Page 76 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
"Consider it from an outside perspective." She gives me an analytical gaze, clearly acting like the journalist she's trained to be. "You both represent unpredictable elements in his carefullyordered world. For a man who calculates every variable, you're the factors that can't be fully controlled."
"Is that good or terrifying?" I attempt a joke, but my voice betrays genuine concern.
Alina takes a thoughtful sip, her eyes assessing me over the rim. "Both. Men like ours, they do nothing halfway. Love, protection, or obsession, the lines blur."
She touches my arm gently. "Just know what you're walking into. These men don't just love. They consume."
The reality of what this team means settles over me. Another layer of secrets to keep from my family. Mom and Dad already think I'm just a barista who dabbles in tech support. My work with Maya remains carefully hidden behind vague explanations and missed family dinners.
Now this—working with a mercenary team investigating human traffickers—would push me even further from the daughter they believe me to be. The distance aches in a familiar way, but some secrets protect the people you love, even as they separate you from them.
"I think," I say slowly, processing her words, "I might be okay with being consumed... if it's by him."
Through the glass, Asher looks up suddenly, as if sensing my gaze, his eyes locking with mine across the distance. The fire blazing in his eyes races through my body like lightning.
Alina whispers, "See what I mean? He can't even look at you without staking his claim."
twenty
Vanessa
The ride back to Asher's house happens in tense silence. His knuckles turn white against the steering wheel, jaw clenched so tight I'm surprised his teeth don't crack. His anger fills the car like heat, pressing against my skin and raising goosebumps despite the warm air blasting from the vents.
I stare out the window, the city lights blurring as rain falls. The droplets race down the glass, creating patterns my brain automatically tries to track. My thoughts fragment and reassemble, but keep coming back to the possessive way Asher inserted himself between me and Jax.
The controlled look in his eyes. The territorial hand at my back that felt like a brand.
Part of me bristles at being treated like property. A bright flare of indignation that refuses to be smothered. Another part, a deeper, wilder part, responds to being claimed in such a total way. The contradiction prickles across my skin with awareness.
By the time we reach his house, my nerves feel like live wires, exposed and crackling.
We enter his home in silence. The minimalist space feels different tonight. Less like a command post and more like a predator's den. The low lighting casts long shadows, and the steady patter of rain against the windows creates intimacy, like we've been sealed inside an equation with only one possible solution.
I slip my jacket off, draping it over the back of a chair, then adjust it three times until it hangs exactly right. Asher doesn't move to turn on more lights. He paces, three steps one way, pivot, three steps back. His movements are too controlled, too measured. Like he's barely containing something dangerous.
"You let him touch you."
His voice is terrifyingly calm, each word formed and spaced like bullets in a magazine.
"Excuse me?"
I turn to face him fully, fingers tapping rapidly against my thigh.
"Jax. You let him put his hands on you."
The muscle in his jaw ticks visibly. A metronome of restraint.
I cross my arms, defensive heat rising in my chest.
"He touched my back for two seconds during a demonstration. That's hardly intimate."
"You smiled at him."
"I smile at everyone! I smile at the barista who gets my coffee order wrong. Are we really doing this right now? Because if you think I'm some possession you can—"
"You know that's not what I mean."
Asher stops pacing, his dark eyes locking onto mine like a sniper finding his target.
