Page 16 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

The heat between us turns suffocating, my chest growing tighter, the space in my lungs shrinking. A tremor runs through me as I try to inhale, but the air doesn’t come fast enough. My heartbeat stumbles, a frantic, uneven rhythm that sends a ripple of panic through my veins.

I clutch at his shoulders, my fingers digging in—not out of want, but out of need. All of a sudden, a terrifying realization that something is wrong.

My head spins. I part my lips to speak, to tell him, but all that escapes is a choked, shallow gasp. I don’t want him to stop, I want him to take every single breath I have left. I want him to kiss me until my body collapses. I want it, and after these last two months of hell I fucking deserve it.

The elevator speaker vibrates with someone asking if we need assistance, but Cast’s lips never leave mine, his hands never stop touching me, pulling me closer, holding me tighter. He pulls back, his forehead resting against mine. “Good,” he says, his voice rough, raw. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

A loud crackle from the elevator speaker shatters the moment.

“This is building security. Is there an emergency? Should we call 911?”

Cast groans against my mouth, his forehead pressing against mine as he exhales sharply.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

I swallow hard, still gripping the back of his neck, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Sir? Ma’am? Are you in distress?”

Cast finally pulls back, his hands sliding down my sides as he reluctantly sets me back on my feet. His fingers linger at my waist for a second before he reaches out and punches the emergency button, releasing the hold on the elevator.

“We’re fine,” he says, his voice rough as the elevator lurches back into motion.

The speaker crackles again, followed by a long pause, then a begrudging, “Copy that.”

The moment stretches between us as the hum of the elevator fills the air. We’re both still breathing too hard, our bodies still too close, our gazes locked like neither of us can look away. My heart slows to a more steady beat, stable enough to ease the burn in my chest.

His hand twitches at his side, like he wants to reach for me again, but instead, his expression shifts. His jaw tightens, his brows knit together, and when he finally speaks, his voice is lower, rougher.

“What’s wrong with you, Willow?”

My stomach knots at the question.

I don’t answer right away. I don’t want to say it. Don’t want to put it out in the open, because once I do, it’s real. More real than it’s ever been.

Cast’s gaze darkens. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out again.”

I inhale sharply, my hands balling into fists at my sides.

“I had a heart attack two months ago,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

His entire body goes rigid. “What?”

I look down, focusing on the rise and fall of my breath, on the way my fingers shake. “My heart transplant—it’s failing. My body’s rejecting it.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.He breaks it, with darkened eyes and a growl. “ Was kissing you too much?”

I want to lie, but instead I let out a deep breath and say, “Yes.”

I force myself to keep going, even though I can feel the panic radiating off of him. “My immune system is shot. I can’t keep food down. I—” I stop myself, swallowing hard before looking up at him. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to look at me like that.”

Likethis.Like I’m already gone.

His throat bobs as he swallows, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “You’re dying?” The words are hoarse, like they physically hurt him to say.

I let out a shaky breath. “Yes.”

His jaw tightens, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. He looks away for a second, pressing his fingers against his forehead, his body tense like he’s barely holding himself together.

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