Page 45 of Born in Fire

The eldest son by five fucking minutes.

Who is acting really fucking strangely. Over a woman.

Something’s going on. But right now, there’s nothing I can do about it.

I pull out my phone, checking the time. In a few hours, Juno’s shift will be ending. The thought of her walking home alone, with that silver sedan potentially lurking, doesn’t sit well with me.

Whatever game Caleb’s playing with Elena, whatever mess Malakai’s dragged us into—it can wait. Right now, Juno needs protection, whether she knows it or not.

And for once in my very long life, I’m choosing to focus on what’s right in front of me instead of chasing after Caleb’s shadow.

I head for the door, already mapping the quickest route to her home.

It might not be dragons and ancient artifacts, but protecting Juno from her stalker matters. It matters to me.

And that’s a realization I’m not quite ready to examine too closely.

Chapter 13

Juno

Golden evening light bathes the street as I walk toward my apartment building, my steps lighter than they’ve been in years. I catch myself smiling at nothing in particular, my mind drifting back to this morning—Dorian’s sleepy eyes, the warmth of his skin against mine, the reluctance in his goodbye kiss.

A week. I’ve known him for a week, yet something about him feels like coming home after a long journey. My body still hums with the memory of his touch, a warm throb reminding me of places his hands and mouth explored.

I’m so lost in these thoughts that I’m halfway up the path to my building before I notice the figure leaning against the brick wall beside the entrance.

Tyler.

My stomach drops, but I don’t freeze. Instead, I catalog my surroundings with the clarity of someone who’s prepared for this moment. Security camera above the door. Mrs. Hernandez likelyhome in 1B. Phone in my right pocket, keys in my left, with the pointed emergency key positioned between my fingers.

He straightens when he sees me, running a hand through his disheveled blond hair. He’s lost weight since I last saw him, his usually immaculate appearance showing signs of neglect—wrinkled shirt, stubble on his jaw.

“There she is,” he says with forced casualness that doesn’t match the intensity in his eyes. “I was beginning to think you were spending another night with him.”

My heart pounds, but I keep my face neutral. “What are you doing here, Tyler?”

“Checking on you.” He steps forward, and I hold my ground despite every instinct screaming to back away. “You didn’t answer my calls. I was worried.”

“I blocked your number.” I’m surprised by the steadiness in my voice. “All seven of them. That should have made my feelings clear.”

His eyes narrow slightly, taking in my appearance—the confident posture, the direct gaze, the absence of the fear he’s accustomed to seeing.

“You look different,” he says, an edge creeping into his tone. “Did he do that to you?”

I don’t dignify the question with a response. “I filed a police report yesterday. The flowers, the calls, stalking me—it’s all documented. If you don’t leave now, I’ll add this to the report.”

Something ugly flashes across his face, the mask of concern slipping.

“A police report? Jesus, Juno, that’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think? I’m just trying to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” I take a deliberate step toward the door, refusing to let him block my path. “Our relationship ended nearly two years ago. Please respect that and leave me alone.”

He moves suddenly, grabbing my arm just above the elbow. Hard enough to bruise and stop me in my tracks.

“Eighteen months,” he snaps. “And you don’t get to decide when it’s over.” His voice drops to that dangerous quiet I remember too well. “Not after everything I did for you. Not after I helped you through your parents’ death when you were falling apart.”

“Let go of me.” I don’t pull away—that would show fear. Instead, I look directly into his eyes, channeling every ounce of the strength I’ve reclaimed. “Now.”

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