Page 66 of Rescuing Ember

My body moves on autopilot, securing the space out of habit. I wedge a broken chair under the doorknob, its splintered legs a poor defense against the dangers outside. I trace the grain of the wood, wondering how many others have sought refuge here. I check the other windows, each a potential entry point for our pursuers.

Ember tracks my movements, her gaze a physical sensation on my skin, like heat crawling over me. It’s not just how she looks—it’s the way Ifeelit, burning through the air between us, sinking deep into my muscles.

My pulse kicks up, and suddenly, everything feels charged, deliberate, like I’m too aware of the space between us. Her eyes linger, setting my skin ablaze, and it takes everything in me to keep from turning toward her, from closing that gap.

“We should be good here for a few hours at least.” I turn back to her, hyperaware of the small space and our proximity. The air between us feels charged, buzzing with suppressed desires.

“God, I’m tired.” Ember sinks onto the mattress, exhaustion etched in every line of her body. “When did you last sleep?”

My shoulders rise in a noncommittal shrug, muscles protesting the movement. “Sleep’s overrated.”

“Says the man who looks like he’s about to fall over.” She pats the space beside her, the gesture both an invitation and challenge. “Come on, tough guy. Even heroes need rest.”

The mattress dips as I sit, springs creaking in protest. This close, the scent of her shampoo lingers beneath the layer of sweat and city grime. It’s intoxicating, stirring something primal in my chest. I fight the urge to bury my face in her hair, to lose myself in the warmth of her scent, in her softness, in everything that makes me forget the world outside this room.

“Let me look at those cuts.” Ember’s fingers ghost over my face, featherlight but leaving trails of fire in their wake. Her touch is gentle, at odds with the hardness in her eyes. She tears a strip from the bottom of her shirt, exposing a sliver of pale skin that draws my gaze like a magnet.

The makeshift cloth dabs at a gash above my eyebrow. A sharp sting makes me hiss, more from surprise than pain. The coppery scent of blood mingles with the musty air of the room.

“Sorry,” Ember murmurs, her breath warm against my cheek. Her touch is gentle, almost a caress. The tenderness in her actions contrasts sharply with the harshness of our surroundings.

“My turn.” I capture her hand, turning it over to examine the scrapes on her palm.

Her skin is soft despite the calluses, a testament to the life she’s led. My thumb traces the lines of her palm, and her pulse quickens beneath my touch. The rhythm of her heartbeat becomes a counterpoint to the distant sounds of the city.

Ember’s body tenses as I clean her wounds, but she doesn’t pull away. Her trust in me, despite everything, is both humbling and terrifying.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Humor me.” I work in silence, cognizant of our proximity. My fingers linger on her wrist when I finish, reluctant to break contact.

Her eyes meet mine, green as sea glass and just as sharp. In their depths, a lifetime of pain and resilience shimmers.

“Thank you. For everything. I don’t know if I would have made it out of there without you.” The vulnerability in her voice tugs at something deep in my chest.

“Hey, we’re in this together. I’ve got your back.”

“Promise?” A small smile tugs at her lips, transforming her face. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of the girl she might have been in another life.

“Promise.” The word feels heavy, weighted with meaning beyond this moment. It’s more than a reassurance—it’s a vow.

We’re so close now, breaths mingling in the scant space between us. Ember’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, and my gaze is drawn to the movement.

The air crackles with electricity, charged with unspoken desires. The world beyond our hideout fades away, leaving only this moment, this connection.

My hand comes up, almost of its own accord, to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. Ember leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When they open again, the intensity in her gaze steals my breath. The green of her irises is nearly consumed by the black of her pupils, a mirror of my desire.

“Blaze,” she whispers, my name a caress on her lips.

That’s all it takes. The last thread of my self-control snaps. I lean in, drawn by an irresistible force.

Our lips meet, and the world falls away.

TWENTY-THREE

Blaze

Ember tastesof adrenaline and hope, of danger and salvation. My hands cup her face, hers fisting in my shirt to pull me closer. The kiss deepens, releasing pent-up tension and longing. It pours out in a desperate clash of tongues and teeth. It’s not gentle—it’s a claiming, a promise, a defiance against the darkness that surrounds us.

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