I gave myself over to either urge.
His hand stayed at my throat, thumb pressing lightly on the pulse. My skin shivered against his touch. “You’re not in your right mind,” I said, voice strangled. “You’re drunk, and you’re?—”
“I’m sober enough,” he whispered, and there was something honest in the way his eyes found mine, something unguarded that made my stomach plummet. “Nothing makes me forget anymore, not even this.”
He leaned closer, and I felt the heat of him, the way his breath shook against my cheek.
“Say it,” he rasped, the demand curling in my ear.
I was trembling so hard I thought my bones might rattle apart. “I’m not yours,” I tried again, steadier.
A lie. My body was betraying me.
“You’re a shit liar,” he whispered, and I hated that he was right. “You want someone to show you you’re alive. That you’re real. Even if you hate them for it.”
I was. My legs were water, my skin alive with a million stinging nerves. I tried to jerk away, but his grip, while gentle, was absolute.
My throat tightened. Not from his hand, but from the memory of all the times he’d made me feel like prey.
It wasn’t quite fear, not exactly; it was electric and sickening, wickedly sweet.
His hold was a question, his lips so close to mine that I could taste the confession on his breath.
I should have been disgusted, repulsed by the way he asserted his need, but my body betrayed me. My pulse leapt to meet the heat of his hand, every hair on my arms rising in expectation.
I should have screamed, shoved him away, called Shane or anyone to drag him back to his cavern of self-loathing.
Instead, I hung in that weird liminal space, equal parts rabbit and wolf, the memory of the cage burning bright behind my eyes.
He pressed his mouth to the corner of my jaw.
I exhaled, my lips parting, and the tiniest sound escaped. A whimper that humiliated me, because I knew he heard it, and worse, he wanted to.
He smiled against my skin, his words a low vibration. “See? You don’t even know what you want, do you?”
I did. I wanted him to leave. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to rip the memory of Blake out of my head, tear my shame to pieces, and devour whatever was left until nothing hurt anymore.
"You're drunk," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "And you're acting like a lunatic."
He exhaled a laugh, not humor, but pain, the kind that rattled out through cracked teeth. "Yeah? Maybe. Maybe this is just who I am, and maybe you like it more than you want to admit."
He pressed closer, crushing the frail distance between us, and for a cruel second, I let my cheek rest against his shoulder, my head swimming, the world tilting and alive with the scent of him and the threat of disaster at every edge.
I wanted to throw him off me, but my body remembered him too well, the way his hands had held me in the pit, the way his voice had shattered the silence of long, sleepless nights.
It was wrong, sick, to ache for the arms of your tormentor, but the heat in me was rising, blood roaring so loud in my ears that I missed the first words he said next.
"You're not the only one haunted," he slurred, his breath burning hot in my ear. "You think I like this? You think I wantto be this fucked up every time I see you? If anything, it's worse when you're gone. I try to drown it, and it just gets stronger."
"Caiden," I whispered, my voice betraying me with its tremor. "You need to stop."
But even as I said it, my hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, not pushing him away but holding on, as if I might drown without his anchor.
His eyes were liquid fire in the dim light, pupils blown wide with desire and alcohol, focused on me with an intensity that made my knees weak.
