Page 31 of Isaia

Gradually, the suffocating tightness in my chest starts to ease, and my lungs—still sore, but finally open—draw in air again. The world around me, once a dizzy blur, begins to sharpen. I blink through the tears, my body sagging into Isaia’s hold, weak from the aftermath.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No,” I rasp, shaking my head weakly. “I’m…fine now.”

“You’re not fine,” he snaps, though there’s a softness in his eyes that betrays the harshness in his voice. “You were just gasping for air. You need to get checked out.”

“I don’t need a hospital,” I insist. “The last thing I want is to be poked and prodded in some sterile room.”

He narrows his gaze, clearly unconvinced, studying me like he’s trying to make his own assessment.

“I’m fine,” I repeat, the words sounding more determined than my body feels.

I push myself to stand, but it’s as though every ounce of strength has been drained, my legs weak and trembling beneath me.

“Fine,” he relents, though his tone is heavy with skepticism. “But I’m helping you inside.”

I don’t argue and lean into him, my legs wobbly beneath me, my body still trembling from the attack. He opens the door, and Luna comes rushing out to meet us, and just the sight of her happy face makes me feel a thousand times better.

“I’m okay, Luna-bug,” I reassure her as she keeps circling around us while Isaia guides me inside. His arm doesn’t leavemy waist, and I’m hyperaware of the way his fingers press into my hip.

Once we’re inside, the tension between us shifts, thickening like a storm gathering in the air. Every inch of me is aware of him. Every second feels loaded, as if the space between us is shrinking, charged with something I’ve been trying to ignore since the moment we met.

His hand rests on my lower back now, the heat of his touch searing through my dress, branding my skin. And now, with oxygen flowing freely through my lungs again, his scent hits me—amber, black pepper, and something undeniably masculine, stirring something deeper inside me.

I pull away, sinking onto the couch as Luna jumps up beside me, curling into my side. “Thank you,” I murmur, my cheeks flushing with warmth. “For helping me.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, towering over me, his large frame casting a shadow that seems to engulf the room.

I can’t help but shudder as I take him in. His gaze is so intense, unwavering, and the weight of his silence makes my pulse quicken. That cloud of mystery—of danger—he carries with him seems to grow heavier, pulling me in.

“Well,” I try to fill the awkward silence. “Man of few words, I see.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yep. I’m fine. Um…don’t get me wrong, I’m really thankful you were here to help. But…what are you doing here?”

There’s a slight shift in him, a tensing in his jaw, a flicker of something hidden in his dark eyes. “I was around.” He crosseshis arms over his chest, muscles flexing beneath the fabric of his white shirt as he leans back against the wall, exuding casual confidence.

God, the way he dominates this tiny living space is insane.

“Around? Well, that’s not vague at all.” I pause, realization dawning. “Wait… how did you know?”

“Know what?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “That I needed my inhaler? I couldn’t get the words out, yet you knew.”

“I just did,” he evades.

“That's not an answer.”

His eyes flicker, ever so briefly, down to where my inhaler sits on the coffee table. When his gaze meets mine again, his usual cool composure is back in place. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

A beat passes, then reality clicks into place, and a laugh escapes me—sharp, almost bitter. “Always watching, always knowing, right?”

He lifts a dark brow in question.

“It amazes me,” I continue with an unhealthy amount of sarcasm, “just how deeply rooted your kind is.”

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