Page 51 of Torgash

I look down to find a thin line of red across my palm where I'd gripped a ceramic shard too tightly, probably from the shock of having a hulking orc kick in my door. "It's nothing. Just a broken bowl."

His fingers close around my wrist with surprising gentleness, examining the shallow cut like it's hurting him more than me.

He pulls my hand closer, pressing a kitchen towel against the cut. Basic first aid.

"How did you get here so fast?" The timeline doesn't add up. "Knox was supposed to be on watch tonight."

Something crosses his expression—guilt, maybe defiance. "Knox's at the clubhouse."

"Then how—" I connect the dots. "You've been out there. Every night."

"The last few, yes." No shame, no explanation. Just fact.

"Even though we agreed—"

"I couldn't leave your safety to anyone else." His jaw works like he's physically fighting for control. "Not when losing you would—"

"Would what, Ash?"

His eyes drop to my mouth, then back up, and I see the precise moment his control fractures. "Would destroy me."

The raw admission makes something clench low in my stomach.

"We can't," I whisper, but even I can hear how weak it sounds.

"Can't we?" His voice drops to something rougher, making my pulse jump. "Tell me you don't think about it. About what happened in the war room."

Heat floods my face. "That was a mistake. A one-time thing to relieve the pressure—"

"Bullshit." He steps closer, backing me toward the wall. "You think I could forget the way you came apart in my hands? The way you said my name?"

"Ash—"

"You gave me a taste of what we could be, Nova. And now I'm starving for the rest of you." His palms brace against the wall on either side of my head. "Watching you come undone like that, knowing you trust me enough to stop fighting, it's given me a hunger I'll never be able to satisfy with anyone else."

"The case—"

"Fuck the case." His breath is hot against my ear. "For once in your life, stop thinking like a cop and feel like a woman."

"You think I haven't been feeling?" I step forward, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You think it's been easy pretending what happened didn't change everything? That I don't think about your touch on me every time we're in that room together?"

His hand shoots out, catching my wrist.

"Then why are we still talking?"

His palms frame my face, large enough to span from jaw to temple. His thumb strokes across my cheekbone. I should push him away, should remember every reason this is wrong.

Instead, my fingers fist in his shirt and pull him down to me.

"I hate you," I whisper against his mouth.

"Good. You should." His forehead drops to mine.

"Then why won't you let me?" My grip tightens on his shirt.

"Because I'm selfish." His mouth hovers over mine. "Tell me to leave, Nova. Tell me to walk away before I can't."

I open my mouth to do just that—to be the responsible one who remembers that this leads nowhere good.

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