Chapter 5

Nyx

I should’ve been asleep.

But how could I sleep with that pull in my chest tightening by the second?

With the memory of his voice still echoing in my head—You make me want again—and the door slamming behind him like it was the only thing holding him together?

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching the rain smear the windows in soft streaks of silver.

He hadn’t come back inside.

Stubborn, growly, emotionally constipated alpha.

I grabbed the blanket off the bed, opened the door, and stepped barefoot onto the porch.

The moment the cold air hit my skin, I sucked in a breath. There he was—back against the porch railing, rain dripping from his hair, arms crossed like he could fold himself away from the world.

He turned slightly at the sound of the door, eyes flicking to me.

“Can’t sleep either?” I asked softly.

“No,” he said. “Too loud in my head.”

I walked toward him without thinking.

Not carefully.

Not cautiously.

Because if he was going to keep pretending like this wasn’t happening—this thing between us—I needed to prove that it was.

“Here,” I murmured, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. “You’ll freeze.”

His hand shot out before I could pull away, fingers brushing mine.

That was all it took.

One touch.

And something inside me cracked open.

Heat bloomed beneath my skin. The bond flared, sharp and golden, like it had been waiting for this moment—this exact contact—to burn brighter.

His hand didn’t drop.

Didn’t move.

Just stayed there, fingers lightly wrapped around mine, like he wasn’t sure if he should hold on or let go.

I looked up at him, and for once, Caspian didn’t look away.

He looked wrecked.

Hungry.

Haunted.

And gods help me, I wanted that look.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered.

“You should be.”

“I’m not,” I said, stepping closer.

The blanket slipped from his shoulder, falling halfway off mine too, but neither of us moved to catch it.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” I said, my voice barely audible over the rain, “but I’m done pretending it’s not real.”

His breath hitched.

And then—slowly, almost reverently—his fingers traced from my wrist to the inside of my forearm, dragging lightly over my skin.

I shivered.

It wasn’t sexual.

It was… worship.

The kind of touch that said I see you. I feel you. I want everything you're hiding.

“I can feel your power,” he murmured, gaze locked on my skin. “It hums when I touch you.”

“It started with you,” I whispered back. “I think… I think you’re waking it up.”

His hand stilled, but he didn’t let go.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said hoarsely. “And I will, Nyx. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow. But eventually, I will. It’s what I do.”

“No,” I said. “It’s what’s been done to you.”

That broke something in him.

Not fully. Just a crack.

But enough.

His forehead dropped to mine. Not a kiss. Not yet.

Just skin on skin. Warm breath between us. A heartbeat shared.

He stayed like that—forehead pressed to mine, one hand on my arm, the other fisted at his side like he was hanging on by a thread—for longer than I should’ve let him.

And still, I didn’t pull away.

Because this wasn’t about mating or claiming.

This was about need. Pure. Simple. Real.

And maybe, just maybe…

The beginning of something neither of us could run from anymore.

_______________

Nyx

I should’ve pulled away.

Should’ve stepped back the second his skin touched mine and the air between us ignited like it had teeth.

But I didn’t.

And neither did he.

We stood there, forehead to forehead in the dim rainlight, both of us breathing like we’d run miles—but the only thing chasing us now was this. This pull. This ache. This need.

His thumb brushed my wrist again, and I swear I felt the contact in every inch of my body. Heat pulsed low in my stomach, coiling tighter with every second of silence between us.

“I should go back inside,” I said, but my voice was wrecked. No conviction. No strength.

His golden eyes dragged down to my lips. “You should.”

I didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Then—gods help me—I tilted my chin up, just enough to brush my mouth against the edge of his jaw.

Not his lips. Not quite.

But close enough to taste salt and rain and danger.

His breath hitched, sharp and ragged.

And then his hands were on my waist, large and rough, pulling me against him in one swift, effortless motion. I gasped as my body collided with his—hard muscle, warm skin, the unmistakable pressure of want between us.

“This is a bad idea,” he muttered, voice dark and shaking.

“But you’re not stopping,” I breathed.

“No.”

His mouth hovered near mine.

A fraction of a breath.

A promise.

Then finally—finally—he kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was starved.

Teeth, tongue, heat. Like he’d been holding back for years and couldn’t anymore. Like the bond between us snapped tight the second our lips touched and refused to let go.

I moaned into his mouth, my fingers threading into his wet hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat.

He backed me against the porch post, his thigh pressing between mine. I arched into him instinctively, and that earned me another groan—deep and guttural, from somewhere in his chest.

He kissed me harder.

Dirtier.

One hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt—his shirt, still loose on my body—and dragged along my bare hip. Rough fingers met soft skin. I shivered.

“Tell me to stop,” he growled against my neck.

I didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Because I didn’t want to.

My hands were under his shirt now too, mapping muscle and scars like they were a language I’d always known but never learned to speak.

And gods, his body… he was fire and fury wrapped in skin. All hard edges and suppressed power. And yet, he trembled. Just a little. Like he was afraid this wasn’t real.

“You’re not dreaming,” I whispered, biting softly at the base of his throat.

He hissed, hips pressing harder against mine. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, Nyx.”

“Then show me,” I challenged, breathless.

His growl turned into something feral.

His hand skimmed up my back, fingers brushing along the side of my breast beneath the shirt, and—

Suddenly, he froze.

Pulled back like I’d burned him.

Chest heaving. Eyes blown wide. Every inch of him trembling now—not from want, but from restraint.

“I can’t,” he said hoarsely. “Not like this.”

“Why?” I asked, heart pounding, skin flushed.

His hands were still on my waist, holding me like he was afraid letting go would shatter him.

“Because if I have you now…” He swallowed hard, voice low and wrecked. “I won’t stop. And I need you to know this isn’t just the bond.”

I stared up at him, breath ragged.

“You think I don’t want you?” I whispered.

“I know you do. But I want your trust, Nyx. Not just your body.”

I bit my lip. The wind wrapped around us like a warning—or maybe a whisper of what came next.

His eyes dropped to my mouth again, and he leaned in once more, this time pressing the softest kiss to my jaw. Reverent. Heartbreaking.

Then he stepped back.

Let go.

And this time, I was the one who trembled.