Page 74 of Requiem
But Jude ignores his friend. “You need to leave,” he says again, quieter this time. “Both of you. Before—”
“Beforewhat?”I interrupt, braver than I’ve ever felt in my life. We don't havetime.
He rips his gaze away, turning his back on me. He can’t take the eye contact.
“Look at me,” I demand.
I can feel the shift in him the moment the words leave my mouth. He freezes mid-step. His jaw locks, as if my request is threatening whatever fragile state of control he’s holding onto.
“No,” he says immediately, voice low and strained.
“Yes,” I repeat, softer this time, but steady. “Now.”
His gaze flickers toward my face just long enough for something to register, and then he looks away again, like it hurts. His shoulders tense sharply, hands flexing at his sides as if he’s physically restraining himself from reacting.
“You don’t want that,” he says, almost quieter now. “You don’t want me looking at you like that.”
“Try,” I whisper.
Behind me, Micah’s voice cuts in, tighter now. “Emma, this is a bad idea. He’s not in a good place right now.”
But I don’t turn. I don’t break my gaze on Jude. Because I can feel it too now. The way he’s holding himself together by force instead of choice. The space between us is starting to feel unstable. Goosebumps break out over my arms.
But I continue anyway. “I said,look at me.”
And that’s when he moves.
It happens so fast that my body reacts before my mind can catch up. One second, there’s space between us. And the next, he’s closing it in a single, decisive step that forces me backward until my shoulders hit the wall. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs in a gasp.
“Jude—” Micah snaps from somewhere behind us, his voice sharp with alarm.
But Jude doesn’t even hear him. His entire focus is locked on me, his hazel eyes a storm of confusion and something darker than I’ve ever seen in him. For one horrifying second, I think I’ve pushed him too far. His arm lifts, his body tight with volatile energy, every muscle coiled beneath his scattered tattoos, and fear surges through my chest like ice water.
This is it. He’s going to hit me.
The conditioning they did, the lies they planted about me, they’ve won.
And Ilost.
But instead of striking, his hand catches my jaw. His trembling fingers dig into my skin, enough pressure to make me wince. He forces my gaze up to his, and everything in himstops. His breathing changes, pulling through his nose in short, almost panicked bursts, like he’s bracing for somethingterrible. Pain, maybe? Or the collapse of whatever walls they built inside him.
His eyes search mine for a fraction of a second, and I see it all—the conflict, the recognition, and the deeper, agonizing pull of him fighting through whatever was done to him. Fightingforme. His grip tightens, and then his mouth crashes into mine with heat, desperation, and urgency. It’s like heneedsthis and hates that he does at the same time. His lips are familiar, yet foreign now, with a roughness that wasn’t there before.
My mind goes completely blank. It feels like Jude, but it doesn't. For a heartbeat, I can’t even process what’s happening. His body presses against mine, the lean, muscular frame I’ve dreamed about now pinning me to the wall. The heat of him seeps through my clothes, and a wildfire erupts inside my core.
And then I kiss him back. Because I’vemissedthis.
The way he feels. The way hetastes. My hands twitch at my sides like I want to grab him, pull him closer, keep him from slipping away again, but I don’t dare push him too far. Instead, I let my palms rest against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart through his shirt.
His hand stays at my jaw, trembling as his thumb shifts, brushing along my skin in a slow, unconscious caress.
He used to always do that.
A soft stroke just below my lip when he kissed me, a tiny habit that meantyou’re mine. The memory of it cracks my heart open. His breathing is still uneven, almost frantic through his nose, as if he’s in disbelief, or waiting for pain that never comes. But he doesn’t stop. If anything, he leans into it more, pressing closer, his other hand coming to rest on my hip. He’s chasing something he doesn’t understand but can’t let go of.
A quiet moan escapes me, and it only seems to make something in him fracture further. He groans against my mouth, and his kiss deepens. His tongue parts my lips and swirls against mine, rapidly becomingmore. It’s hungry and claiming. It’s a battle between his conditioning and his heart, and his heart is winning.I’m winning.
Behind us, I hear Micah swear under his breath.
