Page 175 of Scarlet Wars
The sound that left him wasn’t human.
It vibrated through me, throughhim, a broken growl that felt like it came from somewhere deeper than need. Like worship.
I wanted more.
“Gonna—fuck—gonna come down your throat if you keep—ah, shit?—”
His body jerked, every harsh breath torn from him like he was breaking apart.
I sucked harder, faster, until he roared my name like a curse and a prayer combined, spilling hot and violent down my throat.
I swallowed every drop, never looking away from him, watching the way his eyes went dark and wild, the way he looked like I’d ruined him in ways bullets and blades never could.
When I finally pulled back, licking the taste of him from my lips, his stare pinned me in place. Savage. Reverent. Completely undone, before he whispered, voice hoarse and ragged, “Godsdamnit, Nightcrawler… you’ve got no idea what you just made yours.”
For a heartbeat, something warm and terrifying flickered through me.
But the memory of him—bleeding, barely alive because he’d decided my life mattered more—ignited something hot and ugly in my chest. I smothered all the mushy feelings, and straightened, fury replacing the exhaustion in my limbs.
“Get cleaned up,” I said, my tone flat and cold. “We need to talk.”
Before he could answer, I turned and walked out, leaving the sound of the shower and his labored breathing behind me.
I saton the edge of his bed, elbows on my knees, fingers laced so tightly together they ached. My haze still hummed under my skin, restless, unwilling to settle. I stared at the floor, jaw locked, waiting for the sound of his footsteps.
When the bathroom door finally opened, Caden filled the frame like a shadow, bare-chested, a towel slung around his hips, and droplets of water sliding down his skin.
I said nothing, but tracked his movements across the room, then rose to my feet as he drew closer, my pulse matching his pace.
His arms locked around me immediately, pulled me tight against his chest, and held me as if he hadn’t just flirted with death.
My pulse was still erratic, breath coming too fast, adrenaline humming in every vein.
“Hey,” he murmured against my ear. “You’re fine. You’re safe.”
“I’m safe?” I snapped, jerking my head up so fast our noses nearly touched.“I’m safe?!”
I punched him—hard—right in the shoulder.
He didn’t even flinch. Only raised one infuriating brow, like I’d patted him too roughly during story time.
My knuckles throbbed. Of course they did. His shoulder might as well have been carved from reinforced arrogance. Which only made me angrier.
I shoved away from him, pointing a shaking finger straight at his chest.
“You almost died, you idiotic, arrogant, disaster of a First Offensive!” My rage ricocheted off the walls. “Where thehelldo you come off jumping in front of me like that?Twice! What, did someone recruit you for a lifetime contract as a professional martyr, and you just forgot to tell me? Or is dying right in front of me more like a personal passion project of yours?”
He stayed silent. Still. Watching me with maddening calm, like my fury was something he’d been expecting, like he thought I needed it.
I started pacing, stabbing the air with my finger like I was conducting a full orchestra of rage.
“All that fucking training,” I bit out, as I stomped around the room like a feral rabbit. “All that battlefield ego and experience,and you still choose ‘suicide dive, the sequel’ as your big heroic move?”
Still nothing.
The air between us vibrated with everything I had no words for—terror, fury, the unbearable image of his body hitting the ground. My whole body felt electric, raw, alive with rage that was only holding back the grief underneath.
“I swear, Caden, if you ever—ever—pull shit like that again, I willkillyou beforeanyoneelse gets the chance!”
