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Fighting nausea, I fumble for the door handle. “I’m not anyone you need to worry about.”
Jin snags my wrist with one hand and steadies my face with the other. His pulse teases my cheekbone. “You’re Solomon.”
“Not anymore.”
“Then who are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do.” He tilts my chin, fingers so gentle, I could easily pull away.
I don’t pull away.
I don’t even try.
Maybe because it’s Jin and we’ve done this before. My body forgets to flinch.
Maybe because I want it to happen.
I want to be normal just once, and touch the alpha I’ve always loved.
Jin offers a brush of lips.
A soft, two-second kiss.
Like a butterfly, landing on a stem.
Like we’ve always been together, and it’s fair game to call my name with a phone-sex drawl and a gaze that claims like the abyss. “Sol.”
Lightning strikes.
Jin’s rumbling purr wrecks me with a thundering boom.
Like a flash across the sky, a war breaks out inside.
The part of me that could never regret Jin, that aches to complete my set—to taste Bishop, Dutch, Reese, and abandon myself to a doomed fantasy—battles the part that’s hyper-focused on my scars.
That’s the part screaming loudest into the storm.
NOT MINE.
I have to draw a line.
Make it clear that this can’t happen.
But draw a line with what?
Permanent marker?
Blood?
Polonium?
Time, distance, radiation.
No force on earth can stop Jin from reclaiming the part of me he’s always owned.
“Sol,” he murmurs again.
