Page 48 of Fired at the Heart

A body molds to my back, solid and warm and familiar. Too familiar. The scent hits me, Cassian’s pheromones muddied with alcohol.

“You were amazing tonight.” His lips brush my ear as his hands find my hips, fingers digging in with possessiveness, like he has the right to touch me like this. “The way you handled that bastard was so hot.”

My throat tightens, my body going rigid within his hold. Cassian has never crossed this line before and has always maintained the careful distance of my second-in-command. But tonight, alcohol and the high of success have unraveled his inhibitions.

“Quit it.” I try to step away, to create space between us, but his grip tightens.

His hot breath caresses my neck, and my stomach churns at the scent of bourbon it carries. Or maybe it’s the pressure of his body weight pinning me while his fingers creep beneath the hem of my shirt to seek bare skin.

“You’ve had enough.” I twist in his grip to confront him, only for my stomach to tighten into a sour knot at the raw hunger that stares down at me. “Time to back off.”

A flash of hurt crosses his features before he masks it with a crooked grin. “Come on, Avery. We’re celebrating. You and me, we did this together.”

“We did this as a team,” I correct, placing my glass on the nearest surface and pushing his hands away from my body. “All of us. And you’re drunk.”

He leans in closer, invading my space again. “We should celebrate.”

My hands find his chest, creating space between us with firm pressure. “Drink some water, Cass, and get your head on straight.”

Anger or confusion flickers over him. I can’t tell which, and I don’t wait to find out, already turning away, pushing through the crowd toward the back of the club. The music seems louder now, the lights too bright, every sensation amplified by the tension running through my body.

I need air. I need space. I need to not think about Cassian or Raphael or the way my life is splitting at the seams.

The back hallway offers a reprieve from the chaos of the main floor. The bathroom is down here, along with the emergency exit and a few storage rooms. The bass becomes muted, a distant thunder rather than an immediate assault. I rest against the wall, the cool concrete pressing into my back, and breathe.

Alone at last, I let the mask slip. My hands tremble as I press them flat to the wall behind me, the faint vibration of the music traveling up my arms while the night replays in my head, a film on an endless loop I can’t escape.

Raphael’s hands on me, his mouth, the warmth of his body. Having him again, right where he belongs, and then being rejected a second time.

My chest aches with a feeling I refuse to name. It’s not longing. It’s not hurt. It’s pure and cleansing anger. It has to be. Anything else would mean I’m still caught in his gravity, still orbiting the sun that burned me once before.

I need to go back to the party. My crew needs me to be strong, celebrating with them, unaffected by so many near deaths tonight.

Heavy footsteps echo behind me, and I straighten, my muscles tensing in preparation for an argument I don’t want to have while Cassian is drunk. Because, of course, he followed me here. He refuses to leave me alone.

“Avery.” My name bounces off the concrete walls on an impatient growl.

I turn, keeping my back to the wall, maintaining distance between us. Cassian stands at the mouth of the hallway, his broad frame blocking the colored lights and the exit. The dim glow of the emergency fixtures casts him in shadows, but I notice the rigid set of his shoulders and the way his hands curl into fists at his sides.

“I told you to get some water.” I steady myself, pushing down the anxiety that bands around my chest. Five years of commanding respect from people twice my size has taught me how to sound unafraid, even when my pulse races. “You’re drunk, Cass. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He takes a step forward. Then another. Steady, despite the alcohol. A predator on the hunt. I’ve never thought of myself as prey before. Not with anyone, and especially not with Cassian.

“I’m not drunk,” he says, though the slur in his words betrays him. “My eyes are open for the first time in years.”

I hold my ground as he approaches, refusing to back further down the hallway. To move would mean being cornered, and instinct warns me of the danger.

Cassian has never been a threat before. He’s been my right hand, my most trusted ally in rebuilding what Raphael abandoned. But the person in front of me now is a stranger.

“You need to back off.” I inject authority into my tone. “Right now.”

Ignoring my warning, he stops close enough for the heat that radiates from his body to press in on me, the sharp tang of Alpha aggression rolling off him in waves. “I hate the way you stink ofhim.”

I didn’t shower before we headed here, and Raphael’s pheromones saturate my body from the inside out. “That’s not your concern. What happened today was business.”

“Business.” Cassian spits the word like a curse. “Is that what you call it when you look at him like you’re still his?”

The accusation hits like a physical blow, and I flinch, unable to deny it. How can I, after I all but begged for Raphael to come back to me right in front of everyone?

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