Page 260 of Scarlet Wars
My control snapped so tight it felt like barbed wire inside me. My cock strained hard against my jeans, throbbing with the need to take her, right then, right there.
The brink of insanity had never tasted so fucking sweet.
I lowered myself until my mouth hovered right above hers, so close I could feel the next ragged hitch of her breath shudder against my lips, could feel the way her body strained toward mine like instinct alone was dragging her forward.
What came out was low and dark, every word measured, every syllable edged with a calm so lethal it barely counted as calm at all.
“You asked me to respect your choice and walk away,” I murmured, my grip still firm around her throat, our breathstangling in the tiny space between us. “I am asking you now for the same fucking thing: respect my choice, Emma…and give me some fucking space to clear my head.”
I was practically shaking when I finally loosened my fingers and let her go, peeling myself away from something I was sure I wouldn’t survive losing.
She didn’t reply.
Didn’t reach for me.
Didn’t say a single word.
And neither did I.
Without another sound, or a backward glance, I turned and walked out of the room to pack for Cyclos.
No soft words of goodbye. No whispered promises of safety, or return.
Nothing friendly. Nothing caring.
Only distance.
Exactly what I said I needed. Exactly what would would tear me apart.
Had I known what would follow—what would happen to all of us—I would’ve chosen differently.
I would’ve told her I loved her more than anything. How she had breathed life back into me when I never thought that possible.
I would’ve made her see that no matter what she did, she would always be magnificent. And not just because of her powers.
And I would’ve told her whatever choice she made, she would always and forever be mine.
But that’s the thing about regret: it feeds on what you can’t undo.
And it’s always fucking pointless.
PART 4
FIFTY-SIX
JAMES
Never thought I’d be standing on a cold Vancouver tarmac beside a chartered private plane, waiting for Caden Colt to show up, without a fully formed plan to let him crash with it.
Then again, I never imagined I’d be teaming up with Crown’s First Offensive to bring down the United Chiefs—the same men I’d spent half my life admiring—either.
When Caden stomped through his green portal a few minutes after I arrived, he marched past me without a word and stormed up the stairs like a silent, rage-filled Disney villain on a coffee detox.
I dropped into the seat across from him and immediately clocked the vacant look he had aimed at the window. Colt was always one glitch away from passing as a humanoid robot, but the way he was sitting there now… I’d never seen a man look so lost.
This was not going to work, though. I needed him focused. I needed him focused on the mission, not letting the shit in his head buzz like a jacked-up mosquito.
I cleared my throat, shifted in my seat, even tapped my foot loud enough to wake the dead. Colt didn’t flinch. If anything, he sank deeper into whatever tragic, brooding abyss he’dcrawled into. Great. Just what I needed: Caden Colt entering his “contemplating the void” era right before we went after the United Chiefs.
