Booktok Cassian Novelas e Histórias

A few looked at her with something close to pity. She hated that most of all. Cassian appeared rarely. When he did, he spoke little and watched too much. One afternoon, he found her in the library, running her fingers across old book spines. “These books are older than the city,” she said without looking at him. “So are some of its crimes.” She turned. “Do you believe in the oath?” Cassian leaned against a table. “I believe it exists.” “That’s not what I asked.” He was quiet. “I believe people are capable of terrible things when they think they’re saving the world.”

And I couldn’t make it any clearer short of holding up a sign. Cassian’s eyes lit up with desire, and I could see visible restraint in his movements as he walked over to me, slowly, cautiously. Like I was an easily startled deer, and he didn’t want me to run. His husky voice was laced with a low growl as he said, “Well, I don’t think we need alcohol to loosen up.” He gradually approached me and leaned down, his minty warm breath fanning my face. “My little fawn is ready for me.”

Junie cried, grabbing his arm. “I’m fine,” he lied, forcing himself upright. Above them, the ceiling groaned. “Keep movin’!” Lucien bellowed. “They’re tryin’ to bury us alive!” Through the smoke, a voice cut clear—cold and venomous. “Well, well. Look at the little rebellion.” Cassian stepped into the chamber, his boots crunching over rubble. His golden eyes burned with hunger and hatred. The flames reflected in his gaze, making him seem more demon than man.

I said, holding Casey tighter against my chest as I met his angry glare with complete calm, "you still think your family name and your money make you untouchable in this city, but you have no idea who you are dealing with anymore." "I know exactly who I am dealing with," Cassian scoffed, taking another step forward into the elevator cab, his eyes shifting from me down to Casey, who buried his face into my shoulder to avoid looking at him. "I am dealing with my runaway wife who came back after six years with another man's kid, trying to intimidate me in my own building."

"Because I was waiting. Waiting for you to ask me just once—Aurora, are you alright?" "But you never did." Cassian's lips trembled. He couldn't say a word. "All you ever saw was that I was quiet, useful, and out of your way. In six years, did you ever once, truly, care about what I wanted?" He opened his mouth, as if to argue, but all that came out was a shaky question. "Aurora," his voice was hoarse, "did you know... the first time I made you cook the books, you were only seventeen."

Luckily, I have good reflexes and I dodged the flying book. “Okay, are you trying to recreate a book from Harry Potter or some shit?” I ask bending and grabbing the book she threw at my head. Staring at the cover, I can’t help but frown as the torso of a naked man appears. “Reading porn?” I ask, placing the book on her bed before I put my hands back in my pockets as her eyes scan my every movement. “Get out of my room Dash,” she says and I shake my head. “Nope, you’re not going to walk away when we are having a conversation and then throw a fucking book at my head and think I will let out be alone,” I let out and she crosses her arms turning around giving me her back.

“Unusual, considering he barely acknowledges anyone who doesn’t hold a million-dollar contract.” Zara’s lips curved faintly. “Maybe he respects good work.” “Or maybe,” Cassian said, turning toward her, “he’s testing how close you’re willing to stand to the fire.” Her chin lifted slightly. “You don’t scare me with metaphors, Cassian. I know where I stand.” He stepped closer, stopping just short of her. “You think you do. But men like Lancaster…” “Men like you,” she interrupted quietly. His gaze sharpened, the silence stretching. “Careful.”

Because the driver who stepped out was breathtaking. Tall, impossibly composed, with dark, dangerously sharp features and eyes that seemed to pierce right through me. His presence alone was enough to make me forget, even momentarily, the jagged shards of pain I carried. I felt my breath catch, heart stuttering, though I knew I should have been trembling for other reasons entirely. I noticed the small, polished tag clipped to his jacket. The name etched neatly in silver caught my eye: Cassian. My breath hitched again. The sound of it caught somewhere in my throat, unformed, mingling with the sobs that still wracked my body.

I turned it. It opened with a smooth, silent motion. I peered out into a small living area. It was just as cozy as the bedroom, with more furs, bookshelves, and a large rug in front of another fireplace. Cassian was sitting in a large leather chair, a book in his hand. He didn't look up when I entered, giving me the space I needed to just exist. I walked to the hearth and sat on the rug, wrapping my arms around my knees. The heat felt good on my face.

Everything was for her. And then there he was. Cassian stood shirtless, his body a map of power—defined chest, lean muscle, a line of ink that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. He held a leash in one hand. The other held a camera. “You’re late,” he said. She wasn’t, but she didn’t argue. She let the coat fall from her shoulders and stepped forward completely naked, the plug glinting under the light. Cassian’s lips twitched.