Page 145 of House Ignis

"Do I look like I'm playing, princess?"

"You always do!" I shoved his chest, my palms sparking against the dark leather of his vest.

"That's the problem! You make me feel wanted—gods, you make me feel seen—and then you lock me out. You pull the rug out from under me and laugh while I hit the stone."

His jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek.

"I'm protecting you."

"No," I choked out, poking a finger into his hard chest. "You're hurting me. You're feeding the darkness and pushing everything else away because you're too much of a coward to admit that this bond isn't just a tactical disadvantage."

The shadows in the room twisted violently. The air became suffocating, charged with enough magic to make my skin prickle.

The bond buzzed with a tension so sharp it tasted like copper on my tongue.

"I hate this," I breathed, leaning my head against the shelves, exhausted. "I hate this pull. I hate that I can't breathe when you're near and I can't think when you're gone. I hate that I'm standing here bleeding out emotionally and you feel absolutely nothing."

“You think I feel nothing?” His voice cracked, rough as gravel.

I let out a bitter, wet laugh. "You don't let me feel a damn thing from you, Asher. You're like a black hole."

"Because if I let you in," he growled, stepping into my personal space until I was pinned against the shelving, "you'd burn. I've spent my whole life feeding the shadows so I wouldn't have to feel the weight of everything I have to do."

"Maybe I want to burn!" I screamed at him, my fire surging until the closet was glowing brilliant red. "Maybe I'm already on fire and I just want someone to hold me while I turn to ash!"

"MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOU!"

The words exploded from him like a physical blow. Raw. Unfiltered. A confession ripped from somewhere he'd kept buried for far too long.

Tears filled his eyes, shimmering like fractured glass in the red light of my fire.

He looked wrecked, his silver gaze wide and terrified.

I froze, my breath hitching in my chest. He stared at me, his chest heaving, those rare, crystalline tears finally spilling over. And then—the bond shattered.

Not the connection itself, but the ice he'd frozen over it. A soundless, violent crack echoed through my entire core, and suddenly, the vacuum was gone. I was hit by the tidal wave.

His soul-deep want. His jagged need. His bone-chilling fear—and beneath it all, a devotion so fierce and ancient it made my knees weak. He wasn't just protecting me from the world; he was trying to protect me from himself.

His walls were completely gone. I could feel his silent apology for the canteen, the agony every time he saw me with Jeremy, and the crushing weight of a male who wanted me so badly it fucking terrified him.

Tears burned fresh behind my eyes. "Asher…"

But before I could say another word, he moved.

His hands tangled in my hair, his fingers gripping my braids as he tilted my head back. His mouth crashed against mine with a desperation that bordered on feral, like I was the only thing anchoring him to the living world. And gods help me—I didn't just kiss him back. I devoured him.

I met his tongue with mine, my hands clawing at his shoulders, pulling him closer until there wasn't a single inch of space left for the shadows to hide.

I had been starving, and he was the storm I had been waiting for. I dragged him closer, and he groaned, a low, brutal sound that shattered what little control I had left.

His tongue slid against mine, all hunger and fury and need, and the bond roared to life between us, burning gold-red through every inch of my body.

I pulled back, looking into his eyes; gods, he was perfect and he was mine. I kissed the tears from his cheek, and he looked at me so tenderly before crashing his lips against mine again.

I gasped into his mouth, as he lifted me, one arm wrapping under my thighs as he pressed me up against the supply closet wall. A mop clattered to the ground, the wooden handle echoing against the stone, but neither of us cared. My fingers found the hem of his shirt and shoved it up, nails dragging across his skin—he hissed against my neck, the sound primal.

His length pressed against me through the thin lace, and he groaned at the friction. I immediately went for his pants, unbuttoning his leathers with trembling hands. He helped me, moving my underwear to the side with frantic efficiency. I took his length and ground it between my folds—not inside, not yet—but fuck me, I wanted to scream. His hand came over my mouth, muffling my hitching breaths while tears still clung to both our faces.