Page 97 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
The confession hangs between us, raw and honest. I see him fully now—not just the sniper or the dominant lover, but the broken man beneath it all, offering me the most dangerous thing he possesses: his heart.
"I understand now," I whisper, rising on my toes so our faces are level. "When I took that risk, you saw her."
"Every time you put yourself in danger, I see her falling." His hands frame my face. "I hear her calling my name, and I'm not there. Again."
His pain crushes against my ribs, making it hard to draw a full breath. "Asher, look at me."
When his eyes focus on mine, I see years of guilt and self-blame.
"I'm not going anywhere," I tell him firmly. "And I'm not going to die from taking calculated risks. My brain works differently—I process danger in real-time. What looked reckless to you was actually me adapting to get better intel."
He pulls me closer, his forehead dropping against mine. "I want to believe that."
"Then trust me to calculate my own risks," I say, voice steady despite my racing heart. "And I'll trust you to have my back when my calculations are wrong."
We sink back onto the couch together, this time with no space between us. His arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.
"I can try," he admits. "But I can't promise I won't intervene if I think you're in danger."
"I wouldn't expect you not to. Just like you can't expect me to stay safely locked away while others take risks."
His mouth finds mine then, desperate and claiming. This kiss tastes like grief and hope mixed together, like a man drowning who's just been thrown a lifeline.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, his eyes hold mine with unwavering focus.
"We're going to clash on this again," he states.
"Probably," I agree, curling closer to him. My finger traces patterns on his chest as I speak. "But at least now I understand why."
His arms tighten around me, strong and protective but not suffocating. Outside, the storm continues, rain pattering against the windows.
I reach for the broken frame on the coffee table, careful of the cracked glass as I study Sarah's face again.
"She would've liked you," Asher says quietly, watching me.
"Why do you think that?"
"You both talk to your electronics like they're people."
A surprised laugh escapes me despite everything. "She named her devices too?"
"Her laptop was Captain America. Said it was reliable but sometimes frustratingly righteous." The hint of a smile touches his lips before disappearing. "You would have driven each other crazy and been best friends."
I trace Sarah's face through the cracked glass, careful not to cut myself. "I wish I could have met her."
"Me too." His voice is raw with longing. "She was the only one who understood my sense of humor. Who could make me laugh when everything felt too serious."
Lightning flashes again, startling me. In that brief moment of brightness, I see not just Asher's pain but also his love—for his sister, and increasingly, for me.
I set the frame down carefully and turn in his arms to face him fully. "I have an idea about Tatiana." Pieces suddenly click together in my mind.
His body tenses instantly, sniper instincts engaged. "What?"
"The way she recruits women—it's exactly like Sarah's boyfriend. Find vulnerabilities, exploit isolation, make them dependent." My pulse quickens as the pattern becomes clear. I pull away slightly, my hands gesturing as my thoughts race. "This isn't just business for her. It's personal methodology."
Asher leans forward, understanding dawning in his dark eyes. "You think she's done this before. Multiple times."
"I think she perfects her technique on smaller targets before going for bigger ones." I stand and start pacing again, but this time with purpose rather than frustration. "Which means somewhere in her history, there are other Sarahs. Other sisters someone failed to save."
